So he could attempt further sabotage. That much was without question.
“I will speak to Winchelsea myself,” she said. “I will reassure him staying at my hotel is the only reasonable option.”
“By admitting your little falsehoods to him?” Arden’s tone was knowing. “Somehow, I cannot help but suspect doing so would prove a hindrance to your attempts to instill confidence in your abilities, but do go ahead, Miss Montgomery. I shall wait if you wish it. Or, we can cease conducting an argument on the side of the street like a pair of rival costermongers, and you can accompany me to my carriage.”
He was right, damn him, and he knew it. His conceit was in full force. He waited, looking well-pleased with himself, and she supposed he ought to be. He had manipulated her into drinking too much port, made her late for her meeting, and had seen straight through her deceptions, using them against her.
Heaving a sigh of great displeasure, she glared at him, still refusing to accept his arm. She did not need to be squired about as if she were incapable of walking without a gentleman’s escort. “Lead the way, Mr. Arden.”
His sensual lips quirked into a victorious smile. “I am certain a woman with your extensive list of successful cases is not accustomed to being bested.”
“I am a detective,” she told him. “Not a woman.”
The distinction was an important one. She could not allow it to be overlooked, regardless of the womanly way in which her body reacted to the duke’s handsomeness. It was a natural physical reaction, she was sure, and something all women likely experienced whenever they looked upon him.
Until he opened his mouth.
“Detective,” he said, his smile undiminished. “Forgive me, Miss Montgomery. I meant no insult.”
And she was sure he had. “Well then, to the carriage if we must. As you said, it won’t do to stand about all day when we have important work that must be done.”
He caught her hand in his and placed it in the crook of his elbow. When she would have withdrawn it, he held tight. And then he began walking, without saying another word.
His strides were long, for he was taller than she. But she was taller than most women, and she had no trouble keeping up with him, in spite of the continued thumping in her head. Her mouth was dry, and she would give her left shoe for a cold lemonade at that particular moment.
He handed her up into the carriage first, in gentlemanly fashion, and she allowed it, though she ordinarily chose to buck convention. She wanted to be treated as a man’s equal, not as a delicate burden. Self-reliance, and being the best detective she could possibly be, were her only goals in life. The aftereffects of her unfortunate run-in with port the evening before had left her weakened however.
She’d not had time to break her fast, and the omission was haunting her now. She flopped onto the leather bench, taking note of the detailed elegance inside the carriage. Polished leather squabs, well-padded and comfortable, an elegant interior, and a plush rug on the floor. Had she doubted, even for a moment, that the Duke of Arden’s conveyance would be any less fancy than any other portion of his life she had glimpsed thus far?
He seated himself opposite her, and as he did so, his scent wafted over her, citrus and musk, mingled with leather. She breathed through her mouth instead of her nose, determined not to inhale him.To hell with the man.He was making everything about this assignment far more difficult than it needed to be.
Though the interior of the carriage was spacious, his legs were so long, his knees nearly brushed against the simple skirt of her gown. She stared at the encroaching appendages, oddly struck by the urge to lay her hand there, her palm flat. His thighs were muscular beneath his dark trousers. She swallowed as she imagined gliding her hand higher, absorbing the heat and strength of him. Higher still, all the way to his male length, which was clearly delineated and—
He cleared his throat pointedly, shifting on the carriage bench as he did so, as if he were suddenly uncomfortable. “Miss Montgomery.”
The tightness in his voice, along with a husky edge of an emotion she could not define, forced her gaze upward to meet his. Her ears burned, and she was sure her face was red as a boiled beet. He had caught her staring at his legs, at his thighs, at his…
How shameful. She needed to recall her rules. She had not suffered such an egregious lapse in all the years since Adam. But she had been young then, so much younger, so ignorant of the ugliness the world held and how easily a heart could be broken, how easily a life could end.
“Forgive me,” she said, finding her voice. “I was admiring the interior of your carriage. It is very fine.”
She was not being completely dishonest, she reasoned, for she had been admiring something inside the carriage, against her better judgment, and his horseman’s thighswererather fine. Even though they were attached to the rest of him.
He shifted again, his gaze becoming more intense. “You wereadmiring, Miss Montgomery?”
She swallowed. That had been a poor choice of word. Obviously. “It is a handsome carriage,” she said instead, glaring at him.
But that, too, was all wrong, and she knew it the moment the words emerged.Damn it, she had all but admitted she had been admiring Arden’s thighs and found him handsome. Which shehadbeen and shedid, but she had not had a crumb of sustenance all day, and she was likely growing delusional.
Her stomach chose that moment to issue a demanding growl, so loudly, it could be heard distinctly, even above the din of the street and the sounds of their carriage rocking into motion. She pressed her hand over it, as if that would stave off future rumbles.
“You are looking wan,” he observed unkindly. “Have you eaten anything today?”
How disagreeable of him to notice, then comment upon it as well. “My stomach was in no condition to partake in anything other than retching into a chamber pot, thanks to your generous hospitality yesterday.”
“You do have a charming hiccup,” he dared to say. “I would happily pour as much port for you as you would like following dinner this evening, just so I may have the opportunity to hear it again.”
“Go to the devil,” she growled. Her head was pounding, and it felt odd, almost as if it were too light for her neck. She wondered if she would need to retch again upon her return to Lark House.
