“I was going totravel,” he said. “And that is what I am doing. I could not and would not allow you to travel all the way to Wales alone.”
“You are doing it again,” she said. “Allowing me, not allowing me. I am very glad we are not married. I suspect you would be a tyrant.”
“I hope I would know how to protect my wife, ma’am,” he said stiffly, “even if it was sometimes despite herself. And you could not be more glad of our marital status or lack thereof than I am.”
She pursed her lips.
“If we are going to quarrel all the way to Wales,” he added, “it should be an interesting journey. Especially as we are still no more than a mile or two from Robland.”
“Perhaps,” she said, “if we do not converse, we will not quarrel.”
And she turned her head away and half turned her body too so that she was looking out at the passing scenery. From his silence, she supposed he was doing the same through the window on his side.
Perhaps half an hour passed, though it felt more like an hour. Or three. It became more and more difficult to maintain her posture, to keep her chin from falling, to keep her eyes from closing. She envied Tramp, sprawled out and fast asleep and even snoring on his seat. And then, in a moment of lapsed concentration, she yawned hugely and audibly and felt instantly embarrassed.
“I suppose,” he said, “you did not get a wink of sleep last night.”
“Perhaps a wink,” she said. “Maybe two. I had a great deal on my mind, Sir Benedict. It is not every day one sets off on a grand, life-changing adventure. Not if one is a woman, anyway.”
“And not every man goes sneaking off every day with someone else’s widow,” he said dryly, “with nary a word to his family and friends. Why do you not take off your bonnet and set your head back against the cushions? And your back too. When I got into the carriage earlier, you looked so prim and starchy that I thought for a moment you had sent your sister-in-law in your place. The horses are still fresh and will carry us a fair distance before it becomes necessary for them to be changed. Your dog has not lost any time in catching up on his beauty sleep.”
“Just do not utter any word that begins withw,” she said, “especially with the lettersa-l-kattached. You would soon discover how deeply asleep he is.”
She took his advice—she seemed to have no choice in the matter since it was becoming increasingly difficult to remain awake. She pulled loose the bow of ribbon beneath her chin and removed her bonnet to hold on her lap. She leaned back with an inward sigh of relief. She would close her eyes for a few minutes.
She was more aware of him when she did so. She could feel his body heat down one side, though they were not touching. She could smell something that was distinctively masculine—leather, shaving soap, whatever. It was hard to distinguish individual smells, but they all added up to something rather enticing and altogether forbidden. He had kissed her once. There had even been tongue play, and it had been very pleasant indeed. A bit of an understatement that, though—very pleasant indeed. She wondered if he remembered. It had been almost a month ago. She doubted he had forgotten, though, for he had gone as long as she before that without kisses or anything else.
And she ought not to be thinking of such things now. Especially about theanything else.
She took refuge in other mental ramblings. Perhaps she ought to have left behind some sort of note for her father-in-law rather than slinking away like a naughty child who expected to be pursued. Would she be followed? But no one would know where she was going or how she was traveling. Perhaps she ought to have written to John, just to tell him she was quite safe and would write at greater length later. Though why she would do so, she did not know. John never wrote to her. He probably would not care if she went to the North Pole to live. Perhaps she ought to have left a note for Mrs. Andrews to explain why she must withdraw so soon from her committees and would be unable to do any more sick visiting. Perhaps…
She lost her battle with sleep at that point. Her thoughts floated away, and her head gradually slipped sideways until it rested against a warm, solid shoulder. She was vaguely aware of it, even of whose it was. She was even aware that it was not quite right to keep her head there, but she was too sleepy to act on the thought. It was a firm yet comfortable shoulder. She burrowed her head a little farther back to wedge it more securely between shoulder and cushion and slid the rest of the way into sleep.
Ben sat very still and wondered if they would succeed in getting all the way to her new home without becoming lovers. He had wondered the same thing since yesterday afternoon. He had wondered it last night while trying to sleep.
…if we are only attracted to each other, then we should go to bed and have our fill of pleasure with each other.
She had actually spoken those words. After he had made her that asinine offer of marriage and before she had remembered that she owned a cottage—how could one forget that one owned a house?
He did not want them to become lovers. Well, hedid. Of course he did. If he could shed all his clothes at this moment and plunge into a frigid lake, it would not surprise him at all if the water turned to steam. Good God, it had been longer than six years, and she was both beautiful and voluptuous and tantalizingly available.
But he did notwantthem to be lovers. For one thing, he was accompanying her in order to protect her from harm, not in order to debauch her himself. For another, he was a bit afraid of being anyone’s lover. He did not want any woman to see him as he was, to witness the difficulties he would doubtless have—though in the last month, since that kiss had opened the floodgates of his restored sexuality, he had wondered if it would be possible to remain celibate for the rest of his life. But he did not wantherto see him. She was physically perfect while he…Well, while he was not. And for yet another thing, she was a recent widow and it would not be right to begin an affair with her so soon.
But here she was, warm and relaxed with sleep, her head burrowed between his shoulder and the seat cushion, one of her arms through his, her ungloved hand resting on his upper thigh, fingers spread. Her little finger was a hair’s breadth away from his groin. It really felt as though someone had pumped air from the tropics into the carriage. And it was all unconscious on her part.
He tried to think of other things and remembered suddenly that he had been planning to leave for London this morning. He would not be at Hugo’s wedding after all. He had not even replied to the invitation. He felt a wave of regret bordering on loneliness, imagining his six friends all gathering in London for the festivities. They would miss him, but they would think he was still in the north of England with Beatrice.
Mrs. McKay smelled of something sweet and elusive. Gardenia? Actually, he was no expert on female scents, but this one must have been specifically designed to tease the senses of celibates.
He looked downward, past her shapely hand. His legs, encased in pantaloons and Hessian boots, looked almost normal. But when they stopped for a change of horses, as they must do soon, it would be evident that they were not normal at all. He would descend to the cobbles of the inn yard, taking many times longer about it than any normal man would, and then he would turn to hand Mrs. McKay down, all stiff pain and gallantry when, left to herself, she could have been down without his assistance and already seated in the coffee room. He would not even be able to offer his arm to lead her into the inn. He would need both for his canes and his twisted legs. She would no doubt reduce her pace in order to make him less conscious of his slowness.
Who was accompanying whom on this journey?
It was reality, though, and would never be any different. He had pledged himself to accept that, had he not? So, he was half crippled. His legs were only just better than useless. His legs were nothim, however. His life did not lose worth just because he could not move as he had used to move—and as almost every other man on earth did. How long would it be until he fully accepted that?
He glanced across to the other seat, where the ugly hound sprawled in ungainly slumber. She loved the dog, ugliness and ungainliness notwithstanding.
He laughed softly to himself.
