Epilogue
TWO MONTHS LATER…
Warren Burville was deep in his cups, which was a very dangerous thing.
His vision swam as he left the coaching inn and staggered toward the waiting vehicle.
It wasn’t a public mail coach, but it was not his coach either.
He had foolishly forgotten to notify his driver of his plans to travel to the country, where he was to attend Darius and Meredith’s first country house party as a married couple.
His driver, Mr. Leeds, had apologized profusely when he explained that his coach was unavailable while a broken axel was being repaired.
It was a damned nuisance to hire a private travel coach like this. Still, he was too foxed to ride a hired horse. He couldn’t take the chance that he’d fall asleep and slip off the saddle.
The moon was high in the sky, illuminating the ground outside the inn. The coach driver loaded Warren’s travel trunk and valise onto the back and strapped them down on top of another two trunks.
“Are we ready to depart?” Warren asked as the driver finished the task.
“Yes sir. The other passenger is ready to depart.”
Warren halted, his hand on the coach door. “Other passenger?”
“Yes. When the innkeeper heard your destination, he asked to book another passenger who was traveling in the same direction.”
“But I requested a private coach,” Warren growled.
“It is a private coach, sir,” the driver replied flatly. “But as you are both headed to the same destination, I was able to take the additional fare.”
“Fine.” Warren muttered. Perhaps it was another of the house party guests. His head was pounding again, and the driver’s voice was like a knife to his skull.
He wrenched the coach door open none too gently and climbed into the vehicle.
He could just make out another figure in the dim confines of the coach.
Figuring he should greet the fellow, he held out a hand.
But before Warren could say a word, the coach jolted into motion, sending him crashing into the other person.
He grunted as he landed on something soft and most decidedly feminine. So, not a fellow then.
“I beg your pardon!” the woman hissed, shoving hard at his shoulders.
He grinned as his body pinned hers in the coach seat. “Darling, beg all you wish, and I will endeavor to deliver.” She seemed warm and inviting, this mystery creature.
A palm connected with his cheek, and the pain, however temporary, was like a bucket of cold water, providing much needed clarity on the situation.
He pushed away from the woman and collapsed on the opposite seat, groaning as the world tilted.
He tried to get a clear look at the woman facing him, but all he could make out was a dull frock and the pert bonnet with ribbons tied into a massive bow at the base of her chin.
Who the devil wore a bonnet at night? The woman’s features were too shrouded in shadow from the bonnet for him to see her clearly, but he was definitely seeing double of her.
“I say, do you perchance have a twin?” He teased. “Because I’m seeing two of you.”
“Are you drunk?” The woman demanded. He found the tone of feminine anger oddly arousing. He had never cared for fussy woman in general, but he was genuinely intrigued by this particular midnight mystery.
“Oh yes, quite foxed, darling. Have you ever been foxed?”
“Of course not! Only a fool would drink so much that they’d lose control, as you so clearly have.”
Warren grinned. The moonlight entering the coach was lighting up his face, which meant it also lit up his smile. Even drunk, he knew what effect his smile could have on a woman.
“I was in the midst of a card game. It was hard to lose, so had to drink to make sure that I did, in fact, lose.”
She scoffed. “You wanted to lose a card game?”
“Oh yes.” He continued to grin, because he knew she had to ask another question.
“Why?” she finally asked.
“Because life is not interesting unless you dare yourself to lose a little.”
She didn’t immediately reply. Instead, she made a sound like a harrumph.
“So…” He left the single word in the air a moment before continuing. “I wonder, are you hiding a passionate heart under that awful dress? Or are you some dour woman who despises passion?”
The callous question got the exact reaction he was hoping for. She leaned forward to smack him again. Warren caught her wrist and jerked her to sit across his lap, then used his hand to tug at those ridiculously long ribbons until he pulled the bonnet free of her head.
He saw a rather plain face of a woman in her late twenties, but her lips were quite exquisite. He kept her prisoner on his lap as he cupped her neck and closed the distance between them to kiss her.
Her lips parted in a gasp of shock and he slipped his tongue inside her mouth.
She tasted sweet, like lazy summer days full of ripe strawberries and lemonade.
He inhaled deeply as he kissed her more urgently, drunk now on the taste of her.
Her scent, a light floral aroma that came from no bottle but from time spent kneeling in a flower bed, wrapped itself around him, completing the masterful dream.
The mystery woman’s lips softened and she melted into him.
Christ, what luck he had!
The coach suddenly hit a rock on the road. They rose up and crashed down with a loud bang. The impact jolted him and his travel companion apart.
With a little curse, the woman jerked away from him and retreated to the seat opposite, hastily putting her bonnet back on her head.
He watched her try to pull her loose tresses back under the shelter of that silly bonnet.
It was intensely satisfying to know that because of his vigorous kissing, she failed to put her appearance back to rights and tossed the bonnet on the seat with a frustrated growl.
He stretched out his legs and crossed his arms over his chest. The alcohol was catching up with him and, as much as he wanted to steal another kiss, he simply wasn’t able to stay awake.
“So sorry, darling, but I’m afraid I must sleep now.” He chuckled as he closed his eyes.
The woman did not yell or shout or do anything that a woman would normally do after being kissed by a stranger. A more sober version of himself would question why, but sober Warren was hours away and that version of himself would no doubt believe this was all a dream. The best kisses always were.
* * *
Joan Henlow, the only daughter of the late Earl of Rivers touched her tingling lips with a trembling hand. She stared at the man who had kissed her like his life depended on it and then promptly fell asleep.
She knew this man, and the second she’d seen that devil-may-care smile her knees had buckled.
Warren Burville.
The last time she’d seen him she had been a young debutante. He had danced with her only once, but once was all she had needed to lose her heart and once was all he needed to walk away and never turn that smile upon her again.
That been six years ago. He’d been a young buck of twenty and she a girl of nineteen, eager, hopeful and ready for love. She’d seen Warren, danced with him, and knew no other man would ever make her feel the way he had.
Later, she learned that he was entirely unsuitable. He was too young to marry at the time and was quite reckless and wild. Now she was twenty-five, several years past those bright and eager days of her debut. She had never married, much to her parents disappointment.
After losing her father and her mother in quick succession to illness, she had thrown herself into managing her father’s estate and her own inheritance.
The hope was that she would marry and produce a male heir to take her father’s title before the next male relative was located by the solicitor, but she suspected that day might never come.
And now, just when she had given up on love and happy endings, the man who’d stolen her heart with one dance, had stolen a kiss and upended her quiet and controlled life.
“Damn you, Warren Burville,” she whispered. “Damn you.”
Thank you for reading The Duke’s Carriage Window!