Emily knew she’d broken just about every rule there was to break. Even though they were to wed, she’d allowed the experiment to go too far. If she could fool herself enough into believing that’s what it had been. Learning. Testing.
She wasn’t sure she could even remember all of it, let alone document it.
Glancing out the window, she could see the sun starting to set as the carriage bounced along. He must have decided to ride with the driver.
He probably just needed some air.
He needed to be outside, take in a bit of the sun.
Get away from her.
She needed to learn decorum. She needed to learn how to not allow her curiosity to get the better of her. But then she remembered his expression when she’d touched his chest. And she understood it a little better.
Exquisite torture.
Such an intensity of physical sensation, it ought to be enough, and yet it demanded so much more. She’d seen similar expressions in art. She’d read of it in literature. But until this afternoon, she’d never come near to understanding it.
The sound of male laughter could be heard over the crunching of the wheels along the road. Something warm unfurled within her.
That man out there. That elegant, charming, devilish man was going to marryher.
Rhoda was going to kill her! Surely, she would have changed her mind upon reconsideration of her situation. Was she even now waiting at Eden’s Court, expecting them to return so that Marcus could save her reputation?
What kind of friend was Emily turning out to be? Running away like this?
Moments such as this caused her to second guess the decision she’d made yesterday morning. She could hardly even remember why she’d thought it would be acceptable to say yes to Marcus’ ridiculous proposal.
Oh, yes. Because Rhoda had told Sophia she’d changed her mind.
And trusting soul that Sophia was, she’d sent Emily to tell Marcus that Rhoda wouldn’t be meeting him that night. She’d not told Emily to run off and elope with the man herself.
Emily dropped her head into her hands and moaned. And poor Lord Carlisle! What must he think of her now? Good God, and Prescott!
Turning her head side to side in guilt, she inadvertently realized that although her dress had been adjusted to cover her properly, it hadn’t been buttoned up again as it ought to be. She twisted, arched, and eventually managed to put herself back together.
Marcus had undone those with surprising ease. Almost as though he’d done it dozens of times before.
Heat spread up her chest and into her face.
Experiencing an odd sort of wonderment, she guiltily placed her own hand over her breast.
It simply wasn’t the same. She kneaded a little, squeezed, and even pinched. Nope. Not the same. She wondered if she closed her eyes and imagined it being Marcus’ hand…
The sliding door to the driver’s box opened, and Marcus’ voice jolted her out of her… experiment. “We’ll be stopping soon.” She could barely make out the fabric of his breeches through the small opening. She caught slivers of sky and flashes of sunlight. “There’s an inn just ahead.”
Emily shoved her hands under her legs and bolted upward, spine straight, feet together.
Thank heavens he couldn’t look inside at her. He’d have had to stand up on the box and tip himself upside down to peer through the slot, but it was not completely impossible. Dangerous, perhaps. But not impossible. She’d have to remember such a possibility in the future. Being caught touching herself like that would be even more embarrassing than earlier.
“Uh… Very well!” She adjusted her dress a little more. She was going to have to face him again.
She felt the carriage sway as they turned off the main road and then halted outside of a busy stable area. She quickly donned her bonnet. When the door swung open, Emily kept her head down and carefully climbed down the step.
“I take it you slept well?” Marcus asked quietly beside her ear. His mouth was so close that she felt his hot breath against her skin.
“I’m very well rested, my lord.”
He merely chuckled at her response. Marcus was always finding humor in something she said, drat the man. Likely, he was laughing at her embarrassment.
