The steward knocked politely on the door and informed them that dinner was now being served in the restaurant car.
Margaret stood up immediately, as if wanting to escape the confines of this small compartment, or perhaps it was him she was anxious to get away from.
Jacob wasn’t particularly hungry, but dinner would provide a diversion from thoughts of what their marriage would and wouldn’t be. And he too would be more comfortable if they were surrounded by others, although he would have to get used to them being alone together at his Northumberland estate.
That was something else her father had insisted upon, saying they needed to give this marriage a chance, and time alone together was the best way to achieve that. Jacob had no choice but to agree, certain that her father’s opinion of him was so low that he suspected that if he was not sequestered away in the countryside, Jacob would go straight from the marriage altar to another woman’s bed and completely humiliate his daughter.
He slid open the door of their compartment and as she brushed past him her feminine perfume wafted over him. His body instantly recalled what it had been like to hold her in his arms, to be surrounded by the scent of rosewater and her own feminine essence, to taste her sweet lips, to feel her soft body moving against his.
He coughed, while simultaneously trying to hold his breath so he would not breathe in any more of that enticing aroma.
Just friends, remember. You are not a complete lowlife. You do have some redeeming features.Although at that moment Jacob was struggling to remember what they were.
She walked ahead of him down the narrow corridor. Was it the movement of the train that made her hips sway from side to side in that seductive manner? Whatever it was, that was a part of her body that should not be drawing his gaze.
They approached the restaurant carriage and he reached out to slide open the wooden door, remembering not to breathe in so her scent could not cause inappropriate thoughts to invade his mind.
The train made a sudden lurch. She stumbled backwards. His arm encircled her slim waist, pulling her in towards him to stop her fall. The train continued its steady progress. Neither of them moved. His arm remained around her waist. Her body remained pressed up against his.
Under his hand he could feel the rise and fall of her breath and the warmth of her skin through her dress. His chest was flush against her back and his heart was beating so hard he was certain she must be aware of its pounding.
He glanced down at the curve of her neck. So close. So tempting. All he had to do was lean down and he could kiss that soft, delicate skin.
The sliding panel was pushed aside and an elderly man stood in the doorway to the restaurant carriage.
‘Excuse me,’ he said, causing Jacob to drop his arm. They both stepped back as the man edged past them.
Attempting to act as if nothing untoward had just happened, Jacob swept his hand towards the open door to signal for her to enter.
He followed behind her and they took their seats. Their marriage had only just begun and already it was abundantly clear that thinking of Margaret asjust a friendwas not going to be easy. But it was a challenge he would have to rise to, and that would entail doing all that he could to ensure one impulsive body part did not do some rising of its own, no matter how great the temptation.
Chapter Eleven
Margaret tried hard to compose herself. He was just saving her from a fall. That was all. It meant nothing. Her mind knew that. Now she just had to convince her body of that fact. She breathed slowly and deeply, willing her heartbeat to slow down as she tried to ignore how it felt to lean into the hard muscles of his chest, how his arm felt wrapped around her waist and how his masculine scent had surrounded her.
This man does not want you. Yes, he kissed you once, but only because you gave him little option. He only wants your friendship, nothing more.
To distract herself, Margaret looked around the restaurant carriage, pretending to take great interest in her surroundings.
‘This is rather nice, isn’t it?’ she said in her best conversational voice as she took in the table laid in the manner one would expect in the best homes, with polished silverware, glinting crystal glasses and fine china laid out on a crisp white tablecloth. Still avoiding looking at Jacob, she glanced around the carriage, at the wooden panels and polished brass trim glinting in the soft light of the gas lamps. Her wandering gaze was arrested by the sight of the woman staring back at her from the darkened windows draped with maroon velvet curtains.
The woman smiling as if her life depended on it was her. She looked such a ninny, and that was exactly how she felt, like a complete ninny, one who had overreacted to a meaningless gesture. A ninny who had seen his behaviour as a gesture of affection, even of desire, and not just as a way of stopping her from falling flat on her face.
That rictus smile still plastered on her face, her gaze moved to her fellow passengers. Several returned her smile, presumably thinking she was just a friendly young woman and not one so racked with nerves that her face had become frozen and she was doing everything she could to avoid looking at the man who was now her husband.
The waiter handed them menus and asked if they would like champagne.
‘Yes, please,’ she said immediately, then just as quickly wondered if that was a good idea. Would champagne soothe or increase her nervousness? Before she had answered that question, the waiter filled their glasses with the bubbly liquid.
‘Perhaps we should have a toast,’ Jacob said, raising his glass.
Margaret raised her eyebrows but not her glass. ‘To what? To forced marriage? To our plan for a fake engagement failing dismally? To finding ourselves in a situation neither of us wanted?’
‘Yes, to all three,’ he said, not lowering his glass but sending her a roguish smile that suggested he found everything, including this marriage, a big joke. ‘Or perhaps to making the best of things,’ he added.
‘You want to drink to making the best of a bad situation, which is our marriage?’
‘Yes. Or if that is too much to ask, then let’s just drink to friendship.’
