The answer to that question, of course, was yes. She thought. She was almost entirely certain that she wanted Sir Montague to take her hand, announce his devotion to her, and kiss her. Those words would look wonderful coming from his mouth.
Sir Montague’s name was called, and he helped her down the steps to the road, where his carriage was waiting. It was not asfine as one of Nathanial’s carriages, but it was perfectly sturdy, and she settled back on the seats with a nervous glance at Sir Montague, who had taken the seat opposite. His knee nudged hers, and her heart gave an uncomfortable lurch.
This was it. The moment she had been waiting for. But she was so very cold, and the rocking motion of the carriage was not, she felt, conducive to kissing. She rather feared for her teeth.
The lamp swung from above the door as they moved onwards, and Theo wrapped her hands more firmly in her cloak.
“Are you cold, Duchess?” he asked.
“A little. I had not expected the snow.”
“No, I think no one had.”
For a moment, Theo wondered about her own carriage’s lack of appearance. Had they run into some trouble? Then she dismissed the thought; it was snowy. Perhaps they were just delayed. As soon as she was home, she would send word that she was safe and that they should bring the carriage back. All would be well.
“Here,” Sir Montague said, moving to her side of the carriage as he draped his coat across her shoulders. “Is this better?”
“Oh, it is so warm!” She looked up at him with a shy smile, though the swinging light made his eyes look black. The thought made her feel uncomfortable. “And it is so large on me.”
“And do you like that, Duchess?”
“Well, yes.” Were they flirting? She was certainly blushing. But the carriage rocked again, and she gripped onto the seat with both hands to stop herself swaying. “I think it is quite nice to feel small, sometimes.”
“I can do that for you,” he said, leaning in, his eyes intent on hers. Her stomach clenched with anticipation and fear. He looked at her as though he wished to eat her. “What would you like, little mouse? Of what do you dream? I can provide that for you.”
He looked just as handsome saying these things as she had imagined, but her knees still trembled with wretched nervousness.
“I just like—conversation.”
He leaned back, amused. “Conversation?”
“Yes, if you please. As we did at the soiree.”
“You see no difference between the soiree and now?” His leg pressed against hers again. “I have been searching for ways to get you to myself for weeks. Your husband has been assiduous indeed in his attentions.” Sir Montague’s breath tickled her face. He smelt of wine, and she wondered if he was inebriated. That would certainly explain a few things. “But tonight, you are mine.”
“I beg you would not kiss me,” she blurted. “Nothere.”
“But we are alone.” He was even closer now, and the fear prickled over her skin. He was so very muchlargerthan she was; if he should choose to kiss her, she would be helpless to stop him. “And who knows how long that shall last for.”
Theo threw up a hand to stop him getting closer. “But it is not romantic for you to kiss me now, in a moving carriage.”
“You dream of romance, then, little mouse?”
“Do you not?”
“Few men do,” he said, and laughed, finally leaning back and giving her space to breathe. “Very well, Duchess. If it is romance you look for, I shall do my best.”
Hesitantly, she glanced up at him. “First kisses should not happen in moving carriages,” she confided.
A rare smile, free from mockery, spread across his face. “First kisses? No, they ought to be special.”
The womanly heart in Theo knew that if she had not stopped him, Sir Montague would have kissed her then. But, as they arrived at Norfolk House, she found herself unable to regret having turned him down. She had thought this evening would be wildly romantic, but something about it had not lived true to her expectations, whether it was the man or the situation. The snow was too cold to be comfortable; the carriage’s movement too violent to encourage lovemaking.
And Sir Montague, despite his many charms, and the flash in his eyes that made Theo’s breath catch with nervousness, was not quite right.
She did not let herself think about that overmuch as she shrugged off Sir Montague’s coat and handed it back to him. “Thank you for a lovely evening, Sir Montague.”
He possessed himself of her hand and kissed it with a flourish. “For you, Duchess, anything.”
