He had been too gruff. Too ducal. Too arsehole. “Please.”
After a moment, she released his hand and took up the book and began reading aloud again, but there was a quaver in her voice and she didn’t laugh.
Why did people—men, in particular—have to ruin that which approached perfection? He didn’t know the answer despite having done it many times himself. Could he take comfort, at least, it hadn’t been his fault on this occasion? Yes, but he was still angry Scheherazade had been violated. Shaken.
At the next stop, the vile man got out as quickly as he could, climbing over every other passenger in order to exit on the other side.
Scheherazade never stopped reading. Over the top of the book, Kittredge saw her raise her brows at him. He raised his brows back. Then one of her eyes shut very slowly and reopened.
Another first in his life. A woman had winked at him.
A wink meant a shared joke. A secret, shared joke.
And a wink from her . . . well, it was special, wasn’t it? In a way that a wink from Dagenham would never be.
That wink slithered under his clothing and coated his skin in a glow as his eyes watered. He put a fist to each eye. Damn. How could he be both an arseholeanda soft fool? Crying over a wink.
Stop it. The chit probably winks at men all the time.
At last, she lowered the book so he could see her smile. Within a few minutes, she was chortling again.
He leaned his head back and closed his eyes and let her voice and her remarkable laughter seep into his blood and bones. He would never forget this woman’s laugh.
Or her wink.
To call her a chit and accuse her of winking at every Tom, Dick, and Harry was just another example of his arseholery. Thank God, the assertion had only been in his mind and not out loud. And he’d only thought that because—
Goddamnit.
He hated that her wink felt like the greatest intimacy he’d ever experienced with a woman.
And he was not a virgin.
He sighed and opened his eyes and looked out the window. The sky continued to be gray.
If only it would snow.
If only it would snow so much the coach would be forced to stop before reaching London. Because now everyone inside the coach thought he and Scheherazade were husband and wife and they would have to keep up that pretense. And it would be crowded at the coaching inn because of the snow and people traveling for Christmas and there would be only the one room and only one bed for the married couple to share.
He would not take advantage. He would assure her he intended to sleep in a chair, but if she got cold, she might ask him to join her in the bed so they could use their shared body heat to ward off the chill.
He wouldn’t scare her. He would move without haste. He would be deliberate and gentle. She would never know the need pent up inside him. He would keep his mouth shut so he couldn’t say something offensive. He would just hold her and warm her against his chest and smell her dark hair and her soft skin.
Bah.
Such things only happened in books.
Three
No snow fell. Just as Kittredge had anticipated, miracles did not come to pass in the real world of 1817 on a muddy road on the way to London.
Far too soon, the coach was caught up in the traffic of the capital and stopping in the yard of the Swan With Two Necks.
He got out first and handed down Scheherazade. But then he was trapped helping the other occupants escape the carriage. However, unshackling all the baggage took time, and Kittredge strode over to wherehis wifestood, waiting.
He could have made her his sister. But he hadn’t. He had made herhis wife.
It was no accident. He and his mother were in perfect accord on this one point: Kittredge’s life would be much better if he were married. But he had never met a young woman of thetonwho didn’t hate him after meeting him. Who didn’t make him hate himself.
