“Let us be off,” he rumbled, catching Starling’s speculative smirk and flashing him a warning look.
* * *
All morning, Silas had fought to ignore the pull Honora exerted on him, as she sat across the carriage with her knees mere inches from his.
Every bump in the road jostled them slightly against each other and Silas was half-mad with the urge to pull her across the divide and haul her into his lap.
Make her moan the way she had last night, call his name against his lips this time.
Honora seemed oblivious to his condition as she passed the time with her nose in a book. She seemed impervious to travel sickness, and Silas envied her the distraction.
Finally, as the day wore on, she fell asleep. Her head dropped against the cushions as the book fell from her limp fingers.
It was a blessed relief, as now Silas had no need to hide his compulsion to stare at her. He was free to look his fill.
Running his eyes over her face, he noticed the faint tinge of a bruise still visible at her temple.
Honora had been through so much in the last few days, and not one word of complaint had left her lips.
He knew she was scared, had seen the fear in her eyes when she was cradled against him in the carriage yesterday, but still, she had ducked her head, trying to hide her feelings from him.
As if he didn’t see her. See all of her.
Honora had always been the bravest of the three of them, back then, despite the fact that Benedict and Silas had been men and Honora was just a girl in pinafores.
It was Honora who had trespassed onto old Sedgewick’s land to steal his apples, proudly bringing Benedict and Silas her bounty wrapped in a shawl.
When she was sixteen she had joined the hunt in breeches and tophat, scandalising the entire party, although her skill in the saddle had eventually won them over.
But the bravest thing she had ever done, the moment that had haunted Silas these last four years, was when she had asked him for a kiss beneath the mistletoe the Christmas after she turned eighteen.
She had been courageous, but Silas had been an utter coward, refusing to acknowledge the connection between them that, looking back, had been undeniable.
The look on her face when he refused her still made him want to punch a wall for his stupidity.
What might have happened if he had not turned away, but taken Honora into his arms and given her the chaste kiss her glowing eyes had hoped for? Honour and Benedict be damned.
But of course, he had known even then that one kiss from her lips would never be enough, even if he could not admit it to himself.
Honora sighed in her sleep, pale blonde lashes fluttering against the full curve of her cheek as her lips parted slightly.
She still wants you…
The thought rose swift and unbidden, but powerfully alluring.
Perhaps that kiss would have led to more.
As his wife, his countess, she would be under his protection and the threat they faced now wouldn’t exist.
Silas shifted in his seat, running a hand over his chin as temptation raised its serpentine head and coiled around his heart.
Eleven
It waslate in the afternoon by the time they arrived in Stamford, the carriage jolting into the mews behind The George, a popular coaching inn.
“Isn’t this a bit conspicuous? We might be recognised,” said Honora, as Silas handed her out of the carriage.
She winced slightly as her feet touched the ground, stretching her back gratefully. As well sprung as the conveyance was, she was awfully stiff after a whole day cooped up inside.
