Page 117 of The Boxing Baroness

He gave a huff of exasperation. “How do you know what I’m going to say?”

“You are a duke, accustomed to getting your way—”

“With you? Hardly.”

“—most of the time,” she amended. “You think you can find a way to make this—us—last. But it cannot last . . . St. John. At least not beyond our time here, outside of the real world.”

He knew she was right and yet it infuriated and pained him to hear her say it. “How can you give us up so easily?”

“Ending this won’t be easy,” she demurred, “but the decision to do so is.” She slid a hand around his jaw, her expression raw. “The parts of you I respect and adore the most—your goodness, decency, and honor—are the same things I’d be destroying if I encouraged your line of thinking.”

“What we have is perfection, Marianne, and if—”

“What we have right now is perfection,” she corrected. “It will be far, far different when we both return to our lives.”

He wanted to argue with her, but he knew she was right. Things would look different when they were back in London.

“It will hurt when this is over—it will be agony,” she said with a bitter twist to her lips. “But the alternative would be even worse. So, promise me now, Your Grace, that you will not tempt me. That this ends the moment we set foot on our packet home.”

He held her gaze for a painfully long moment.

“Promise me,” she urged softly, her hazel eyes glassy.

Sin sighed and lowered his forehead until it touched hers. “This ends when we set foot on the packet.”

Chapter 29

Without Elliot to ride point for them, they found themselves again and again mired in congestion and entangled in chaotic snarls of people traveling on foot with everything they owned—swine, cattle, and poultry included—piled up into wagons of every description.

Most people were fleeing rumors of attacks on towns that bordered the areas controlled by coalition nations. Men of all ages were heading to Paris, flowing in an almost continuous stream.

There were no more private havens during the almost six days it took to get to Metz, and they drove for as long as they could each day before making camp among the floods of people.

While they received more than a few interested glances, none of the roving bands of armed men claiming to be soldiers bothered them.

To encourage that lack of interest, Cecile and Sonia bundled themselves in unappealing, heavy clothing and disguised any attributes that might attract attention.

Marianne dressed in worn breeches and stopped polishing her boots, wearing a tattered overcoat and battered hat that she’d acquired after their first day on the road.

There was no way to disguise the value of the wagons or their horses, but then they were masquerading as circus folk, so most people would assume the caravans were not only their businesses, but their homes.

Only once were they seriously delayed, when an overloaded wagon collapsed in the middle of the road, the two poor horses trapped in their traces while all traffic ground to a halt. Again and again they altered their route, sometimes taking roads that were barely visible to avoid potential trouble.

What Sin thought about Elliot’s continued absence Marianne didn’t know; they didn’t see each other all day as he rode at the front of the procession and she took up the rear. At night, they barely had enough energy to eat before collapsing in their various caravans.

They reached the outskirts of Metz on the seventh day and skirted the city until they reached the eastern edge, where they located the Iron Helm Inn, their meeting place.

Once again, they were able to find a farm to park their caravans, although this one had been abandoned years ago if the state of the house and outbuildings was anything to go by. Yet it suited their purposes admirably as it was away from the road, only a quarter of an hour from the inn, and had ample space to store and hide the caravans.

That night, for the first time in days, Marianne and Sin were able to get away after dinner. They made no effort to hide where they were going as they headed toward the dilapidated farmhouse after a late meal.

Marianne’s body ached for him, and judging by the way he embraced her the moment he set down the lantern, the feeling was mutual.

“It has been torture looking at you every night and not having you,” he murmured when he finally released her lips.

Marianne snuggled against his already dear body as he kissed her cheek, ear, neck, and any other part of her he could reach.

She glanced around their newest trysting place as she reveled in his attention.