He sat up in his seat and rolled his shoulders, still staring out the window. “The thrill of being inside the characters’ heads, of guessing at the author’s intent before the climax…”
She pursed her lips, wanting to add her own thoughts, but afraid she might break whatever spell he was under. Although she didn’t speak, he looked back at her, that calm, relaxed expression still settled upon him. She felt drawn to him, unable to consider anything else in the moment.
For a few brief moments they held one another’s gaze, lost in the experience of a shared pleasure.
Then he cleared his throat, the moment passed. “You read fiction often?”
She blinked several times. “Yes,” she said, still somewhat in a daze. She set the first volume ofEast Lynnedown on the seat next to her, sparing a quick glance to make sure Charlotte was still asleep. She had almost lied, and promised Mr. Sedley she would not expose her to such twaddle. But he actually seemed rather fond of it. Susanna didn’t know what to make of that.
“What sorts—what… what titles?” He glanced again at her book, his blue eyes darting back up to meet hers.
She felt herself flush. “Oh, well. Sensation novels, of course. Mysteries and romance, generally.”
He tapped a knuckle against his lip, contemplating. “Any magazines? Journals, maybe?”
“I do followCassell’s, when I’ve the time.”
“Ah yes, Mr. Collins has a cracking new story in it.”
Susanna bit back a smile. She could not fathom having a conversation like this with Mr. Pritchard, or the Earl of Clifton. It felt quite nice, actually. With no one else around, they could pretend to be nothing more than a gentleman and a lady, speaking of the yellowbacks they’d purchased at the station. The thought of encountering Mr. Sedley as strangers, as ships passing in the night, sent a prickling heat across her shoulders.
He turned back to the window, and Susanna followed his gaze. Small stone buildings had begun to appear in the middle distance, amid tidy little stone fences crisscrossing the heath. She spotted a flock of odd-looking sheep dotting the hills, and she leaned forward, straining to catch a better look.
“Goodness!” she exclaimed, unable to keep a smile from her lips. The creatures boasted long, curling locks with curtains of wool covering their eyes, their ears sticking out to the sides like horns.
“Wensleydale sheep,” Mr. Sedley named them in an amused tone. “I was always fond of them as a boy. Don’t see them much outside of Yorkshire.”
“Your family spent time up here often?”
“Not quite.” His piercing blue eyes fell back upon her. “We came up with some regularity until my father passed, and then no more. But by that point I had been clapped into prison—or Harrogate, as some deign to call it—anyway.” He ran a finger over his mustache, smoothing it down as he thought. “I didn’t set eyes upon it again until I came of age. My elder brother practically banished me there.”
“Dear,” Susanna managed, her eyes drifting back to the window. The Wensleydales were far behind them now. Buildings were beginning to sprout up from the moors, clustering closer and closer together as they rumbled on.
Mr. Sedley sighed, and leaned back in his seat. Susanna recalled the conventional gossip about his family: common, rough, mad. Lady Matilda had outlined the most pertinent bits when the Earl of Clifton was pursuing Mr. Sedley’s niece. All she’d known prior to that was the boot polish tin. She’d even had one as a girl, beaten up and of the older design, where she’d stored interesting rocks and bits and bobs she’d found.
“It wasn’t his fault. Not really. I was a mewling, unlicked cub, with absolutely no interest in the boot blacking business.” He snorted. “None of us have. Thank God Harmonia married some tradesy cutthroat of a fellow, otherwise I’m not sure who’d take up the reins when the inevitable comes to pass.”
“The inevitable?”
Suddenly his eyes darkened, and he pressed his lips in a hard line. Susanna worried she’d spoken out of turn, thrown off by his candid speech.
“Tiberius is not well,” he rasped, his voice lower than usual.
“Oh, I apologize, I did not mean to—”
“Pay it no mind.” He forced a smile. “I don’t.”
Susanna suspected that was very much a lie, but she dared not suggest it. Instead, a new voice cut through the silence, giving them both a start.
“Uncle Tiberius misses you.” Charlotte’s speech was clear as a bell, not a hint of sleep thickening her words.
“Egad, Charlotte,” Mr. Sedley exclaimed, his face whiter than a sheet. “How long have you been awake?”
The girl shrugged.
Susanna composed herself, mentally checking every word she’d said throughout the journey, praying that nothing hadbeen untoward. For she couldn’t trust herself around him, with his sharp cheekbones and rich baritone. She kept forgetting herself, as she had that night when he’d stood so close, the air between them as taut as a piano wire.
“And I doubt the veracity of that statement very much,” he said, slipping his hand into his pocket to pull out his watch.
