Page 53 of Better Off Wed

“He must have been a very educated man.”

“He was a clergyman. At one time—” The curve of his mouth deepened, though it lost some of its humor. “At one time I intended to follow in his footsteps.”

It was not difficult to imagine. There was a gentleness about him, an earnestness, a desire to help. He would have been well-suited to a life of peace and quiet.

Instead, he’d become a soldier. And not entirely by choice.

She thought back to the last ride in this carriage, his conversation with Lord Thornton about debts and dowries, and Jeremy’s insistence that he would not marry her. She was accustomed to thinking of men as being free to do what they wanted, with little to stand in their way.

But clearly that wasn’t always the case.

What could she say in response to such a revelation? “Dora Pratt and Emily Godfrey will be glad you turned your hand to code breaking.”

He had been studying his notes, or rather staring at them. His thoughts seemed to be far away. But when she spoke, he lifted his gaze and fixed her with those extraordinary eyes. “And you, Laura? Are you glad?”

He might have resumed calling her “Miss Hopkins.” No one else could hear them now. It would have felt strange and impersonal, true, but she would have accepted it as inevitable.

“I—I’m sure you’re very good at what you do,” she managed to stammer. “The deduction about the chess book seemed quite brilliant, and—”

He tossed the paper aside but did not watch it flutter down to join the rest. “I think you know that’s not what I meant.”

“I—yes.” She swallowed, suddenly nervous, unable—unwilling—to break his gaze. “I’m glad you’re here. Glad I’m here—well, not glad about my ankle or about Thornton, of course, but…glad to be with you. More than glad, actually.”

Good heavens, when had she become a rambler? Sitting here, with her foot cradled practically in his lap and his eyes blazing down at her like the summer sky, the needing him and the wanting him were tangling together inside her. Worse, on the very journey back to London, back to their ordinary, separate lives, she was losing the will to distinguish between wanting him and needing him. Losing the will to keep denying to herself that she felt something more for him, besides.

“So am I.”

The sound of his quiet confession was lost to the creak and rattle of the coach. But she watched his lips form the words, certain of what he’d said even as she wondered what he meant. Last night, she had felt ample evidence that he wanted her. But did he need her?

And what about the something more?

“I’m glad I was sent to find you, and that I was able to play the parts you demanded of me with reasonable success. A little improvisation is good for the soul. Keeps the mind limber too. The attic had got rather cluttered,” he said, tapping one temple. “Why, I might never have sorted out that cookbook if not for you. When you said that bit about the pages being too clean for a real cookbook, everything finally fell into place. I could’ve kissed you—”

He had shaken off his momentary solemnity in favor of a light and merry tone. Nevertheless, when he sucked in a sharp breath after those final words, she wondered whether he wished he could take them back.

She tilted her head. “Why didn’t you, then?”

“Dinah would have been scandalized,” he said, after clearing his throat.

“At seeing a pair of newlyweds share a kiss? I doubt it. She strikes me as a young woman with some knowledge of the world. But if that was your excuse,” she said, winding the reticule’s ribbon around her first finger, “what’s stopping you now?”

Jeremy dragged his gaze to the window, passing slowly over Laura on the way, watching the ribbon loosen and unfurl. “Last night, we agreed… It would be wrong…”

“You have a religious objection, I suppose.”

A muscle twitched along his jaw, not anger, but some emotion, barely suppressed. “Not as such, no.”

“From what I understand, it’s quite usual for couples who’ve had a spat—even a manufactured one—to kiss and make up.” He turned toward her again and opened his mouth to speak, but she held up one finger to stay him and talked on. “You must not worry about my reputation. You have already made clear that you will not marry me, and I think I understand your reasons. But you should also believe me when I say I do not want—that is, I’m not eager to give up my independence. Or my work.” She turned her peremptory gesture into a dismissive wave of her hand. “Where would I find a husband who would willingly allow me to go on being Lady Sterling?”

His lips parted, but for a long moment, he said nothing, and when he spoke at last, she had the distinct impression they were not the words he had at first intended to utter.

“Wrong was perhaps too strong. Say, unwise, then.” He turned back toward the window. “Because I fear I won’t be able to stop at a kiss.”

She drew a deep breath, expecting that scolding inner voice to warn her away from this precipice. But before it could speak, she said simply, “Then don’t.”

The breath she had taken in seemed to shudder from him. He tossed his hat aside and leaned forward in one motion, as if afraid to hesitate. One strong hand curled around the back of her neck, pulling her into a kiss that picked up where last night’s had left off: hot and open-mouthed and demanding.

She reached out and grabbed the lapels of his coat, both to steady herself and to drag him closer still. His greatcoat slid onto the floor in a heap as they fumbled to rearrange themselves within the narrow confines of the carriage.