Page 84 of A Bluestocking’s Secret Courtship

In other words, don’t beat him—if it was even possible. After the warrior’s humiliating loss last night, not only did he want to avenge his brother, he had to restore his standing among the Semkari.

This was a hell of a precarious position, but better Jonathan than Wedmore.

“But if I die, do you promise to escort my wife and her uncle to the mountain pass?”

Menar scowled. “I gave word, but you live.”

A rustling at the tent entrance made them turn. Evangeline and Kiya stepped outside. Evangeline was dressed in her travel clothes. Kiya spoke rapidly to Menar. He dipped his head, a crimson blush staining his cheeks.

Jonathan offered his cup to Evangeline. “Good morning.”

She took it with shaky hands, and he wanted to wrap her in his arms.

“We go now,” Menar said.

“May I have a moment alone with Evangeline?”

Menar’s jaw set stubbornly. Kiya grabbed his forearm and urged him to walk toward the center of the camp. “You meet us there,” she called over her shoulder.

With the sunrise at her back, Evangeline’s curls glowed reddish gold. Her tongue darted across her lips. “You don’t have to do this. We can find another way to free Uncle Charles.”

He stepped closer to cradle her face, his fingers resting against the delicate column of her neck. “This is the only way, and it must be me.”

“I’m sorry.” Tears welled in her beautiful blue eyes. “This is my fault.”

“Stop.” He leaned forward to kiss her cheek. She exhaled and closed her eyes.

When she turned into him, he kissed the corner of her mouth on the opposite side. Her pulse drummed beneath his fingertips, matching his own.

“I truly love you,” he whispered.

“Then don’t leave me.”

He swallowed hard and pressed his lips to her forehead, lingering as he savored her scent. She was everything, and she would be ripped away from him too soon.

“We—” He cleared his throat. “We should go before anyone realizes Menar and Kiya left us alone.”

With a sigh, she set the cup on the ground before taking his hand.

“Menar advised me to let Dakan win,” he said, keeping his voice low as they walked toward the center of the camp. He couldn’t be sure how many of the Semkari understood English.

She stopped in her tracks, pulling him to a halt. “He’s wrong.”

“He knows his own people, love.”

“You must fight to win. Otherwise, everyone will know, and he will be humiliated again. At the end, when he’s tired, give him the victory. Remember what I said about watching his eyes. He was sloppy last night. I don’t think he’s as experienced as some of the others, despite his standing.”

He grimaced. “I understand.”

A large crowd had gathered around the circle where the exhibition fights were held the night prior. Jonathan recognized some of the faces as the musicians who had played with him. The kettle drummer acknowledged him with a brief nod.

The First Matron sat on a throne beneath a canopy with Evangeline’s uncle seated at her feet. Evangeline tensed when she spotted him. Charles Wedmore’s frame was thin, and he looked even frailer than he had the day prior. If he had the strength to walk out of here at the end, it would be a miracle.

Kiya approached them. “Nekara invites you to watch from her tent.”

Turning her back to her uncle, she met Jonathan’s gaze. “Please convey my gratitude for the kind invitation, but I want to stay close to my husband.”

Every time she claimed him, a dull pain throbbed in his chest. The charade would end soon, and he would be alone again.