Chapter 6 #3
He shook his head, but an amused smile had taken up residence on his face. Her list had said she enjoyed open-air carriage rides, not that she enjoyed carriage races. And yet, he’d not seen her so animated in their few hours of acquaintance as he did now.
It was mesmerizing, to say the least. Her eyes were alight with mirth, and her cheeks were rosy with the chill of the air. Her hair had come undone at the front and was strewn messily across her forehead.
Attraction welled in him again, and he thrust it aside.
Or he attempted to.
“If you gain a second head wound, I will be sure to bring you back here to jostle your memory back into rightness.” He froze, hearing his own words and grimacing. “I apologize, that was insensitive. Certainly I do not wish that you would—”
“No.” She reached forward, grasping his wrist and cutting off his remorse.
“Please do not apologize. Everyone is tiptoeing about my injury, and it is frankly exhausting. I cannot tell if it pains them to speak of it or if they think it pains me. Please do not do the same—I appreciate the jests. If one cannot laugh through their trials, what do they have?”
Well, blast, now his attraction flared ever hotter. He wished she would remove her hand from his arm, so that he might more easily push off these odd feelings surging through him.
And he wished her mouth were not so very close.
“Still,” he said, grateful his voice did not show any of the tumultuous feelings he was experiencing, “I am happy you did not endure another injury just now. I half expected you to fall out of the phaeton.”
She pressed her lips together, thankfully removing her hand. “Trampled by cows. Can you imagine it?”
He pulled a face. “I would prefer not to.”
She scrunched her nose. “You are hardly any fun.”
He eased the horses back into a walk. “If your definition of fun involves imagining gruesome demises, I think that head injury did far more than affect your memory.” He grinned over at her.
“Touché, my lord.”
“Shopping, then?” They were less than ten minutes from the village now.
She settled back in her seat. “It sounds rather tame after what we’ve just survived, but I suppose we can. After all, I’ve lost my bonnet.”
His eyes trailed over her head, the golden strands glowing. He swallowed hard. “I would say that we could walk along the road to find it, but I fear the return of the cows.”
She clapped her hands together. “Oh, how entertaining would that be? Can we really? It was rather a nice bonnet.”
He shook his head dubiously, but his traitorous mouth was curling upward again. Her enthusiasm was catching.
“Very well. Allow me to—”
She gathered her skirts in one hand and was halfway out of the phaeton before she froze, looking back. “Oh dear, I am supposed to wait for you to help me, am I not?”
“Generally,” he said drily. “But by all means.” He gestured her forward and her enticing lips flashed in a grin before she jumped down.
He did likewise, securing the horses and coming to her side. “You had best hope the cows do not become excited again, or your parents will be very displeased with me.” He offered his arm, but half expected she would not take it. Who was this creature and where had his expected Miss Whitmore gone?
She did curl her hand around his forearm though, sending unwelcome pinpricks of attention up to his chest. “Where is your appetite for excitement?” she teased with a smile, propelling them forward.
He shook his head, entirely flummoxed by the whole situation. Had he fallen from the carriage and hit his head? Wasn’t she supposed to love embroidery, and he enjoy a mad dash down the lane, not the opposite?
It was not long before he spotted the bonnet, caught at the edge of the lane. He pointed, and Miss Whitmore released him to scoop it up.
The poor thing was mangled nearly beyond recognition. It was crushed on one side, mud caked the top, and even the ribbons seemed to have given up on the entire affair, waving feebly in the breeze as Miss Whitmore lifted it.
Benedict grimaced. “I am terribly sorry.”
“Have no fear, Lord Ellison. If you were unaware, I have a terrible memory. So this particular ornament holds no specific place in my heart.” Her eyes lifted to his, and entertainment danced in their depths.
“Though I do suppose we cannot avoid the shopping now. You promise to tell me if the milliner tries to sell me a hideous bonnet? I have no understanding of the latest fashions.”
“You put a great deal of trust in me, Miss Whitmore. Are you certain you would not rather wait for your mother to attend you?”
“Oh no, I find myself very desirous of a companion who is certain to be as uncomfortable as I.”
As one, they turned back to the carriage. “But you are meant to enjoy shopping, Miss Whitmore.”
She sighed, her ruined bonnet clasped in her hands. “I know I am meant to… ” She paused, the bonnet bouncing against her leg. “It will be delightful, I am sure. So long as you do not have another engagement to keep?”
“Not a one.”
Her smile was quick. “Then shopping it is.”