Page 12 of Alone with a Scarred Earl
“I have,” she said. “The volumes are packed.”
Gabriel nodded once more, looking at her in a way that made her feel like he had finally noticed her.
“I truly would like to see them, whenever you find them,” he said, still smiling.
She nodded. A sudden warmth spread beneath her skin and startled her with its intensity. Suddenly, she did not think that being wed to Lord Mountwood would be so beastly after all.
Then the carriage struck a deeper rut than the others. She jolted forward, her hand flying out to brace her body, just as he moved to do the same. Their hands met at the center of the seat. His fingers closed around hers. Neither of them pulled away.
A moment passed. Then another. The contact was neither bold nor planned, yet it held an intensity that quickened her breath. The warmth of his palm spread along her arm, setting something restless alight within her. She could feel the firm press of his thumb just beneath her knuckles, the quiet strength in his grasp, subdued but unmistakable.
Then he cleared his throat. He withdrew his hand with a practiced calm and turned toward the window without speaking. The separation returned, but it was no longer the kind of distance as the carriage rolled forward once more.
Genevieve became acutely conscious of the breadth of his shoulders beneath the black coat, the quiet restraint in his movements, and the faint trace ofsandalwood in the air between them. It wrapped around her senses, not boldly, but insistently, like something unfolding too slowly to be named aloud.
Each jolt of the wheels brought her nearer to his side. Each contact of sleeves or skirt stirred a new awareness through her frame. She folded her hands in her lap, hoping to still their unsteadiness. Previously, they had once spoken as strangers. Now they spoke as something different. Now, there seemed to be a tentative connection forming between them. Could they truly be content as husband and wife, even if only as friends?
Chapter Six
Gabriel had endured greater physical discomfort than the persistent hum of awareness stirred by his wife’s presence. Yet nothing in all his years of strict self-discipline had prepared him for the slow-burning disquiet that built with every passing mile. Each accidental touch, a brush of her skirt against his boot or her knee lightly against his when the coach rocked, unsettled him more than he wished to admit.
She is my wife, he reminded himself, attempting to summon a sense of duty. Instead, the truth of it sparked something warmer than obligation, more dangerous than he liked. He did not know her. Not truly. And yet she had listened to him, not with empty courtesy, but with real interest.
“How did you decide which crops to introduce first?” she asked, her brow furrowed.
He hesitated, caught off guard by the question.
“I considered the soil’s condition,” he said. “Much of the land had been neglected. Potatoes, oats, and rye could be sown with minimal risk.”
She nodded, looking at him with a respect that no one had shown him since his time in the military.
“And you managed this yourself?” she asked.
Gabriel gave a curt nod.
“With help, naturally,” he said. “Still, I oversaw the planning and implementation.”
She had grown quiet for a moment.
“I do not find it strange,” she said. “My father believed knowledge was not confined to scholars or institutions. He let me study anatomy when I was twelve, so long as I could explain what I learned.”
Gabriel gaped at his wife, even more surprised than he had been when she began discussing agriculture with him.
“You studied anatomy?” he asked.
She nodded. He noticed her lips twitch, as if she was hiding another smile. He noticed her doing so when she first confessed her interest in plants.
“Father was a well-rounded man,” she said. “All he wanted was for the same for me.”
Gabriel nodded slowly, falling silent once more. What a wonderful job he did, instilling these things in you, he thought, trying to suppress his awe. Yet it stayed with him as the carriage finally slowed before a modest coaching inn. He descended first and gave instructions to the stable hands. The air had cooled with the coming dusk, and clouds pressed low over the horizon.
Sophia arrived moments later. She waved off her driver and climbed down without assistance.
“Gabriel, you look like thunder,” she said.
Gabriel waved his hand, too overwhelmed to discuss his tumultuous thoughts with his sister.
“Only tired,” he said.
