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Authors: Sabrina Jeffries
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voice. “Do you feel better now?”
Her gaze shot to the handsome man across from her,and she remembered. She was running away with Captain Will Morgan, the man she loved.
“Much better, thank you.” Dear me, her legs were stretched out on the seat like a schoolgirl’s. Swiftly she swung her feet to the floor and flashed her companion an embarrassed smile.
But he didn’t see it, having already turned his head to stare out the window. “Good. You needed to rest.” A lock of coal-black hair dropped onto his forehead, making him look even more rakishly attractive. “We’ll be in Hurst Green soon. We’ll lunch there, and that should refresh you even more.”
She relished the kind solicitude that he maintained even in the face of his concern that they might be followed. Of course, that would never happen, as she’d told him many times. The very thought was ridiculous. Helena hardly even left the house to go into Stratford, much less travel across England. Papa couldn’t come after them even with Griff’s mother helping him. So she and Will were quite safe.
Yet Will insisted on maintaining this punishing pace. They’d traveled so much in the past few days she’d forgotten what it was like not to have her body continually jostled, her sleep disrupted, and her meals bolted. He’d been a perfect gentleman throughout, taking a separate room for her in every inn out of “courtesy,” but sometimes she wished he weren’t quite so courteous. After they’d left Stratford, she’d expected him to become a bit more…well…passionate in his addresses.
But he was as much the gentleman as ever, and she found that distinctly annoying. Her love for him was so thrilling she often found herself wanting to cover his face with kisses, but she didn’t dare. It would shock him—shejust knew it. He was the kind of gentleman who kept his emotions in check. And though she ought to do the same, she found it harder every day they were alone together.
“How long before we reach Winchelsea?” she asked.
“This evening, most likely.”
“And your friend’s ship will be waiting for us?”
“It depends on when he docks in Rye Harbour nearby. We’ll stay in his cottage in Winchelsea until then. It might be a couple of days, however.”
“Perhaps if we’d taken passage in Bristol—”
“I told you—I don’t have the funds for that. My friend from Winchelsea will carry us to Scotland for free.” As if realizing how curt he sounded, he softened his voice and added, “You mustn’t worry about it, my dear. It will all be fine.”
She flinched at his typically indulgent tone. When they’d first met it hadn’t bothered her, because he’d been so sweet otherwise, teasing her out of her shyness and delighting her with tales of war on the Continent. No other man his age had paid such attention to her, and with everyone else ignoring her, she’d basked in his approval.
He’d been completely sympathetic to her complaints about Helena’s crossness. He’d agreed with her when she’d protested that Mrs. Knighton wasn’t caring for Papa the way she ought, the way Juliet herself always had. He’d understood her listlessness after Rosalind had married, her disappointment in her own life and prospects.
She’d been sure that she and Will belonged together, like Rosalind and Griff. And when he’d warned that Papa would never approve the marriage and had suggested that they elope, she’d been eager to follow his lead, convinced that he loved her even though he never said it. Not in so many words. He spoke of “enjoying her company,” “caring for her,” and such things, but not love. It hadseemed part of his natural reserve not to speak of it, so she’d squelched her concern, too full of her own love to do otherwise.
But more and more his reticence worried her. Sometimes it seemed as if he didn’t see her as a lover at all, but rather as a child, the way Helena and Rosalind did.
Perhaps she shouldn’t have been
Her gaze shot to the handsome man across from her,and she remembered. She was running away with Captain Will Morgan, the man she loved.
“Much better, thank you.” Dear me, her legs were stretched out on the seat like a schoolgirl’s. Swiftly she swung her feet to the floor and flashed her companion an embarrassed smile.
But he didn’t see it, having already turned his head to stare out the window. “Good. You needed to rest.” A lock of coal-black hair dropped onto his forehead, making him look even more rakishly attractive. “We’ll be in Hurst Green soon. We’ll lunch there, and that should refresh you even more.”
She relished the kind solicitude that he maintained even in the face of his concern that they might be followed. Of course, that would never happen, as she’d told him many times. The very thought was ridiculous. Helena hardly even left the house to go into Stratford, much less travel across England. Papa couldn’t come after them even with Griff’s mother helping him. So she and Will were quite safe.
Yet Will insisted on maintaining this punishing pace. They’d traveled so much in the past few days she’d forgotten what it was like not to have her body continually jostled, her sleep disrupted, and her meals bolted. He’d been a perfect gentleman throughout, taking a separate room for her in every inn out of “courtesy,” but sometimes she wished he weren’t quite so courteous. After they’d left Stratford, she’d expected him to become a bit more…well…passionate in his addresses.
But he was as much the gentleman as ever, and she found that distinctly annoying. Her love for him was so thrilling she often found herself wanting to cover his face with kisses, but she didn’t dare. It would shock him—shejust knew it. He was the kind of gentleman who kept his emotions in check. And though she ought to do the same, she found it harder every day they were alone together.
“How long before we reach Winchelsea?” she asked.
“This evening, most likely.”
“And your friend’s ship will be waiting for us?”
“It depends on when he docks in Rye Harbour nearby. We’ll stay in his cottage in Winchelsea until then. It might be a couple of days, however.”
“Perhaps if we’d taken passage in Bristol—”
“I told you—I don’t have the funds for that. My friend from Winchelsea will carry us to Scotland for free.” As if realizing how curt he sounded, he softened his voice and added, “You mustn’t worry about it, my dear. It will all be fine.”
She flinched at his typically indulgent tone. When they’d first met it hadn’t bothered her, because he’d been so sweet otherwise, teasing her out of her shyness and delighting her with tales of war on the Continent. No other man his age had paid such attention to her, and with everyone else ignoring her, she’d basked in his approval.
He’d been completely sympathetic to her complaints about Helena’s crossness. He’d agreed with her when she’d protested that Mrs. Knighton wasn’t caring for Papa the way she ought, the way Juliet herself always had. He’d understood her listlessness after Rosalind had married, her disappointment in her own life and prospects.
She’d been sure that she and Will belonged together, like Rosalind and Griff. And when he’d warned that Papa would never approve the marriage and had suggested that they elope, she’d been eager to follow his lead, convinced that he loved her even though he never said it. Not in so many words. He spoke of “enjoying her company,” “caring for her,” and such things, but not love. It hadseemed part of his natural reserve not to speak of it, so she’d squelched her concern, too full of her own love to do otherwise.
But more and more his reticence worried her. Sometimes it seemed as if he didn’t see her as a lover at all, but rather as a child, the way Helena and Rosalind did.
Perhaps she shouldn’t have been
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