Chapter Six
By the second day, the novelty of travel had palled for Thomas. His bed in the inn had been narrow and lumpy—just the sort that Tom Smith could afford. The Duke of Bonham would have sent a servant ahead to choose something better, so he could get a decent night’s sleep.
But his valet could do nothing about the uneasy dreams that had kept him tossing and turning half the night.
Thoughts of Louisa had filled his mind, forming a strange stew of the things he’d made up for Smith and actual memories.
Her nodding along as he read to her in the carriage and smiling at the ring he’d given her.
The sweet ‘oh’ of surprise her lips had made when admiring it on her hand.
And moments later, that tart comment about not wanting to be his sister. She had called him London’s most eligible bachelor. Was that how she saw him?
In his dreams, Percy had not returned to interrupt them. Instead, Thomas had pulled her across the table to him and stopped her taunts with a kiss. She’d responded instantly, with passionate kisses of her own, pressing her body to his and demanding he treat her like a woman instead of a child.
There had been nothing innocent about what followed. Fantasies involving silky skin, hot breath, willing words and the realisation that when she was flushed with passion, everything between nose and toes turned a luscious and kissable pink.
He rose at dawn and splashed in the water of the basin, glad of the icy cold of it.
The chill would help him order his thoughts and chase away the dreams before he saw her again.
He was trying to do something honourable and help her with her difficulties.
He should not be imagining anything more than a polite thank you from her and perhaps a letter at Christmas.
He dunked his head in the basin and shocked himself back to sanity. He was the most eligible bachelor in London, just as Louisa had said. Damn, but the water seemed far colder here than it did at home. It made him realise that Wade warmed the contents of the pitcher before bringing it to him.
The eggs brought in for breakfast were greasy and the bacon was tough.
He did not complain as he washed it down with half a pot of weak tea, deciding to view the entirety of his stay here as a reason to be grateful for the competence and loyalty of his own servants.
His birth had insulated him from so many of life’s inconveniences that he had no right whatsoever to be discontented.
Since Tom Smith had never eaten at a duke’s table, or slept on a down mattress with fine linen sheets, he would not have cared.
His mind would be full of thoughts about his impending marriage.
He’d have felt no shame for the dreams he’d had.
What kind of man would not dream of bedding Louisa Skeffington?
The Duke of Bonham, apparently. Perhaps that was why she’d been cross with him. And now, he was confused about what, exactly, he should be feeling about her. He went down to the courtyard to find Percy and Louisa, his mind still churning.
When he saw them, he suspected he was not the only one who’d had a difficult night. While Percy was his usually cheery self, Louisa looked just as tired as he was. He offered her a sympathetic smile and helped her into the carriage.
She offered a grateful smile in return. ‘These trips can be tiring at the best of times.’ She tried and failed to stifle a yawn, then gave him an embarrassed shrug.
‘Sleep while we are travelling,’ he said, yawning himself.
‘That would be very rude of me,’ she replied quickly.
‘Not at all.’
‘But…’
He held up a hand to stop her. He was not sure what she was about to say, but if it involved anything to do with respect for his title and fear of insulting him, he was in no mood to hear it.
He had not enjoyed her frank comments last night, but he’d rather argue with her than watch her crawl back into her shell and treat him as if he was untouchable.
‘If you were alone with Percy,’ he said. ‘Would you be afraid to nap?’
‘That is…’
He held up his finger to stop her. ‘Yes or no?’
She opened her mouth to protest further, and another yawn slipped out. Then, she sighed and said, ‘No.’
‘You are to treat me just the same,’ he said. ‘You are not obligated to entertain me as we go.’
‘But yesterday you read to me,’ she reminded him.
‘Because I wished to. If I’d had no energy for it, I wouldn’t have bothered. You are tired. So am I. A nap will do no harm.’
‘Maybe for just a few minutes,’ she said at last, letting her eyelids droop as she leaned back into the seat. By the time the horses began to move, she was sound asleep, breathing deeply and evenly across from him.
He smiled and leaned back as well. It was another small success in the battle to gain her trust. At least, for a little while, she was as relaxed and unguarded as she would ever be. The thought was surprisingly soothing.
For a while, he watched her as she slept.
He had spent nights in the beds of courtesans but could not remember any of them falling asleep beside him.
But why would they? Men liked to lie to themselves that those women did what they did for the pleasure of the act.
But what they did was a job and one did not sleep at work.
Even if they napped, it was done with catlike grace. They knew they were being observed and presented a pleasant picture to their admirers.
On the other side of the carriage, Louisa let out a soft snore.
He smiled with tender amusement. He had definitely never heard a woman do that. Perhaps, if she stretched out along the seat, she would sleep easier. He could help. He could take her in his arms, lay her down, and…
No.
No, that would not be a good idea.
The carriage rocked as it rounded a bend and she adjusted her position, leaning her head against the wall beside her.
He nodded in approval. It would be wise for him to sleep too if he could. But he regretted that he was not sitting beside her. He could wrap his arms around her and join her in slumber.
Also, a very bad idea.
He sighed and stretched his legs out before him, letting his boots encroach on her side of the coach. He moved a little to the side, and his right ankle brushed the inside of her left. His left touched her right.
The leather of his boots was heavy and unyielding. He felt nothing more than a slight pressure. But it did not matter. They were touching and doing it in a way even a lax chaperone would not permit. A slight twitch and his foot disappeared beneath her skirts.
So wrong. And yet, so innocent. Not an intentional intimacy. More than an accident of travel. He should not be enjoying it as much as he was.
He closed his eyes, smiled and settled down to sleep.
As the carriage pulled to a stop, Louisa startled awake to find herself staring into the sleepy green eyes of the duke waking on the other side of the carriage.
For a moment, she convinced herself that this was still part of the dream she’d been having that had begun with him giving her a ring and ended with sweet words and caresses. The scent of his cologne enveloping her in a woodsy, spicy cloud as he kissed her.
She blinked and the dream faded, though a hint of cedar and bay carried in the breeze from the open window. The ring was still there. He had given it to her last night. She could feel the unfamiliar weight of it on her hand.
She looked down to see their feet tangled together, her skirts snagged on the toe of his boots. She straightened up and pulled back slowly, trying not to call attention to this lapse of decorum.
If the duke had noticed, he gave no sign. He was staring out the window at the sun, which was halfway to the horizon on the opposite side of the sky from where it had been when they’d set off.
‘It was a long day,’ he said with a yawn and a stretch of both arms. ‘I do not blame you for sleeping through it.’
‘I did not mean…’
To snore.
To drool.
She pulled her handkerchief out of her reticule and dabbed at the corner of her lip. She had been unconscious for hours, sprawled in her seat without a shred of decency. She could not have been more of a witless fool if she’d tried.
He was still smiling and shook his head dismissively. ‘Do not trouble yourself with apologising. I was not bothered.’ He grabbed the strap on the ceiling and pulled himself across to open the door and kick out the step.
She slid after him, but her legs were stiff from too much sitting and her slipper tangled in her skirt as she tried to climb down. And, as happened so often when she was desperate to make up for a faux pas, she made things worse by tripping down the steps and lurching into his arms.
He laughed and let her slide down his body, holding her until she could steady herself. One hand lingered on her arm. And suddenly, she could imagine them, fresh from bed, rubbing up against each other as a reminder of what they’d done before falling asleep.
She pulled away, desperate to escape lest he see the truth in her eyes.
Before she could form a sentence, he spoke. ‘You are about to apologise again, aren’t you? As I said before, you needn’t be sorry in the least. It is my pleasure to be of assistance to such a charming woman.’
‘If you will not allow me to be sorry, you are taking away half of my vocabulary,’ she replied, straightening her skirts.
He let out another startled laugh. ‘Why, Miss Skeffington, I believe that was a joke. Or perhaps a witticism. We are making progress. You never jested with me when we were in London.’
‘Things were different there,’ she said, still afraid to meet his eyes as they entered the inn.