Mr. Waverly crossed to the bench beside her and then a warm and comforting arm dropped onto her shoulders. “Of course, you did.”
Eve allowed him to pull her into the soothing warmth of his strength. Oh, to be held by another human being. To be the comforted instead of the comforter.
Jean Luc had lain to waste so many of her dreams.
“It was as though one day, he was a normal gentleman, a father and husband. And the next he was a stranger. And then something of a monster.” Mr. Waverly’s stoic demeanor methodically drew the nightmares out of her closet. She’d never spoken of this with anyone. He’d hold her confidence, of that she was certain. “I’m sorry to burden you with all of this.”
“Hush.” He reached his other arm up and held her tighter as the carriage rocked rhythmically.
So solid. So dependable. The wool of his coat felt rough against her skin. He smelled of leather and soap and that elusive scent some men carried: maleness.
“I spent a few years with the army. Would it help you to know that after a battle, a battle won, we not only mourned the loss of our own men, but those of our enemies? For each of them once represented a lifetime of potential. It is natural for you to mourn your husband. And I imagine you feel a good deal of relief.”
She’d not realized he’d fought in any wars. His words gave her pause to wonder. The idea that one would mourn the death of one’s enemy. It made sense. And all the lost potential of their marriage.
And so much relief.
Another sob took hold of her.
She would be mortified later,Niles presumed. That she’d allowed herself such an outburst in his company.
She must not have wept the night before. She would have busied herself preparing for the journey. He wondered if the woman had allowed herself to shed a single tear over the last decade.
He held her and shushed her occasional words of apology as the carriage rumbled away from the bustle of London. She’d grow calm for a few moments, only to be overcome again a few minutes later, with a fresh bout of sorrow.
Most men would feel all sorts of awkwardness to find themselves in such a situation. He, himself, might feel quite uncomfortable if it was any other woman. But this was Mrs. Mossant, and he felt an odd gratification that she trusted him to such an extent.
He’d never expectedto experience physical closeness with her. He’d imagined it, ah, yes, under quite different circumstances.
As her personal storm subsided, the gale outside did as well. Niles made himself comfortable when he realized she’d fallen asleep. Emotional outbursts must be exhausting.
Feminine scents swarmed his senses. He focused on identifying them rather than the effect they had on his libido.
Lavender. Yes. And lemon. When he tilted his head forward, silken strands of hair tickled his chin and lips.
Careful not to awaken her, he turned both of them and raised one foot onto the upholstered bench, supporting them both with his other on the floor.
He would not sleep, but she seemed to need it.
Eve snuggled deeper against his chest.
Ah, yes, she would be quite mortified when she awoke.
Mud
At first she thought she was sliding off of her bed. She gripped tightly to her pillow. Except this wasn’t her pillow.
Much more solid than a pillow.
“Eve. Mrs. Mossant.” Her pillow shifted and then gripped her arms tightly. “Oh, hell!”
And then the world tipped, shifted, and rolled. And rolled some more. Eve’s eyes widened in time to remember she was not in her bed, but in the carriage. Her stomach lurched and her breath stalled in her lungs as the world turned into a chaotic nightmare.
Not the entire world,but her world, she corrected herself ironically as she watched her valise and then Mr. Waverly’s hat bouncing off the ceiling of the carriage.
Crashing sounds, and the horses! Oh dear God, What of the driver?
She had nothing to grab hold of except for Mr. Waverly, who seemed to be doing his best to brace them from being tossed about any more than necessary.
