far, he anchored them on the slippery slope. She blustered and protested all the way, and though he held his scowl, he could not deny taking pleasure from every touch. Even padded with layers of petticoats and wool, his estranged wife was a rare, lush confection, one he wanted to push down into the snow to taste, eat, and savor. To touch her underneath her clothes with his mouth and his hands until she couldn’t even remember what the word separation meant.
But alas, there would be none of that. As soon as they reached level ground, where she regained possession of her valise, she stormed, pink cheeked, away from him and down the snow-laden public road.
* * *
Furious at his continued efforts to torment her, Sophia fumed away, but with his long legs, Claxton easily matched her pace. Wordlessly, he wrested her valise from her grasp, freeing her of its burden. This time he did not demand that she turn back, but walked beside her, his boots making easy work of the snow. For a long while, they tromped along without speaking until she could bear the quiet no longer. She had never been one for successfully brooding in silence.
“How I envy you your Hessians,” she said, speaking straight from her mind. “Perhaps in the coming months, I will withdraw to the country. I’ll take to wearing men’s garments and boots and tromp through fields in search of adventure.”
He said nothing, only continued to make easy progress over the frozen earth. Before becoming duke, Claxton had been a colonel in the light dragoons, something that had inspired romantic opinions about him among the ranks of the ton ’s ladies, herself not excluded.
Sophia saw those physical attributes in him now, in the powerful stride of his legs and the measured breaths he took through his nose. She struggled to keep pace and appear as untaxed by the effort as he.
More words bubbled up into her mouth, any silly thing to break the uncomfortable quiet between them. “Perhaps I’ll even take to smoking a pipe.”
He growled, “You will not smoke a pipe.”
“I will if I want to.” She wouldn’t, of course, but she liked saying so just to shock him. “Once we are separated, I’ll do anything I want.”
“Such as spend all your time with Havering?” he asked in a low, cutting voice.
“Of course not,” she answered, startled by the accusation. “Why? Did he say something to you?”
Claxton made a sound between a grunt and a laugh. He gave her his profile and stared out over the field. Obviously Fox had indeed said something to Claxton. The knowledge did not please Sophia, but came as no surprise. Havering had always been protective, since they were children, but more so since her older brother Vinson’s death four years before. He and Vinson had been best friends, sharing university and their grand tours together, not to mention the fateful trip where Vinson had been lost. Then, of course, her father had died, a man who had been more like a father to Fox than his own. Perhaps earlier in life there had been certain expectations, but she had married Claxton, and Havering had never been—and would never be—more than a friend. Looking at the duke’s scowling profile, she could not help feeling badly that he might believe otherwise.
“What will you do, Claxton,” she queried softly, “when you are rid of me?”
He threw her a sharp glance, but a long moment later, he answered. “I’ve not given the future much thought. Perhaps I will go to Jamaica, if my diplomatic duties so allow. Haden has properties there, worked by freemen, in which I’ve invested. I’ve long wanted to see them for myself.”
“Jamaica sounds a world away,” she observed softly. “Exotic and delightfully warm in comparison to our present circumstance.”
What if he liked it there so much that he did not return? What if she never saw him again, not even in passing on a crowded London street? Her chest constricted at that thought or perhaps merely from the
But alas, there would be none of that. As soon as they reached level ground, where she regained possession of her valise, she stormed, pink cheeked, away from him and down the snow-laden public road.
* * *
Furious at his continued efforts to torment her, Sophia fumed away, but with his long legs, Claxton easily matched her pace. Wordlessly, he wrested her valise from her grasp, freeing her of its burden. This time he did not demand that she turn back, but walked beside her, his boots making easy work of the snow. For a long while, they tromped along without speaking until she could bear the quiet no longer. She had never been one for successfully brooding in silence.
“How I envy you your Hessians,” she said, speaking straight from her mind. “Perhaps in the coming months, I will withdraw to the country. I’ll take to wearing men’s garments and boots and tromp through fields in search of adventure.”
He said nothing, only continued to make easy progress over the frozen earth. Before becoming duke, Claxton had been a colonel in the light dragoons, something that had inspired romantic opinions about him among the ranks of the ton ’s ladies, herself not excluded.
Sophia saw those physical attributes in him now, in the powerful stride of his legs and the measured breaths he took through his nose. She struggled to keep pace and appear as untaxed by the effort as he.
More words bubbled up into her mouth, any silly thing to break the uncomfortable quiet between them. “Perhaps I’ll even take to smoking a pipe.”
He growled, “You will not smoke a pipe.”
“I will if I want to.” She wouldn’t, of course, but she liked saying so just to shock him. “Once we are separated, I’ll do anything I want.”
“Such as spend all your time with Havering?” he asked in a low, cutting voice.
“Of course not,” she answered, startled by the accusation. “Why? Did he say something to you?”
Claxton made a sound between a grunt and a laugh. He gave her his profile and stared out over the field. Obviously Fox had indeed said something to Claxton. The knowledge did not please Sophia, but came as no surprise. Havering had always been protective, since they were children, but more so since her older brother Vinson’s death four years before. He and Vinson had been best friends, sharing university and their grand tours together, not to mention the fateful trip where Vinson had been lost. Then, of course, her father had died, a man who had been more like a father to Fox than his own. Perhaps earlier in life there had been certain expectations, but she had married Claxton, and Havering had never been—and would never be—more than a friend. Looking at the duke’s scowling profile, she could not help feeling badly that he might believe otherwise.
“What will you do, Claxton,” she queried softly, “when you are rid of me?”
He threw her a sharp glance, but a long moment later, he answered. “I’ve not given the future much thought. Perhaps I will go to Jamaica, if my diplomatic duties so allow. Haden has properties there, worked by freemen, in which I’ve invested. I’ve long wanted to see them for myself.”
“Jamaica sounds a world away,” she observed softly. “Exotic and delightfully warm in comparison to our present circumstance.”
What if he liked it there so much that he did not return? What if she never saw him again, not even in passing on a crowded London street? Her chest constricted at that thought or perhaps merely from the
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