“But I like doing that part.”
“I like it too. If only you hadn’t fallen?—”
“Asleep at my desk. Yes, yes. What time is it?”
She slid onto my lap once again, an arm wrapped around my neck, teasing the tense muscle there half-heartedly. “Half seven. Rory and Alfie are readying the carriage, and Mrs. Reed has packed us some breakfast and snacks. I let Gibbs know that you may wish to speak with him before we left. But I thoughtyou would rather dress first. I left some things out of your portmanteau for you.”
Her forehead was infinitely kissable and I chose not to resist. “Thank you.”
“Oh, no need to thank me. Your packing choices were absolutely fascinating...”
I struggled to recall what I had tossed into my bag in the few rushed moments I had before we set off. “What was so interesting?”
“Oh, many things. Your soap, it smells almost like you, but not quite.”
“I smell?” The defensive nature of my tone was clear and open. At least it was until she dipped her head, burying her nose against my neck with a heavy sniff. It should have been ridiculous, and it was, but for some absurd reason it was also a little arousing.
“Something woody, cedar I think—that’s the soap. Then there’s the parchment and ink.”
“Obviously.” I gestured to the mess of a desk before me.
“No, you always smell like ink and new parchment. I think you spend so much time around it that it’s a part of you. Sometimes there’s a bit of leather but not always. Mostly it’s just Kit.”
“Just Kit?”
“It’s a good smell,” she assured me.
“You smell citrusy, spicy citrus, and something floral. Even when you’re covered in mud. And sometimes like whiskey.”
A quick kiss was all she allowed before she pulled herself off me, even against my resistant fingers. “You need to dress. Otherwise you will meet with Gibbs like this…”
“Ugh, fine.” I rose from the desk, finding new places that were stiff in the process.
“You’re starting to sound like me,” she said. The smile was clear in her voice and when I turned, it was etched across her face. “Go, dress yourself. Before you scandalize the entirety of your staff.”
“I’ll scandalizeyou,” I muttered while stretching out my legs.
“I’d love to see you try,” she called after me as I strode from the room. “I’m not jesting—please, do try!”
A few hours later,I woke to delicate fingers carding through my hair for a second time. My head rested in Davina’s lap where I’d been lulled to sleep by the gentle rocking of a well-sprung carriage.
Pulled by four horses instead of two, the Leighton carriage was the opposite of our first conveyance in every way. The navy velvet seats were plush and comfortable, the walls were solid and present, and absolutely nothing was strapped on.
Despite my protests, Davina had pulled me down to rest against her as soon as we set off. I intended only to rest my eyes for a few minutes, perhaps half an hour, but I knew by the angle of the sunlight pouring through the—glass-covered—window that it was much later.
“What time is it?” I pushed myself off her lap with no small amount of reluctance. As I stretched, a groan broke free.
“A bit after noon, I think.”
“We didn’t stop to change horses?”
“We did. Twice.” There was a teasing note to her response.
“You didn’t wake me?”
“You needed the rest. I would have woken you at the next stop though, I was losing feeling in my leg.”
I apologized, scratching the back of my neck. Her pink skirts were wrinkled where my head had lay, though I couldn’t bring myself to feel too badly about it. At least there was no damp spot from drool.
