A Wager to Tempt the Runaway--A Sexy Regency Romance by Bronwyn Scott

Author:Bronwyn Scott
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2021-03-09T18:28:59+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

She made him coffee the next morning and the morning after that and the one after that until their days fell into a rhythm of discretion: long nights in Owen’s bed, followed by early morning walks back to the school, hands interlocked; days spent in her studio painting until she could sneak off again to Owen, to passion.

Not only passion. To say this affair was based solely on lust was to demean it, to not understand it. It was fast becoming something more than what it had begun as. It was hard to describe, not even colpo di fulmine would suffice. Whatever ‘this’ was, it far exceeded the thunderclap of sudden, overwhelming desire. This was deep and abiding, something that transcended physical need, a fulfilment of a different sort.

To be with Owen, to lay in bed with him and talk of anything and everything, was like finding sanctuary. With him, she could talk of her father, of her life in Venice, of her art—things she’d not talked of with another since she’d left home for fear of giving in to grief and for fear of leaving too many breadcrumbs behind if anyone was looking for her. It was as if she could set aside fear in Owen’s bed.

In the days leading up to the Oyster Ball, Josefina was happy, content, in a way she had not felt in a long while, or perhaps ever, and it worried her. Happiness, contentment, was changing her. It dulled the edge of her recklessness. She no longer felt the keen need to slice through life, taking herself and others by surprise, always seeking the next thrill. Some might call this new order peace.

Josefina snuggled against Owen’s warm body in the early morning hours, testing to see if he was awake. His hand tightened reflexively at her hip in answer. If this was peace, it was imperfect, her new contentment tinged with a guilt that hadn’t plagued her old reckless self. She was riddled with regret, a relatively new experience.

She was regretting the promise she’d made to Padraig about using Owen’s cellar, regretting involving Owen unknowingly in the smuggler’s plans, regretting that she could not change the trajectory of Padraig’s plans now with the cargo planning to drop at Shucker’s Cove tonight, regretting that she could not tell Owen, for his own safety. There were too many moving parts to this plan to call it off now and they were all counting on the money. With the money from tonight’s drop, her travel plans in May would be secure. She would be able to afford passage to the Americas, afford rent on a small house where she could paint once she arrived in the Caribbean. All she could do now was to dance Owen’s feet off tonight at the Oyster Ball, keep him oblivious and keep him safe. It would all be fine. It would go off without any trouble.

She’d been repeating that litany for days now and sometimes she managed to convince herself it would be fine.

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