Relief coursed through his limbs, and his fingers were overcome by a strange tingling sensation—almost as if his blood had stopped just short of them and now rushed back with his relief. “Very good.”
Miss Morgan dipped her head in an attempt to hide her smile. Robert held his arm out to her and led her to the carriage, where they took seats opposite each other.
“I must admit I feel as if I have cheated regarding your demeanor.”
“Oh?” He clasped his hands in his lap, forcing himself to appear cool, calm, and collected.
She grinned. “Yes. Your reluctance to be in crowds is no secret.”
He tilted his head, studying her. The light from the streetlamps wavered over her shoulders and neck, and for the first time this evening, he truly allowed himself to appreciate her appearance.
He had not lied. She did look lovely.
Blonde curls framed her cheeks, kissing her skin as they swayed from the gentle rocking of the carriage. Her lips appeared soft and relaxed—until she suddenly gave them a small pucker.
“You do not care to ask how I know?” She tucked her chin slightly as her eyes smiled up at him. And yes. Hereyessmiled. He would not have thought it possible, but her eyes held mischief and grins and a sense of knowing that made his skin prickle with unease. As if she could see things he would rather she not. Such as, had she noticed him noticing her?
“If you would like to share how you came about such knowledge, then please feel free.”
She brought a hand to her chin, her eyes slowly trailing over him before shrugging. “It is quite simple, really. You always look miserable when in a crowd.”
Robert ran his tongue across his teeth in an attempt not to smile, but he felt the corner of his mouth twitch.
His wife turned so he had a view of her lovely profile. Then her eyes peeked over at him. “I really wish you would not withhold your smiles.”
Apparently, she noticed that as well. Robert let the quiet set in after her words, his mind running through his options. He could let her remark fade into oblivion, not giving it a second thought. Or he could share a small detail of himself with her. They were married and had agreed to be friends. He should give her something of himself, even something small.
“You are thinking again.”
He turned back to her, pausing for a moment. She had a soft smile playing about her lips, her posture somehow perfectly straight yet soft. Robert’s eyes trailed over the slope from her neck to her shoulders, a wide expanse of creamy skin showing in her pale-green evening gown. He brought his eyes back to her studious gaze. “I am.”
“Care to share?” She tilted her chin up slightly with her question and he was tempted to follow the line down her neck once more, but he forced himself to retain his wits. Admiring his wife’s beauty would not help his train of thoughts.
He kept his face still. “That was what my thoughts were, actually. Whether I should share something with you or not.”
“Well, seeing as how we have agreed to be friends, I think you should.” Her cheeky grin and perceptive eyes teased the words from his mouth.
“I was only going to remark on why I do not show my emotions much. As a duke, I am often seen as a pawn in people’s political games or other types of influence. I prefer to keep my guard up lest I be taken advantage of, or worse, duped into looking a fool.”
The grin faded from her lips, her lashes slowly blinking as she studied him. “And how long have you kept people at arm’s length?”
He gazed out the window of the carriage before his eyes caught on a cluster of people talking and laughing on the sidewalk. That was how his life felt sometimes. People on one side of life, laughing, not having a care, while he watched through a window. Yes, they could see him, but there was a barrier between them. An invisible shield of his own making. But shields also served a purpose—to protect the one who wielded it.
“Please forgive me, Your Grace,” she said, breaking the quiet. “I seem to have asked a question too personal for your taste.”
He turned toward her. “You are my wife, are you not?”
“Yes.” Her voice was soft—almost tentative—as if not sure of the answer to his question.
Robert allowed himself to give a small lift to his shoulder. “I suppose I have done it since I was a young boy. Children can be . . .”
“Cruel?”
Robert turned and watched as the gas lamps came closer before fading behind them, only to be quickly followed by another. It gave him something to focus on other than his pretty and inquisitive wife. “Yes.”
Apparently, she thought she had delved into his mind enough for one evening, for the rest of their ride was spent in silence—other than the faint sounds drifting in from outside. He was quite certain he could feel her gaze searing the side of his face, and while he felt uncomfortable about being the subject of her study, he did not glance her way.
When they arrived at the Hughes’ residence, Robert stepped down from the carriage, offering his hand to Louisa before securing her grasp on his arm as he led her inside. He could feel his conscious retreating within himself. Whatever fissure he had allowed in the carriage had to be put to an end.
