Page 8 of The Duke of Ruin
“Are we going to travel all night?” She sounded skeptical.
“No. We’ll get to the outskirts of London and find a small inn where we can sleep for a few hours. It will take us a little while, so if you’d like to rest now, please do so.”
“I’m not sure I could sleep if I tried.”
He wasn’t sure he could either.
And yet a scant quarter hour later, her body had completely relaxed and her head nodded against his shoulder. She really was quite petite, her body pressing into his so slightly that she could be nothing more than a large woolen blanket propped against his side.
He shifted slightly, angling himself toward her and lifting his arm so she could settle against his chest, which likely made a better pillow than his shoulder. She sighed in her sleep, nuzzling into him and making his breath catch.
He hadn’t been this close to a woman in over two years. Nowhisbody tensed.
How in the hell had he maneuvered himself into this situation? It wasn’t a question that needed answering. What he should strive to remember is that it was a temporary arrangement. He would help her get to Lancashire.
And then what? It didn’t sound as if she had a plan beyond going to her cousin’s. But maybe she did. He’d ask her for more details tomorrow. If she didn’t have a plan, they’d have plenty of time to come up with one.
He sent another prayer heavenward that they would be met with fine weather and fast roads. Then he remembered that his prayers usually went unanswered and always when they pertained to him. He clarified his request:Do this for her. Keep her safe. Preserve her future. Guide her to happiness.
And what of his happiness? He didn’t pretend to believe he would find any, nor did he deserve it. He’d long ago decided his only saving grace would be helping others, which was why he gave most of his income to the workhouse in his district and several orphanages in London. He certainly didn’t need to save it for his heirs. The title would die with him, and that was just as well, since he’d tainted it for all time.
The Duke of Ruin indeed.
The coach hit a particularlydeep rut, causing Diana to drop the book she’d been holding for the third time. Romsey—which was how she’d taken to thinking of him—folded at the waist and plucked it from the floor.
“Perhaps I should find a way to secure it to your lap,” he offered.
“I’m not sure how. I do appreciate you having the forethought to bring books.”
“Don’t forget the cards, though that’s trickier in a moving coach.”
“I’m afraid I don’t play cards.” Her parents hadn’t ever allowed it, deeming it an unnecessary and uncouth activity for a debutante.
His brows climbed with brief surprise. “I see. Well, I can certainly teach you at the inn later if we aren’t too tired.”
Just thinking of being closeted with him in a room again made her body temperature spike. She blamed it on embarrassment at having to share such close quarters with a near stranger, but she feared it was maybe something else. Something she’d prefer to ignore, so she did.
Surprisingly, she’d fallen asleep on the way to their stop last night. Even more surprisingly, she’d awakened in his arms upon their arrival. For a brief moment, she’d felt his warmth and the steady beat of his heart, and she’d felt something she never had before: safe. It had unnerved her completely. She’d practically fallen to the floor in her efforts to get away from him.
Then they’d gone upstairs to their tiny room at the coaching inn. The bed was barely large enough for two people, particularly when they’d placed a rolled blanket in the middle. They’d both slept completely clothed, and Diana woke in the very same position in which she’d fallen asleep. Clearly, she hadn’t dared move.
They hadn’t changed into nightclothes since their stop was only a few hours long. But tonight would be different. Tonight, they would be there all night, and truthfully, Diana couldn’t bear to sleep in her corset and petticoat again.
If only her parents could see her now. Her mother would faint in horror, and her father would rage in fury. Indeed, they were likely doing that today anyway.
She’d thought of them often throughout the journey, wondering if Father was already on his way to King’s Grange. Had Mother gone with him? Had he taken his anger out on her? Diana hoped not, and in fact, she’d written to that effect in her note, saying it was her decision not to marry Kilve and to retreat to King’s Grange. She’d also said she was looking forward to spending the holidays at home instead of in London. That part, at least, was true. Or it would have been if she’d actually gone home.
Home. Where was that now? Nowhere, she realized.
“You’re not reading.”
Romsey’s voice intruded into her thoughts. She held the book in her hands but hadn’t opened it since he’d returned it to her.
Grateful to push aside the worry in her mind, she opened the book.
“What were you thinking about?” He closed the book he was reading, his finger keeping his place.
“The future.” It wasn’t a complete fabrication. She had been about to contemplate that.
