I will not pander to her or anyone else except the Winchesters. They are the only ones I must impress.
He realized he had been drinking in her eyes for a long, silent moment. His mind went back to the evening in which she had spent under his roof.
A long and sleepless night spent reminiscing on her sweet voice accompanying Lady Margaret's playing. Knowing I had her so close to my bedchamber. So warm. So soft, and... stop!
He immediately looked away, clearing his throat and gazing out of the window. Harriet shifted in her seat.
“You should sing more often,” he began awkwardly, “your voice the other night was quite delightful.”
“Thank you. I... I did enjoy it,” she replied, sounding taken aback by the sudden compliment.
It had taken Jeremy aback as well. Consciously, he had only wanted to say something innocuous. Something about the weather or the countryside they were passing through.
This woman muddles my mind. When have I ever been so addled by a perfume or a pair of eyes? I must get a hold of myself.
“There is little pleasure to be had in singing for oneself. Far better to perform and see the appreciation in others,” Harriet started.
“Then do so,” he replied, still looking away from her.
If I must stare at cows for this entire journey to avoid being ensnared by bright green eyes and acting the fool, then that is what I shall do.
“It is difficult when one's guardian is so assiduous in his task. Ralph does not allow me into spaces where there might be an audience to hear me.”
That touched Jeremy enough that he peeked at her finally. There was a rawness in her eyes as she looked back at him. She tossed back her raven hair, and Jeremy was rewarded with the sight of her pale, lovely neck. So close that the smallest motion of his body would bring his mouth to that throat. To brush his lipsagainst her silky, soft skin. To feel her pulse quicken, hear the soft gasp of pleasure…
When she looked back, he realized he’d been staring again. He was about to turn away when the carriage lurched violently. Harriet cried out, the jolt sending her hard against him. Instinct took over; his arms wrapped around her waist.
For a moment, her face was pressed to his neck, and he shuddered at the feel of her warm lips briefly pressed against his skin. Briefly, but with such force—even if the force was simply the product of motion, not intent.
The carriage screeched to a halt with the ugly sound of splintering wood. Then, with a cracking snap, it dropped at one side.
She screamed. Her reaction was quite out of proportion to the mild shock of the sudden halt, and she clung to him with both arms, burrowing her face into his chest like a frightened kitten.
“I am sorry, Your Grace!” bellowed his driver, Bert Moss, from outside the carriage. “There’s a large pothole in the road, and I must’ve missed it in the glare of the sun.”
“Never mind, man. What is the damage?” Jeremy managed to say.
The concerned face of the driver appeared at the window a second later.
“Wheel's broken and the axle’s snapped.”
Jeremy pinched the bridge of his nose. “Very well. Go to the nearest farm and get a cart to come out and tow the carriage off the road. We can use the horses to go back to Penhaligon for the trap and continue our journey.”
“Right you are, Your Grace,” Moss said, opening the door and offering a rough hand.
But Harriet clung even tighter to Jeremy, refusing to move or to let him move. He waved Moss away.
“Unhitch the horses and take one to the nearest farm. I shall take care of Lady Harriet.”
What has the woman so terrified? A minor shock, a little fright at the sudden jolt. That is all it should be.
“Harriet,” he whispered.
“I cannot… I cannot move. It is happening again. We are cursed,” she stammered.
“A small accident only, and no harm done to anyone. But we must vacate this carriage in case someone else comes along this road and collides with us. There is no immediate danger. I promise.”
He felt her shake her head against his body and tighten her grip.
