She arched a brow. “If you’re done teasing me, my lord, perhaps you’ll put on a shirt so I may concentrate on our conversation.”
A light twinkled in eyes of black satin. “I’m a gentleman, Miss Woolf, and this situation has far exceeded the bounds of propriety. Wait for me in my study, and we’ll continue this thrilling conversation there.”
It was entirely the right thing to do.
So she inclined her head, her composure intact, though her pulse raced like she’d won a private battle. “Have you eaten?”
“Not yet.”
“Would you prefer if we spoke at the dining table?”
“That depends on what secret you mean to tell me. I’d rather not choke on kippers and coddled eggs.”
She shifted uncomfortably, and not because he had a physique to rival a Greek god. It was the weight of his gaze, the unspoken expectation. He would demand the truth, and once spoken there would be no turning back.
“Then I shall ask Mrs Boswell to prepare a basket so wemight eat on the road. There’s an important item we must recover.”
His gaze sharpened. “Am I permitted to know where we’re going?”
“Back to World’s End.”
He gave a low hum. “You have a talent for leading me in circles, Miss Woolf.” The smile that touched his lips held a spark of amusement. “Very well. I shall meet you in the mews in half an hour.”
“Shall I ask Mrs Boswell to summon your coachman?”
“No. You will inform her of our arrangements.” His mouth quirked as his gaze ventured over her dull grey dress. “A marchioness in training never asks. It unsettles the staff.” His voice dropped, smooth as velvet over steel. “Remember that, should you choose to be my bride.”
A marriage of friendship had been a fool’s notion. He’d been a greater fool to voice it. Perhaps the encounter with Miss Bourne had unsettled him, yet his thoughts strayed to the woman in his carriage and the fact she had seen him near naked.
Passion unravelled men and made rakes of them. Miss Woolf had spent one night beneath his roof, and already he had behaved like a libertine.
She could never know how close he’d come to letting the towel fall, how often he had tempered his desire when her gaze lingered and her lips parted. That curious look in her blue eyes would haunt his dreams.
“Are we to spend the journey admiring the hedgerows from opposite corners of the carriage?” he said, keen to putall amorous thoughts far from his mind. “Or will you explain why I failed to collect this important item when I rescued the parrots last night?”
“I wasn’t thinking clearly last night.”
He hadn’t thought clearly since she clung to him as Hector thundered along the dark lane, her hands hot on his back, her body pressed so close he memorised every forbidden curve. And now, in the morning light, the sun caught her copper hair, unshielded by a bonnet he had neglected to pack, its brilliance seared into his mind.
He forced his gaze away. “Be honest. You weren’t ready to make a confession.”
“You’re right. I have everything to lose, and the thought of sharing secrets makes me nervous.” She licked a trace of butter from her lip, and he almost groaned aloud. “Besides, such things are best tackled during daylight hours.”
Yet she seemed cloaked in shadow.
“Strange. You put me in mind of Geraldine inChristabel. So much of you is shrouded in mystery. Will it always be that way, I wonder?”
Any man who got too close to Geraldine found himself undone. After this morning’s encounter, he was already losing ground.
“You fear you’ll repeat past mistakes?” she asked.
He gave a derisive snort. He feared nothing but looking like a fool. Yet here he was, striving to trust a woman when he had every cause not to. “Doesn’t everyone?”
“Sometimes we suffer for other people’s mistakes and are fooled into thinking they’re our own. That is certainly true in your case. The sin was not yours to bear.”
Ignorance was no excuse. He should have seen the signs.
“A man cannot live without faith in someone.” She delvedinto the basket, took a cold sausage roll wrapped in a napkin and cut it in two, offering him the larger half with a quiet smile. “To lose faith entirely would be tragic.”
