Page 24 of Forgetting the Earl
Honora closed her eyes, listening to the sound of his voice, envisioning everything he saw, almost experiencing it with him.
He’d traveled to the frontier of the United States, something Honora hadn’t known. Southwell spoke of vast plains, all stretching further than the eye could see, populated by giant, shaggy beasts called buffalo. There had been days where his group hadn’t seen another living soul, just endless prairie.
Honora tried to imagine such a seemingly infinite, untouched land and couldn’t. She wished she could see it for herself. Oddly enough, Southwell didn’t mention his last trip, to the Amazon.
“You haven’t started snoring yet, Mrs. Culpepper.” The dimple in his cheek deepened.
“I’m not the least bored. I could listen to you for hours. And you should call me Honora,” she said. “Mrs. Culpepper seems a bit formal considering you have kidnapped me for the purposes of a picnic. And it reminds me of my mother-in-law.”
He tilted his chin, mouth only inches from hers. “On one condition will I drop all sense of propriety and use your first name.” His gaze dropped to her lips.
“What is your condition?” She thought he might ask for another kiss, something Honora wasn’t opposed to giving him.
“You must call me Gideon.”
“Gideon,” she repeated, liking the feel of his name on her tongue. His thigh had mysteriously found its way next to her hip, the warmth of him searing through the pile of skirts she wore.
“Yes, Gideon.” He leaned in, brushing his mouth ever so slightly against hers. “We’re here.”
Honora inhaled Southwell, catching the hints of cedar and leather before moving back an inch to take in their surroundings. “Where is here, exactly, my lord?” She looked around, seeing nothing but the road they’d traveled on, trees stretching along the edge. There didn’t seem to be anyone for miles. “And why would we come all this way for a picnic?”
He stopped the horses. “I wanted to be alone with you, Honora.”
Well, that was rather blunt. “You’ll ruin my reputation if anyone finds out.”
“No one will. Montieth will claim he was with us the entire day, which we spent with our picnic basket at the park in full view of half of London. Then we had tea with his mother, Lady Trent.”
“You’re very devious, Gideon.” A tendril of anticipation surged through Honora. It was a struggle to remind herself that none of this was real. Could not be real. She was merely making a point with Southwell. Striking a blow for all those poor young ladies with large appetites and hair that puffed like a dandelion gone to seed. Ones who were made mockeries of by beautiful, adventuresome rakes. Her victory against Southwell wasn’t just for her, she reminded herself.
Rubbish.Pure and simple. She hadn’t been thinking of putting Southwell in his place for at least the last hour. Only of kissing him again.
He stepped carefully down from the carriage, wobbling sharply as his left leg made contact with the ground.
“Gideon?”
“I’m fine,” he bit out. Reaching for her, he took her hand. “Look, Honora.”
He had stopped the carriage at the top of a hill, one with gorgeous views of green grass sprinkled with a barrage of wildflowers. Beyond the wildflowers, Honora could make out smokestacks and curling gray clouds. They weren’t so far from London after all, it seemed.
An oak tree, branches spread wide, was down a small slope, dappled sunlight steaming through the leaves.
“Our picnic spot for today.” He nodded toward the tree. “If you will carry the blanket and this”—he pointed to his cane—“I’ll tote the basket.”
“Are you certain—” She could tell the step from the carriage had hurt him, and they would be going down an incline to the tree.
“I am,” he said curtly before taking a deep breath and gripping the basket. “Just hold tightly to my arm.” His tone softened. “It will steady me.”
He didn’t want her pity, or anyone’s. Not that she would give it, Honora reminded herself. “A human cane, then? Is that what I’m reduced to?”
A dark rumble came from Southwell. “At present, yes.”
They made their way over to the tree, Honora studying the ground to ensure they avoided any rocks or small rodent holes lest Southwell trip. Not that her petite form would be enough to stop him from falling. If he stumbled, perhaps it would be better if he landed atop her, as if she was a well-dressed pillow, to break his fall. A small giggle left her, though she tried to stop it.
“Another conversation I’m not privy to. It’s rather off-putting.” But he didn’t sound annoyed in the least. Just curious.
“I was only thinking that if you should happen to trip, I would soften your fall.”
“I was thinking the same thing,” he said lowly. “Of falling into you.” The small half smile appeared as they reached a spot beneath the tree.
