Chapter 6
Gregory rubbed his sore neck and closed his eyes, briefly shutting out the view of the countryside passing by his window as the carriage left the Fox and Hen behind.
Morning had come all too soon for his liking, which was an unusual sentiment for him. He’d been an early riser for as long as he could remember and usually loved mornings and the promise of a brand new day ahead.
Of course, he usually started his day in a proper bed, not a chair that hadn’t been comfortable since sometime last century.
Needless to say, he was exhausted. He’d tossed and turned all night in that damn chair, trying to find a comfortable position, to no avail. There was no comfortable position to be found, and he had the stiff neck and back to prove it.
Of course, his sleep troubles weren’t solely the fault of the chair. Some of the blame lay with the woman beside him, peering out her window at the drizzly autumn day.
She hadn’t meant to, but Justina had tormented him nearly as much as the chair.
She’d had no trouble falling asleep last night, or staying asleep, and he knew this because he was awake all night, and heard her every breath, every sigh, every little movement that rustled the cotton sheets or made the oak bed frame creak.
It was hell.
It might have been amusing if it wasn’t so pathetic. So indecent.
He was supposed to be helping her, for pity’s sake, not lusting after her like some single-minded beast in heat.
His mind and his conscience knew that, but his body didn’t care. His body simply wanted her, any way it could have her, and no amount of reasoning or shaming had helped.
And now here he was, trapped in a carriage with her, with no ruddy idea when he would find a private moment to ease his discomfort.
He sighed. He wasn’t usually like this. He didn’t spend his days in a constant state of arousal, but there was something about Justina that affected him like no other woman had.
He probably wouldn’t want her so badly if he didn’t like her so much. She was gorgeous, yes, and he absolutely wanted to see her naked, but there was more to the attraction than just her physical attributes.
He liked being with her. He liked her intelligence, her wit, her kindness. She made him laugh.
And he was going to miss her when they said goodbye.
“Gregory?”
He turned and found Justina watching him, a crease between her brows.
“Are you certain you’re well?” she asked. “You’ve been very quiet this morning.”
He smiled. “I’m fine.”
She gave him a dubious look. “The grimace you’ve been wearing on your face would suggest otherwise.”
He never had been very good at hiding his feelings. “I suppose I am a bit tired,” he admitted. “Sleeping in that chair left me with a rather sore neck.”
He gave his neck muscles a rub for good measure, waiting for the inevitable I told you so, but what she said instead surprised him—though it probably shouldn’t have. She’d surprised him at every turn from the first moment they met.
“Come, turn around,” she said briskly, “and I’ll rub your neck for you. I may not appear all that strong, but I assure you, I have very capable hands.”
Gregory hesitated a beat. A neck rub did sound tempting...for his neck, anyway. It was how the rest of his body would respond that worried him.
He was already in a state of discomfort. Allowing Justina to put her hands on him, even for something as innocent as a neck rub, was most certainly a bad idea.
Still, his neck was sore, and he was a grown man in full control of his faculties. Surely he could withstand her touch for a few minutes without embarrassing himself.
“If you insist,” he murmured, before turning in his seat so his back was to her. His movements were stiff and awkward, and his heart was thudding in his chest with both anticipation and dread.
“Take off your coat,” Justina ordered, her breath a warm caress against the bare skin at his nape.
Suppressing a shiver, he shrugged out of his coat and laid it on the opposite seat out of the way. Then he clasped his hands in his lap and waited for her to begin.
“Relax,” she cooed, her voice a near-whisper that seemed to touch him everywhere.
And then she did touch him, her hands settling on his shoulders, warm and gentle, her fingers flexing and gripping as if learning the feel of him.
Gregory swallowed and shut his eyes, willing his mind and body to relax as she’d instructed.
It is only a neck rub.
It is only a neck rub.
He repeated the words in his mind as her hands began to move, her fingers and thumbs kneading the muscles of his shoulders and upper back with thorough, expert strokes that were simultaneously sublime and torturous.
His muscles began to relax and unknot even as his thoughts took a different path, a wicked one, dotted with carnal imaginings and lustful yearning. He pictured her hands slipping from his shoulders, trailing down his back and sliding underneath his shirt to stroke his bare skin.
He pictured her fingers raking lightly down his sides, edging around his waist and down his abdomen to the falls of his trousers.
He pictured her loosening the buttons, freeing his cock and fisting him, her skin petal-soft against his throbbing flesh as she began to stroke him—
“Is this all right?” she asked, her hands going still, and Gregory realized he’d emitted a sort of strangled groan without meaning to and he cleared his throat.
Get a hold of yourself, man.
“Yes. It feels fine.” He fairly grunted the words, but it was the best he could do while battling the growing threat of an erection.
He shifted in his seat and spoke again, softening his tone. “In truth, it feels marvelous.”
“Good,” she said, and he could hear the smile in her voice. “I used to do this for my husband, and I became rather good at it, if I do say so myself. He was afflicted with terrible megrims, but this always seemed to make him feel better.”
Christ. Here he was, lusting after her, imagining every wicked turn this perfectly innocent neck rub could take, and all the while, she’d been thinking about her dead husband’s megrims. Guilt roiled in his stomach.
“That’s enough,” he said gruffly, easing away from her touch. “Thank you. That was precisely what I needed.”
He reached for his coat, avoiding her gaze as he retreated to the safety of his corner of the carriage.
“You’re welcome,” she replied, her voice mildly perplexed. “Happy to be of service.”
Folding up his coat, he slipped it beneath his head to use as a pillow and closed his eyes. “In fact, I’m so relaxed now, I think I’ll take a nap.”
He nestled into the squabs and crossed his arms over his chest, resisting the urge to steal a glance at her as the silence stretched for several beats before she spoke again.
“Oh. Right. Well, then…enjoy your nap, Your Grace.”
He didn’t instruct her to use his given name this time. Instead, he merely nodded his thanks and let the silence settle over the space, uncomfortable yet necessary.
He needed to gain control again—control over this moment, this situation, his body, his thoughts. Everything. He was a disciplined man, accustomed to his own rhythms and routines and Justina had come into his life and upended it without even trying.
He must regain control.
Inhaling a deep breath, he willed his body to relax and his mind to clear, but it was a difficult thing when he could feel Justina’s presence beside him, warm and alive and distracting as hell.
Even more difficult when he could still feel her hands on his body, her warm breath on his neck.
He had a very strong feeling there would be no nap in his future.
Justina settled back against the squabs and smoothed her skirts into place, stealing another glance at the perplexing man pretending to nap beside her.
She’d only just met the duke, but in these past few days, she’d gleaned enough to form a general idea of his personality and temperament. He was sweet, affable, mild-mannered.
So why had he suddenly gone all gruff and awkward with her? He’d enjoyed the neck rub, there was no question of that, so why had he ended it so soon, and so abruptly? Had something upset him?
She couldn’t imagine what that might be. Perhaps he was simply out of sorts because he was tired. He couldn’t have slept well last night, not in a chair that had given him a sore neck, though he had to know he only had himself to blame. She’d offered to share the bed and he’d refused.
Frustrated, Justina turned to the window and huffed out a silent sigh. Men. She loved them, truly she did, but she’d learned long ago that pride could turn even the most sensible man into an unreasonable buffoon.
Even Phillip was afflicted on occasion, and he had been the steadiest, most even-tempered person she’d ever known.
She smiled as memories flitted through her mind. Her marriage had been wonderful, but it wasn’t perfect. She and Phillip had butted heads on occasion, which led to some passionate rows, which then led to even more passionate lovemaking.
She missed that. She didn’t often allow herself to wonder what life would be like if he were still here, but every now and then she couldn’t help but muse over all that might have been.
Would they have a child now? Perhaps a little girl with Phillip’s black curls and mischievous smile?
With a little brother for her on the way?
Her heart ached for all she had lost, the future filled with love and joy that now seemed like a dream she could never recapture.
Oh, she knew she was not in her dotage. She was still young and there was every possibility she would marry again, but it wouldn’t be the same. Phillip was gone and she would never have again what she used to have with him.
She missed him terribly, but she also missed the girl she’d been before he died, the girl brimming with youthful innocence and hope.
She would never be that girl again, never reclaim the innocence she’d possessed before it was stolen from her, and that sense of loss still lingered even now.
Not as acutely as it once had, but it was there, and it probably always would be.