It seemed their outing was at an end.
Honora piled her purchases on the counter, watching Silas step outside distractedly as the shopkeeper wrapped and neatly tied the books into bundles.
Handing the parcels over to the footman, she followed him outside, looking around for the carriage.
The driver had turned the conveyance and was walking the horses on the other side of the street.
Silas was not in sight, and Honora assumed he must be waiting for her with the carriage.
Lifting her skirts, Honora motioned to the footman, checking the traffic briefly before stepping lightly onto the street.
As she walked across the road, a commotion to her left caught her attention, the cart trundling past in front of her clearing the way for her to see an unmarked carriage careening down the street at a frightful speed.
It was coming right for her, with no sign of slowing.
Honora felt her legs go stiff, her body frozen with terror as she found herself caged in on all sides, unable to move out of the way as certain death bore down on her.
Vaguely, she heard a scream, some small part of her aware that it was her own voice piercing the air. Then, a hard body crashed into hers, lifting her off her feet and throwing her out of the path of the carriage with a savage curse.
Honora sprawled across the sidewalk, her gloves shredded across the palms by the grit of the street.
One second she was on the ground, the next she was hauled up into a pair of strong arms.
Finding herself miraculously alive, crushed against a broad chest, her legs weak from shock, Honora dug her poor fingers into her saviour’s coat sleeves, craning her head to see who had saved her.
It was Silas. Of course, it was.
Honora hiccuped with fright, leaning more fully into his embrace, uncaring that the man was shouting profanities at the receding coach, or that everyone in the street had stopped to stare at the spectacle she made.
All that mattered was that, through it all, his arms closed tightly around her, holding her close and protecting her from the stares and whispers. Holding her up, shielding her from the world that was suddenly far more threatening than it had been moments before.
Somehow, Honora found herself bundled into the carriage, the parcels strewn across one seat, as she slumped against Silas’s side.
He had not released her for even a second, his arm curled around her waist, holding her firmly to him as the carriage trundled towards the Mayfair townhouse.
“Honora, sweetheart, are you alright?” he murmured, running his hand up and down her arm. He tenderly peeled the ruined kid gloves from her hands, throwing them to the floor and dropping a light kiss to the inside of one wrist.
She nodded, pressing her face deeper into the curve of his shoulder, not yet ready to show him the fear she knew was etched all over her face.
Instead, she burrowed her hand under the lapel of his jacket, pressing her chafed palm to the heat of his chest over the silk brocade of his waistcoat. Grounding herself with every breath she felt rise and fall, the scent of him that lingered at the curve of his jaw.
Heat prickled itself over her skin, something hot and urgent unfurling in her core.
It was wicked and badly timed, she knew it was. But she had wanted him for so long.
Now, with the threat of death hanging over her and the feeling of him pressed against her, she wanted to die from want of him.
If only he would kiss her.
But she knew he wouldn’t. Knew this entire moment was only borne from the uncertainty of the situation they found themselves in. From the brush with disaster that he had saved her from.
This was not real. It was only a fleeting taste of that which she would never have.
But no matter, Honora would take these few moments and hold them close to her heart. Keep them safe for the time in the future when they were once again strangers to each other.
And so she closed her eyes and fell into the feeling of being held by the only man she had ever cared for, letting herself be lulled by the sway of the carriage and the thump of his heart beneath her ear.
Eight
