Page 60 of Miss Wylde and the Wynd

“Riveting?” She wasn’t certain what he meant.

“The book.”

Ah, yes, that was how she once described it. “Why do you ask?”

“Because you have been staring at the same page for the length of time it has taken you to read several.”

Her face heated. “Woolgathering, I suppose.” She closed the book. “Not riveting at all.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Damian would have asked Georgie what she had been thinking had they been alone. He could not remember seeing such a deep blush on her before. It wasn’t what she was reading. He’d read those pages over her shoulder because the book had lain open for a very long time so he knew that hadn’t captured her interest.

Frome followed Damian and Georgie from the carriage when it came to a stop at the next coaching inn. His friend arched an eyebrow and shook his head and Damian knew he wanted a private word, which couldn’t be found here.

“Please excuse me,” Georgie said right before she pushed her satchel toward him and hurried away.

Frome stepped further from the carriage and Damian followed and waited for his friend to speak.

“Married?” Frome asked.

“Yes,” Damian answered.

Frome narrowed his eyes and studied Damian. “Somehow, I do not believe you.”

He had already suspected that Frome would question his claim, but Damian would not admit to the truth where others may hear. Had they been alone, Damian would have been honest since Frome was one of the few gentlemen he trusted.

“Nor is she a lover. I know your type, which leaves me to wonder who she is and why the two of you are traveling together.”

“I will admit that there is a certain type of woman that I have pursued in the past, but they had been to fulfill the role as mistress. Those tastes do not extend to a wife. They serve separate purposes.”

The corner of Frome’s mouth quirked. “In the privacy of a bedchamber the purpose is the same is it not?”

Damian supposed that was true, for the most part.

“If she were truly your wife, you would have bedded her by now.”

Damian nearly choked at such a statement.

“The tension rolling off you is palpable, her as well. It makes me want to find a lover or jump in a cold lake.”

“You exaggerate, my friend. Perhaps it is your own dissatisfaction that you are projecting onto me.”

“Perhaps.” Frome chuckled. “If you will excuse me.”

As his friend walked away, Damian was left to wonder how it was possible that Frome had perceived so much from simply sitting across from him. Yes, they were friends but did not see the other nearly as much as they had while attending Cambridge, yet his observation was accurate.

It wasn’t possible that Damian had given anything away, unless Frome had noted his discomfort while lusting after Georgie. Yet, a husband desiring a new wife should not be so unusual.

*

Georgie nearly groaned when she had to return to her seat. She was tired of traveling on a mail coach. She was exhausted and her back and bottom were hurting. Each time they stopped, she left the coach immediately and walked and stretched until she had to board it again.

Frome left them in Stafford, and with each stop until they reached Liverpool, some people boarded, others left, a constant change of passengers except for her and Damian.

Damian sighed more times than she could count and often shifted in his seat. He’d pushed his fingers through his auburn hair so often that the curls were no longer neat but what she assumed they would be if he had just risen from bed, which went along with the auburn-streaked-with-blond beard that had started to grow. Not that she had any complaints. She rather liked the scruff along his jaw and lower portion of his face. Georgie was even tempted to touch his face to test the softness of his beard or find out if it was harsh and rough.

Of course, she did not. Such would have been improper, and forward, even if they had been alone instead of surrounded by other passengers.