Today's Reading
It was all very disappointing. But there was nothing to be done about it, and if Sylvia was anything, she was a pragmatist.
Most of the time. She would allow herself, later this evening, to daydream about a completely different outcome to this adventure. Where the Duke and herself were on the road—and had arrived at an inn because London was simply too far away—and there was only one room available, and—
'You really should go,' the Duke said.
Sylvia sighed. 'I suppose I should, as you aren't actually leaving.'
How discouraging. But it had been impulse only which had led her here, not careful planning. She would have to ensure that her next attempt was better orchestrated.
'It was very pleasant to make your acquaintance, Your Grace,' she said cheerfully.
The Duke flushed such a dark red, Sylvia was almost certain she could feel the heat from his cheeks. 'Ah. Good.'
His manners were a tad lacking, to be sure, but it was a rather unusual situation, even Sylvia could admit that. Well, she would simply have to creep back into the Wallflower Academy and hope the Pike was still putting the wallflowers through their paces on the terrace. She could—could say she had taken a short nap. Yes, that would work. And she had her bonnet, which she had been sent upstairs for.
No one would be any the wiser.
'Good day, Your Grace,' Sylvia said, inclining her head.
The Duke inclined his own head, bringing his face scandalously close to her own as Sylvia rose from her seat and attempted to step past him to the opposite carriage door.
It was downright mischievous of her. There was no need for it; the door through which she had entered was perfectly suitable, and if she had a mite of the wallflower reticence and shyness that the rest of the Wallflower Academy inhabitants had been born with, she never would have considered it.
But Sylvia was determined. Why should she depart the carriage in which she had intended to make a dramatic escape with no tale to tell?
She knew it had been a mistake the moment her knee touched his.
Knees were not supposed to feel like that—as if water rippled under the surface. The merest contact, her knee through her underskirts and gown to his breeches and knee—it was ridiculous.
Yet the sudden rush of heat unsettled Sylvia, made her leg quiver just as she raised the other to reach the door.
The Duke gasped and moved.
Why he moved, Sylvia did not know. She would have made it around him, almost certainly, and his sudden jerking movement did more to unbalance her than assist her on her way.
Sylvia's poise tipped. She reached out a hand, grasped at thin air instead of the steadying side of the carriage, and she was falling, falling, sure to bump her head most painfully on the carriage bench as she—
Softness, and strength, and sultry warmth. Strong arms around her and a seat that was far too hot to be a carriage bench, even at this time of year.
Sylvia blinked. She looked up into the astonished gaze of the Duke. One of his hands was placed around her shoulder, holding her steady, and the other—Well.
Swallowing hard and finding, to her astonishment, that her mouth was dry, Sylvia looked at the Duke's other hand. It was on her knee.
She was in the man's lap. His lap!
'Ah—' Sylvia managed.
Why her voice was so thin, she could not tell. But then, she did not appear to be able to tell anything very much. Her mind was whirling, all rational thought absent, and the panting rise and fall of the Duke's chest was doing something most strange to her own.
This—this was new.
Oh, she had met gentlemen before. She had even encountered some attractive ones—who made her body burn and thrum, made her wonder just what it was that wives enjoyed that single ladies like herself had to forego.
But never before had she touched one. Never before had she found herself in such close quarters in a carriage with one.
And she had never thrown herself into one's arms to discover that the warmth emanating from his hands on her shoulder and knee were working strange wonders within her.
Wonders that ached for more. More what, she was not quite sure.
More of whatever this was.
...
