“Well enough to allow a kiss the next time there is an opportunity?”
So, she was right. He had wanted to kiss her before the racing carriage had reminded them how vulnerable they were on the side of the road.
Her head screamed yes, but until today Ester had never been so bold. “I suppose you’ll have to wait and see.”
“If we keep to this path, it should be interesting.”
His tone was a mix of arrogance and promise. He surely knew she was vulnerable to his charms. That unsettled her. The gulf between their feelings seemed wide. Would he use it to his advantage?
His hand slacked its hold. The abrasion on his knuckle scraped against her elbow. She should’ve changed her outfits, to be less sensitive to his touches. Ordering her thoughts to the mission of getting to Gretna without being caught, she focused on the road, which seemed to be narrowing. “I still can’t believe you chose to fight within hours of our elopement.”
“Sometimes, the fight picks you. You don’t always have the luxury of choosing.”
“I suppose.”
“Miss Croome, I learned to box at an early age. It comes in handy—with drunks, theater critics, reporters.” He wriggled his head, his forehead finding that space between her ear and collarbone to perch. “It will come in handy for those who are rude to Mrs. Bex.”
It warmed her heart that he was already protective her, but how would she fit into his world? “Bex,” she said in a voice she hoped was low and easy, “How will your friends take that you are married.”
“Just fine. If I had any. Well, Jonesy did wish us well.”
“Jonesy? Another actor?”
“A stable boy.”
No friends? “Bex, you are so wonderful on stage, larger than life. How can you not have friends? No one from childhood? No one from before you made a splash in London?”
He bristled and turned further away. “It can happen. I like to be alone.”
“With a preference for being alone—how exactly will that work for our marriage?”
His restless turning made the seat squeal. “Another thing we’ll have to wait and see.”
More distance separated them, and she instantly missed the heat of him and the smell of his soap. Maybe a spice?
Up a hill and down the other side, she kept the phaeton moving. Taking a glance at him nodding off, Ester didn’t like the imbalance between them—she infatuated, him not so much. “Why were you answering newspaper advertisements for a wife?”
Sigh.Snort-half whistle.
“Thanks, Bex.”
“Just.” His voice sounded weary, half audible. “Just felt…I just felt it was time.”
It was a small, unsatisfying confession. Stewing, she concentrated on the horses, but couldn’t help looking over at him for better answers. He should use his melodious voice to set her at ease, to say that he saw something special in her other than desperation.
Yet, each casual peek made the phaeton veer. She couldn’t resist.
He stretched. “Miss Croome, you’re not driving smoothly. Pull over and let me take control.”
Him taking control wasn’t what she wanted. “I haven’t driven that long. You need to rest. Won’t we be near a coaching inn soon?”
His hand tightened on the leather strap. “In another hour. But I’d like to make it there unharmed. You’re swaying. Pull over to the side. I’ll drive.”
“My friend, Mrs. Fitzwilliam-Cecil, she says it’s not safe to stop on the road. Highwaymen or thieves could lurk in the shadows.”
“Your friend is right, but her warning might be making you unduly nervous. Rest assured, you are safe with me. I’m a boxer, remember.”
One glance and Ester knew she wasn’t safe. Not from his humor, his condescension, or the lightness his presence caused her stomach. “The loner boxer who now wants to be a husband. Should I be nervous or cautious?”
