Why did you run out on me before I came back for you? I thought—apparently like a blind fool—you intended to be my wife.” Estelle jerked her gaze from the carriage window, where she had kept it fixed for several hours. The carriage lamps were lit now, so all she could see was a shadowy reflection of her own face. Lyan was sprawled over the seat across from her, his long legs splayed to make room for them in such a way that his Hessians did not touch her slippers. His arms stretched along the back of the velvet-covered bench. Ever since they had entered the carriage together, he had stared fixedly out whatever window proved opposite to the one she gazed at. Each time she’d stolen a surreptitious glance, she’d discovered he was not looking at her. That was for the best. It would be stupid and irresponsible to feel anything else, any sort of girlish pang. She had long stowed away the desires and foolish fantasies that always began with the question “what if.” From the moment she’d made her choice to run away, then discovered she was carrying Rose, she had known exactly what she must do.
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