Well damn.
Six
NORTH ROAD—APRIL 10, 1817
DAVINA
Mr. Summers’eyes widened in a way that was actually quite comical, flicking erratically between me, the trunk, the roof of the carriage, and his own lap.
When he finally remembered how to speak, it was with incredulity. “How should I know how to dress a lady in a carriage?”
“You’ve never… you know… in a carriage?” I asked.
“Of course not!”
I rolled my eyes. “You do not need to be cross with me. I thought it was something every gentleman did at some point.”
“When? When do you suppose I would have time to find someone to tup in a carriage? I spend all my time chasing after you.”
“Well, I don’t know. It was on the list of places Gabriel told me I must never be alone with a man. Or a man and another woman. Or two men.”
“He… What?” Mr. Summers’ jaw hung loose as he blinked rapidly. “Never mind. Your brother was the most notorious rakein the country. I doubt there was any place that wasn’t included on his list.”
“It was quite extensive,” I agreed.
“And you thought to compare me to him?”
“I thought that all young men… sewed their wild oats. Not Xander, of course, but other young men.”
“I don’t know what all young men do, but I am more of His Grace’s mind on this.” Annoyance was written across his brow before he pressed his thumb and forefinger to closed eyes. The exasperated expression was familiar. “If your brother warned you against being in a carriage alone with a man, why on earth did you abduct one?”
“I didn’t abduct a man. I abducted you.”
“That’s… Once again, you do see how that is not actually different?”
“Are you planning on compromising me?”
“Not in a way that either of us would enjoy,” he muttered.
“Then I fail to see the problem.”
“The problem is the same as it always is. You throw yourself into danger at the first opportunity without a care for how anyone else would feel if something happened to you.”
“This isn’t dangerous! You’re not any man. You’re Mr. Summers.”
“I don’t—what does that mean?”
“You fix things.”
“What?”
“When I have problems, you fix them.”
He sighed, irritation heavy in his tone and on his brow. “If you plan to change into your frock, you’d best figure it out now. We’re getting close.”
Without explanation, he shifted to strip off his weighty woolen greatcoat. And then he held it up in front of him, and out, covering his view and the one functional window in one move.
It wasn’t an ideal changing room, there was no doubt of that. It was, however, more than satisfactory. He may have scoffed, but hewassolving the problem. Or at least part of it.
