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brambles beside the road and telling them to run into the woods, to never look back no matter what they heard. The horrifying crack of gunshots and the acrid scent of gunpowder. And overhead as they ran, the denuded branches of trees reaching down toward two frightened, newly orphaned boys like the claws of hungry beasts.
    “Of course, I wish to know.”
    “Then you are still considering our proposal?” Colin pursued, folding his lanky frame into the settee next to her, his knees nearly touching hers.
    Grace worried her lower lip with her front teeth before saying, “I believe I am doing rather more than considering.”
    Elation and triumph rushed through Atticus’s veins, reducing if not eliminating the pain of discussing the past. He had been right. Lady Grace Hannington was their perfect mate, a lady strong enough to disregard the dictates of society in favor of her own happiness.
    Colin’s sober expression didn’t alter, but Atticus could see the glint of impending victory in his best friend’s eyes. But then, he knew Colin’s thoughts and emotions as well as his own. As if they were his own. And so, when Colin’s eyes met his, he knew his friend meant for him to sit down and assist him in the telling of their story.
    A story they’d never fully shared with anyone save Abby, who as Colin’s only living relative had taken them in after they’d been found, wet, cold and on the brink of starvation, in the wilds of Derbyshire. And he doubted even Abby fully comprehended what had happened to them during that lonely, terrifying week.
    When Atticus was seated, Colin began, “Atticus and I grew up together. His father was my father’s land steward and most trusted servant. Since we are only a few months apart in age, it was natural that we would play together despite the differences in our social standing.” Colin took a deep breath, his nostrils flaring. “When I was ten and Atticus eleven, our fathers grew suspicious of the estate manager at one of our lesser properties and decided to travel there unannounced. En route, our coach was attacked by a band of highwaymen.” His voice faltered.
    Atticus took over even though speaking the words scraped his throat like a sharpened scythe. “The highwaymen dragged Lord Fitzgerald from the coach and demanded he hand over all our money and valuables. The next thing we knew, he was begging for our lives. My father, perhaps guessing Lord Fitzgerald would not succeed, opened the door on the opposite side of the carriage and shoved both Colin and me out, telling us to run and not look back.” That was as far as he could go.
    He looked at Colin. Your turn .
    But it was Grace who spoke. “So the two of you escaped and the rest of your families were murdered by the highwaymen?” Her lovely green eyes grew glassy with tears. “I can’t begin to imagine how awful that must have been for you.”
    Colin’s mouth twisted in a grim imitation of a smile. “It got much worse. We did as Atticus’s father instructed and ran as far and fast as we could, even after we heard the gunshots. By the time we stopped running, we were lost. The woods were huge and every tree looked the same. It was a week before we were found by hunters, and by then, we were so damp, bedraggled, and close to starvation that no one believed we could be who we claimed.
    “It was several more days before the truth of our story was verified, and we were reunited with what family we had left. By then, our parents were dead and buried.”
    Grace’s hands flew to her mouth as Colin recounted, without really describing it, this element of their ordeal. Endless days of suffering, of cold and hunger and a thousand minor injuries as they had wandered in a vain search for a hut, a rut, or a road…of any sign of civilization. Days during which the only thing keeping them alive was the burning determination not to let the other die.
    The days when they had become one person in two bodies.
    Slowly, her gaze shifted