Helen Dickson by Highwayman Husband

have to go. I must.’
    ‘And what if you don’t come back? Must I go throughit all again? For pity’s sake, Lucas, how will I know if you are dead or alive? Do I have to go through the rest of my life wondering? Why do you go? Can you at least tell me that?’ she demanded irately.
    ‘No. I return to France. More than that I cannot say.’
    ‘Is it the government that sends you?’
    ‘It is a private matter,’ he answered curtly.
    ‘I see. So,’ she said, taking a deep, ragged breath, ‘this is to be the pattern of our future together, is it? Two years we have been married and not four days have we been together. If I had not followed you to the mine, Lucas, I have no doubt at all in my mind that you would have left in secret without a word to me.’ Her laugh was choked and bitter.
    ‘That is not true. I would not have done that.’
    ‘Are you always going to put your work first?’ she asked, almost adding, before me, but as she searched that hard, sardonic face for some sign that he felt something, anything for her she knew she was right not to.
    ‘I will come back, and I promise this will be the last time I go away.’
    ‘I do not believe you,’ she cried angrily. ‘Don’t you trust me? Is that it?’
    ‘Of course I trust you—but I have to protect you. There are certain things you are better off not knowing.’
    ‘Anything is better than ignorance,’ she persisted, her voice holding an edge of scorn.
    ‘When I return all will be made clear.’
    ‘Is there to be no end to your cruelty? Are you always going to do exactly as you please and be damned to me?’ Furious, with tears in her eyes, she brushed past him and strode towards her horse, rage and shock propelling her with unusual speed, unable to believe it was all to begin again.
    His face darkening with annoyance, Lucas remained apace behind her, but halfway there he caught her and pulled her back around, his hands clamped on her arms.
    ‘Let go of me,’ she demanded, fighting against his hold.
    ‘Will you stop dancing about and listen to what I have to say?’ Despite her haughty stance, Lucas saw that her lovely eyes, as well as hurling daggers at him, were shimmering with tears. Guilt pierced him. Placing his hands on either side of her face, he turned it up to his, gentling his voice.
    ‘My departure is indeed painful to me—more painful than you can possibly imagine. I know how difficult things have been for you, Laura. When I was in my prison cell I thought of you often—of what you must be going through—and I went through hell because I couldn’t get out and put things right. I couldn’t even send you a letter. When I return things will get better. I promise.’
    ‘Don’t insult my intelligence by pretending to care for my wishes. If you did you wouldn’t go away.’
    Lucas was relieved to hear the anger lessening. ‘Hopefully, if things go to plan, I shall be gone a week at the most.’
    Laura silently thanked God for this, at least. ‘And is it dangerous—this mission?’ she asked, deeply conscious of the feel of his firm hands on her cheeks.
    There was a tiny quaver of fear in her voice, and when Lucas heard it something inside him snapped. ‘I would be lying if I told you it wasn’t.’
    ‘Then don’t go,’ she pleaded. ‘It’s far too risky. If you’re captured a second time, you’ll—you’ll be killed. Aren’t you afraid the French navy might waylay you before you reach France?’
    ‘Owing to a recruitment of inexperienced officers and crew now the serving aristocratic officers have been arrested, the French navy—like everything else about that country—is in disarray.’ He sighed deeply, gently smoothing the soft flesh of her cheeks with his thumbs, his gazeholding hers. ‘I have to go, Laura. It’s something I have to do.’
    ‘You’d risk the guillotine?’
    ‘I’d risk anything.’
    ‘It means that much to you?’
    ‘More than anything. It involves a very dear friend of mine—and a