“Ahh,”he said. “It is good to lie down, is it not?”
“Yes,” she said stiffly.
“What if you grow cold? There are no spare blankets with which I can cover you. You should get under the covers. I can feel the air cooling already.”
“I am fine,” Miranda said. “But you forgot to put out the lamp.”
“I left it on for you, thinking you would sleep more easily if you could see your surroundings.”
“Ridiculous,” she said. “My eyes will be firmly closed, as will yours. At least, that is how I sleep.”
He got up brought the lamp to the table on his side of the bed. Once under the covers again, he doused it, shrouding the room in darkness.
“Good night, Miss Bright.”
“Good night, Lord Major Mercer.”
WHEN THEY’D PAID THE last toll before the Scottish border and then crossed the River Sark over a small bridge, Miranda put her head back and closed her eyes. She was sick of the coach, the jostling, the boredom, and her own terrible reproachful thoughts.
Finally, they were minutes away from being married!
Her insides quaked with the enormity of what she was doing. By mid-morning the day before, her aunt and uncle would have sent word back to London, and her father would have learned of her choice.
The previous night, she’d lain awake despite her tiredness. Knowing Philip’s warm and powerful body was inches away, she’d been distracted. Where he’d touched her before, she pulsated simply from his presence and from hearing his steady breathing.
The wayward part of her had considered stripping off and quenching her longing for him, letting him douse the blaze he’d ignited when from their first kiss. It wasn’t as if they wouldn’t be performing the marital act the following night after they were lawfully wedded, even if it was a chancy Scottish ceremony.
However, since he hadn’t offered, she’d steeled herself against appearing desperately depraved.
Unfortunately, Philip had been right — shewasuncomfortable. Her dress bunched up under her back and her skirts rucked up and twisted. Yet she made herself lie still to keep him unaware of her discomfort. Eventually, she must have fallen asleep for when she awakened at earliest light, he had flipped his half of the counterpane over her.
More a gentleman than a rake just when she would have enjoyed the scandalous, sensual facets of his nature.
“We shall go to the inn first,” he said, breaking into her thoughts. “Mayhap we can wed there and spend the last hour before sunset strolling the village as a married—”
The coach lurched to one side and stopped at an angle.
“What the devil?” Philip asked, pushing open the door on his side, which was higher, while Miranda had been thrown against her side of the carriage.
“Wait here,” he said, which she’d fully intended to do since her right shoulder was awkwardly pressed against the door and her cheek flattened on the window.
He climbed out. “Blast it all!” she heard him swear.
The next minute, he peered in.
“It will take longer than we’ve got to fix the wheel. Bloody decrepit roads! Where are the Romans when you need them? Come along, Miss Bright. We shall have to walk the rest of the way. Are you game?”
“Yes,” she answered softly. There was no point in not being game anymore.
Lifting her hand toward him, Philip reached in and hauled her out like the last herring in a brine barrel.
“Shall we bring anything?” she asked when he had her upright on her own two feet.
“No, my coachman will keep watch over our bags, and he is well-armed. Eventually, he’ll find us in the village.” He patted his pockets. “I’ve got money and my gloves.”
“I’ve got my reticule. Is my bonnet still tidy?”
Hurriedly, he glanced her way, but when she caught his eye, he paused and really looked at her. Finally, he said, “Let me assist.”
