What she had allowed him to do to her . . .

What she had done.

What she had said.

She had never imagined a man would want to touch her without putting himself inside her.

She had allowed it, shown him her hunger, and he had not been disgusted. He had welcomed it.

Wild one.

He called her wild one, as though the girl she had been years ago was more truly she than the woman she had become.

No lamp burned in the gatehouse window as Amarantha hurried across the forecourt. Tabitha must have finally closed their manuscript for the night. The writing of it exhausted her friend, but they both knew it was the right thing to do. Tabitha’s story—and other stories like hers—must be told. People in England and Scotland and Wales, so far from Britain’s western colonies but who enjoyed the fruits of those islands—the sugar in their tea and confections, the cotton and indigo that was so popular in seamstress shops, and the coffee and chocolate on breakfast tables—people must learn the horrors of the lives of the people who lived as chattel to produce those luxuries. Once they did, they would not allow it to continue.

Opening the door to the gatehouse quietly, she rubbed her palms over her frozen cheeks. On the rooftop she had not felt the cold. He had not allowed it.

“Amarantha?” Tabitha said from the darkness.

“Forgive me for waking you.”

Tabitha came into the moonlight. She wore her cloak, gloves, and boots, and she clutched her traveling bag in one hand.

“Why are you dressed for travel?”

“The courtyard gate is locked, so I knew you were not at the church. I did not know where you had gone, but I could not search for you in the castle. I have waited only for your return.”

“For my return? What are you doing?”

“I must climb out that window,” she said, gesturing, “and down to the stream bed. But I require assistance. There is nothing sturdy enough to tie the rope I have fashioned in place. The drop to the stream bed is steep.”

“No. Of course I will not assist you in running away in the middle of the night, into the cold and darkness, alone. Have you gone mad?”

“I cannot remain here.”

“Has someone given you insult? Mrs. Tate is horrid, I know. Or was it one of the men? Has Mr. Bellarmine—”

“No. He is kind and respectful, as are Dr. Shaw and the duke.”

“Then the servants? Have any of them—”

“No, Amarantha.” Her eyes were fraught. “You do not understand. You cannot understand, no matter how sympathetic and compassionate you are. You will never have this fear.”

“But you are angry, too. I can see it. Let me at least try to help you, if I can. Tell me what you fear here.”

“I wished never to speak his name, never to reveal him for fear of his retribution, on both myself and you.”

“Him?” Sickness crawled up her throat. “The man who caused Jonathan to be murdered?” The man who wished to replace Tabitha’s freedom with shackles again.

“Amarantha, I saw him here tonight. He is Jonah Brock.”

Morning sunlight slanted through the kitchen windows.

“Mrs. Hook, where is—” Gabriel still could not say the name. Not even now. “Where is she?”

“Mrs. Garland’s gone with the others.”

“Gone riding?” She was indefatigable. She needed more than cards and tea and passive pursuits to slake her thirsts. She needed him.

“To Kallin, Your Grace, as you gave Mickey instruction yesterday.”

“To Kallin? No.”

“Now there,” she said with a shake of the rolling pin, “I canna say I’ve the hearing o’ a girl, but I’m no’ deaf yet. The lad said Kallin.”

“Did she go alone?”

“Mrs. Aiken an’ Mr. Bellarmine went along.”

Judas, he was a fool. She had filled his head with a fantasy and he had played right into her hands.

No. He could not believe that. She had spoken sincerely, honestly. And he had been a fool anyway.

He found Mick polishing tack.

“Yesterday you said I was to give her any vehicle or mount she pleased, Captain,” he said earnestly. “She ordered up the light carriage an’ said she an’ Mrs. Aiken and Mr. Bellarmine were to leave before sunup, by your orders.”

“My orders?” As though that woman would do anything he ordered.

“Aye, Captain. The gentleman drove, o’ course, ladies being weak as they are.”

Not those ladies.

But it was some comfort. In the company of two others, she could not travel swiftly. He would ride, and either catch them on the road or bypass them. Then he and the intrepid girl who had become a woman of passion would have a good long talk.

Right after he kissed her again.