wife, the other the mistress, the progeny running tame on theestate—you did do that, I imagine. That’s a level of civilization I don’t think I could ever aspire to, myself.”
The coachman tapped three times on the roof and then immediately sprang the horses, indicating that they were now out of the confines of London. But it all happened rather quickly, and Beau, who had been slouching in his seat like some recalcitrant schoolboy, was suddenly catapulted across the space between them, all but landing in her lap. He saved himself by firmly planting his arms on either side of her, his forward progress stopping only as they were all but nose-to-nose in the dark.
“Sorry,” he said, not moving. “I’m not usually this clumsy.”
Chelsea attempted to speak without breathing. “Is that so? Tell me, how clumsy are you…usually?”
“My reputation would have it that I am not clumsy at all. Indeed, in many areas, I’m considered quite…accomplished.”
Chelsea rolled her eyes at this blatant nonsense, even as her heart rate jumped dramatically. “I imagine I’m supposed to be impressed all hollow now, being told that my soon-to-be husband is…well, whatever it was that you were hinting. Clumsily, I might add.”
He pushed a bit away and sat himself down beside her on the front-facing squabs. “No wonder your brother turned to religion. A sister like you could send anyone into a sad decline and hunting desperately for salvation.” He unlatched the leather shade next to him, letting in the first light of day, and then turned to look at her. “You aren’t at all impressed?”
“I saw the waistcoat, remember? The years may have changed your outside, thank goodness, but I know who you are. People don’t really change that much. They just learn to hide themselves better. That’s why I know that Thomas’s new outside is only hiding the same uninspired inside. He wears his devotion like a cloak, to conceal and to be easily removed.”
“I’ll have to remember that.”
“If you plan on surviving until we’re safely married, yes, I would say you should. And Francis Flotley is just like my brother, only worse. At least Thomas believes he’s doing God’s work. The Reverend is pious for money.”
Beau took her chin in his hand and turned her head to look at her. Rather strangely, she thought. “You’re not a child anymore, are you? In fact, I’m beginning to worry that you’re wiser than I.” He let go of her chin. “But then I remember that you actually think you’re being brilliant, bracketing yourself to a bastard, and I relax again.”
Until he looks at me that way, unless he touches me. Chelsea coughed into her glove, a ruse meant to make him think she was doing nothing more than that, when in truth, she was trying very hard not to admit that she had been having second thoughts.
She hadn’t realized how manly he would be; she’d still kept him in her mind as the raw youth he’d been. Silly, sympathetic, not at all worldly.
Easily manipulated.
The man sitting beside her, especially now that he was not suffering from the misery caused by strong drink, was anything but easily handled, led, directed.
Worse, he actually seemed to be attracted to her. Perhaps that came more easily to men, this being attracted thing. Show a man a skirt and an at least passably pleasant countenance, and he could easily convince himself that he found that woman attractive.
It wasn’t that way with females. At least it wasn’t that way for her.
She certainly wasn’t new to the marriage mart, the annual spring hunt for a suitable husband and father for her children. She’d weighed and discarded wealthy gentlemen, titled gentlemen, both wealthy and handsome gentlemen. None of them had affected her in the slightest, until she had at last concluded that this business about flutters in her stomach and daydreams about sweet stolen kisses in the moonlight were fine for the pages of a marble-backed novel, but had
The coachman tapped three times on the roof and then immediately sprang the horses, indicating that they were now out of the confines of London. But it all happened rather quickly, and Beau, who had been slouching in his seat like some recalcitrant schoolboy, was suddenly catapulted across the space between them, all but landing in her lap. He saved himself by firmly planting his arms on either side of her, his forward progress stopping only as they were all but nose-to-nose in the dark.
“Sorry,” he said, not moving. “I’m not usually this clumsy.”
Chelsea attempted to speak without breathing. “Is that so? Tell me, how clumsy are you…usually?”
“My reputation would have it that I am not clumsy at all. Indeed, in many areas, I’m considered quite…accomplished.”
Chelsea rolled her eyes at this blatant nonsense, even as her heart rate jumped dramatically. “I imagine I’m supposed to be impressed all hollow now, being told that my soon-to-be husband is…well, whatever it was that you were hinting. Clumsily, I might add.”
He pushed a bit away and sat himself down beside her on the front-facing squabs. “No wonder your brother turned to religion. A sister like you could send anyone into a sad decline and hunting desperately for salvation.” He unlatched the leather shade next to him, letting in the first light of day, and then turned to look at her. “You aren’t at all impressed?”
“I saw the waistcoat, remember? The years may have changed your outside, thank goodness, but I know who you are. People don’t really change that much. They just learn to hide themselves better. That’s why I know that Thomas’s new outside is only hiding the same uninspired inside. He wears his devotion like a cloak, to conceal and to be easily removed.”
“I’ll have to remember that.”
“If you plan on surviving until we’re safely married, yes, I would say you should. And Francis Flotley is just like my brother, only worse. At least Thomas believes he’s doing God’s work. The Reverend is pious for money.”
Beau took her chin in his hand and turned her head to look at her. Rather strangely, she thought. “You’re not a child anymore, are you? In fact, I’m beginning to worry that you’re wiser than I.” He let go of her chin. “But then I remember that you actually think you’re being brilliant, bracketing yourself to a bastard, and I relax again.”
Until he looks at me that way, unless he touches me. Chelsea coughed into her glove, a ruse meant to make him think she was doing nothing more than that, when in truth, she was trying very hard not to admit that she had been having second thoughts.
She hadn’t realized how manly he would be; she’d still kept him in her mind as the raw youth he’d been. Silly, sympathetic, not at all worldly.
Easily manipulated.
The man sitting beside her, especially now that he was not suffering from the misery caused by strong drink, was anything but easily handled, led, directed.
Worse, he actually seemed to be attracted to her. Perhaps that came more easily to men, this being attracted thing. Show a man a skirt and an at least passably pleasant countenance, and he could easily convince himself that he found that woman attractive.
It wasn’t that way with females. At least it wasn’t that way for her.
She certainly wasn’t new to the marriage mart, the annual spring hunt for a suitable husband and father for her children. She’d weighed and discarded wealthy gentlemen, titled gentlemen, both wealthy and handsome gentlemen. None of them had affected her in the slightest, until she had at last concluded that this business about flutters in her stomach and daydreams about sweet stolen kisses in the moonlight were fine for the pages of a marble-backed novel, but had
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