body.”
“Oh, my goodness,” Chelsea said, trying not to smile. “I know I’m asking you to deviate from the story, but did the horse survive?”
“It did. As did my father, my aunt and my mother. Relatively speaking. I’ll spare you the details of the romance, but the upshot was that my father and mother fell in love, my father asked for her hand in marriage, and she turned him down flat.”
Chelsea’s eyes widened in astonishment. “So he shrugged his shoulders, told himself one was as good as the other and married your aunt?”
“Hardly. My father was devastated, for he truly loved his Adelaide. But Adelaide truly wished to be an actress, traveling the countryside with a troupe, one day performing at Covent Garden. She was, and is, quite dedicated to what she calls her craft. She knew that a man who would one day rise to the title of Marquessof Blackthorn could not possibly be wed to a common actress, but that didn’t mean she didn’t love her dearest Cyril with all of her being—that’s nearly a direct quote, by the way.”
The coach hit a hole in the road, and Beau instinctively reached over with his free arm at chest level to hold Chelsea in her seat. Her instinctive response was to slap her free hand against her chest before realizing that, yes, the man’s palm was all but cupping her breast…and she was helping him by holding it there.
“Now, that’s interesting,” Beau drawled maddeningly, clearly amused. And not moving his hand, even as she dropped hers in her lap.
“Take it off,” she said quietly, knowing she both looked and sounded the fool.
“Oh, yes, definitely. Would that be my hand, or your jacket?”
“I will count to—”
“Not again,” he said, withdrawing his hand. She struggled not to touch herself again, to ease the tingling burn his touch had caused. “You know that was an accident.”
“For three seconds, it was an accident,” she corrected primly, at last succeeding in withdrawing her other hand from his grip. “After that, it was deliberate. You’re no gentleman, Oliver Blackthorn.”
“Once again, you point out the obvious. I would also point out that I don’t care to be called Oliver, but that’s probably why you’re doing it, so I won’t. But I do apologize.” He was silent for the space of three heartbeats.“At least I suppose I should. We are going to be married, remember.”
“There’s many a slip between the cup and the lip, Oliver. We may find a way out of this yet.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she wished them back. “I mean, yes, of course. We’re going to be married. But I don’t think we should…that we should anticipate our vows.”
“In case you change your mind,” Beau said quietly.
“In case circumstances change,” she put forth, hoping she sounded reasonable. “Thomas might realize that he was wrong to demand I marry Francis Flotley and be racing even now to Gretna Green, to apologize. You…um. You may not have to sacrifice yourself. I mean, this was all my idea, and I am coming to realize that I have put a terrible imposition on your, um, your…”
“Good nature?” Beau supplied, which made her want to slap his grinning face for him. “Then again, if Thomas were to, as you say, catch us up before we reach Gretna Green and jump over the anvil or whatever the devil it is we have to do, and shoot me straight through my heart, it might put a crimp in his plan to sneak you back to London with nobody the wiser if you were to present him with the bastard’s bastard nine months later.”
Chelsea’s cheeks went hot, as did other parts of her she would only think about later when she was alone. “I cannot believe we are having this conversation.”
“I can’t believe I’m on my way to Scotland to wed my enemy’s sister, which probably makes us even ifeither one of us is keeping a tally. Again, I apologize. I hadn’t realized I’ve been skulking about England for the past day and night, and
“Oh, my goodness,” Chelsea said, trying not to smile. “I know I’m asking you to deviate from the story, but did the horse survive?”
“It did. As did my father, my aunt and my mother. Relatively speaking. I’ll spare you the details of the romance, but the upshot was that my father and mother fell in love, my father asked for her hand in marriage, and she turned him down flat.”
Chelsea’s eyes widened in astonishment. “So he shrugged his shoulders, told himself one was as good as the other and married your aunt?”
“Hardly. My father was devastated, for he truly loved his Adelaide. But Adelaide truly wished to be an actress, traveling the countryside with a troupe, one day performing at Covent Garden. She was, and is, quite dedicated to what she calls her craft. She knew that a man who would one day rise to the title of Marquessof Blackthorn could not possibly be wed to a common actress, but that didn’t mean she didn’t love her dearest Cyril with all of her being—that’s nearly a direct quote, by the way.”
The coach hit a hole in the road, and Beau instinctively reached over with his free arm at chest level to hold Chelsea in her seat. Her instinctive response was to slap her free hand against her chest before realizing that, yes, the man’s palm was all but cupping her breast…and she was helping him by holding it there.
“Now, that’s interesting,” Beau drawled maddeningly, clearly amused. And not moving his hand, even as she dropped hers in her lap.
“Take it off,” she said quietly, knowing she both looked and sounded the fool.
“Oh, yes, definitely. Would that be my hand, or your jacket?”
“I will count to—”
“Not again,” he said, withdrawing his hand. She struggled not to touch herself again, to ease the tingling burn his touch had caused. “You know that was an accident.”
“For three seconds, it was an accident,” she corrected primly, at last succeeding in withdrawing her other hand from his grip. “After that, it was deliberate. You’re no gentleman, Oliver Blackthorn.”
“Once again, you point out the obvious. I would also point out that I don’t care to be called Oliver, but that’s probably why you’re doing it, so I won’t. But I do apologize.” He was silent for the space of three heartbeats.“At least I suppose I should. We are going to be married, remember.”
“There’s many a slip between the cup and the lip, Oliver. We may find a way out of this yet.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she wished them back. “I mean, yes, of course. We’re going to be married. But I don’t think we should…that we should anticipate our vows.”
“In case you change your mind,” Beau said quietly.
“In case circumstances change,” she put forth, hoping she sounded reasonable. “Thomas might realize that he was wrong to demand I marry Francis Flotley and be racing even now to Gretna Green, to apologize. You…um. You may not have to sacrifice yourself. I mean, this was all my idea, and I am coming to realize that I have put a terrible imposition on your, um, your…”
“Good nature?” Beau supplied, which made her want to slap his grinning face for him. “Then again, if Thomas were to, as you say, catch us up before we reach Gretna Green and jump over the anvil or whatever the devil it is we have to do, and shoot me straight through my heart, it might put a crimp in his plan to sneak you back to London with nobody the wiser if you were to present him with the bastard’s bastard nine months later.”
Chelsea’s cheeks went hot, as did other parts of her she would only think about later when she was alone. “I cannot believe we are having this conversation.”
“I can’t believe I’m on my way to Scotland to wed my enemy’s sister, which probably makes us even ifeither one of us is keeping a tally. Again, I apologize. I hadn’t realized I’ve been skulking about England for the past day and night, and
Similar Books
