Page 44 of Mending the Baron's Sins
The movement of the carriage rocked the two of them together, and Orla had to grip hard onto his shoulders not to be parted from him. It made her hips grind against his own, and his hand touching her thigh gripped harder, the fingers practically encircling her thigh. Oh, the feeling was a rush. The excitement so all-consuming, she had no idea how long they kissed for, or even where they were on their journey.
Then the carriage veered to the left. Orla was nearly dislodged from his lap. They both broke from the kiss and though Orla’s hands moved to grip the back of the coach bench, he moved to grasp hold of her waist, keeping the two of them together.
They both looked out of the window, seeing Ingleby hall through that glass, then they looked at one another again.
Desire. That’s what she saw in his expression. Not only that, but she could feel it between them in the hardness between his legs.
Abruptly, they both pulled away from each other as the horses slowed. Orla scrambled onto the other coach bench, tucking her loose hairs back into her updo and pulling the skirt of her gown to lie flat.
The baron straightened his trousers, adjusting the lapels of his frock coat and even having to fidget in his trousers. He closed his eyes too, apparently blocking out the sight of her in order to get control of herself.
Orla just had time to pull on her gloves and reticule when the coach came to a stop and the door was opened by George.
“Good day, my lord. How was your journey?” George asked with an easy smile.
Orla smiled as broadly as she could and hurried out of the coach fast. It didn’t escape her notice that the baron took a lot longer to step down.
“It was… well,” he answered, avoiding looking her in the eye as he carried the boxes from her parents’ shop in front of him.
What does that mean?
Her mind worked fast. The kiss was something she had so longed for, but now it had happened. What did it mean? Was she another one of those easy conquests that he had so many of in his days of being one of the ton’s darlings? Or did it mean something more?
“Here, let me help you carry those, my lord.” George tried to take the boxes from him.
“I’ve got these,” the baron said hurriedly. “If you could bring the next ones, please. That would be great.” He walked off, purposefully carrying the boxes in front of his hips. She looked down as he walked away, chewing her lip as she realized he still hadn’t got control of his attraction to her.
Is it possible I have such power over him?
Orla took off as soon as she could. Rather than following the baron into the house, for she feared he would say something to her about what they had just done, she walked quickly through the gardens. She ended up nearly running on the frost-bitten paths and slipped, in danger of falling over.
She righted herself just as she reached the kitchen door and stepped into the building. She walked past the kitchen fast and marched through two more corridors, determined to find a back route up to her chamber and hide there for a while, but shebumped into someone tall on a wooden staircase, blocking her route.
“Ah, Orla, there you are.” It was Colm. His great smile as he looked at her vanished. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” She lied.
“Hmm.” The sound was plainly suspicious as Colm leaned on the wall, blocking her access to the stairs.
“The baron had a coughing fit,” she hastened to come up with an excuse. Fortunately, this excuse wasn’t a lie. “I was worried about him. That was all.”
“I see.” Yet Colm reached forward, touching something in her hair. She gasped, just as he pulled out an entire wad of cotton from her updo.
In a flash, she remembered the way Baron De Rees had toyed with her hair as they had kissed. The cotton must have ended up there then.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“Cotton from the cotton mills. The baron insisted on going despite my attempt to persuade him to the contrary. It must have landed in my hair.”
“Ah, he is strong minded, that man,” Colm said thoughtfully.
“That he is. If you would excuse me, Uncle, I am in need of the privy,” she said in desperation to be free of him. He laughed and stepped aside, brushing the cotton fluff away as if he had always forgotten about it.
Orla continued up the stairs as quickly as she could, only to find someone else was in the way of her door, carrying firewood.
“Ah!” Orla stumbled in surprise, nearly walking straight into her.
“Well?” Esther said, her eyes shooting upward. “You look… ruffled.” She eyed the gown cautiously.
