Sir Benedict had turned his head and was looking steadily at her. She had never particularly noticed until now how very narrow carriage seats were. Their shoulders were almost touching. Their faces were too close for comfort. And the world had grown light since she had come from Bramble Hall. There was no darkness in which to hide.
“You are having second thoughts?” he asked. “It is not too late to turn around, you know. I daresay we could smuggle you back into Bramble Hall without the servants there suspecting that you have been doing anything more startling than taking an early morning walk with your dog. Do you wish to return?”
The suggestion brought her to her senses.
“Absolutely not,” she assured him. “I would not go back for any consideration. I am going to the only place I can go to be free. I am going to live, not merely exist at the pleasure of my father-in-law. If you have changed your mind about accompanying me, of course—”
“I have not.”
“I feel guilty,” she told him. “You were going to Scotland.”
“I was going to travel,” he said. “And that is what I am doing. I could not and would not allow you to travel all the way to Wales alone.”
“You are doing it again,” she said. “Allowing me, not allowing me. I am very glad we are not married. I suspect you would be a tyrant.”
“I hope I would know how to protect my wife, ma’am,” he said stiffly, “even if it was sometimes despite herself. And you could not be more glad of our marital status or lack thereof than I am.”
She pursed her lips.
“If we are going to quarrel all the way to Wales,” he added, “it should be an interesting journey. Especially as we are still no more than a mile or two from Robland.”
“Perhaps,” she said, “if we do not converse, we will not quarrel.”
And she turned her head away and half turned her body too so that she was looking out at the passing scenery. From his silence, she supposed he was doing the same through the window on his side.
Perhaps half an hour passed, though it felt more like an hour. Or three. It became more and more difficult to maintain her posture, to keep her chin from falling, to keep her eyes from closing. She envied Tramp, sprawled out and fast asleep and even snoring on his seat. And then, in a moment of lapsed concentration, she yawned hugely and audibly and felt instantly embarrassed.
“I suppose,” he said, “you did not get a wink of sleep last night.”
“Perhaps a wink,” she said. “Maybe two. I had a great deal on my mind, Sir Benedict. It is not every day one sets off on a grand, life-changing adventure. Not if one is a woman, anyway.”
“And not every man goes sneaking off every day with someone else’s widow,” he said dryly, “with nary a word to his family and friends. Why do you not take off your bonnet and set your head back against the cushions? And your back too. When I got into the carriage earlier, you looked so prim and starchy that I thought for a moment you had sent your sister-in-law in your place. The horses are still fresh and will carry us a fair distance before it becomes necessary for them to be changed. Your dog has not lost any time in catching up on his beauty sleep.”
“Just do not utter any word that begins with w,” she said, “especially with the letters a-l-k attached. You would soon discover how deeply asleep he is.”
She took his advice—she seemed to have no choice in the matter since it was becoming increasingly difficult to remain awake. She pulled loose the bow of ribbon beneath her chin and removed her bonnet to hold on her lap. She leaned back with an inward sigh of relief. She would close her eyes for a few minutes.
She was more aware of him when she did so. She could feel his body heat down one side, though they were not touching. She could smell something that was distinctively masculine—leather, shaving soap, whatever. It was hard to distinguish individual smells, but they all added up to something rather enticing and altogether forbidden. He had kissed her once. There had even been tongue play, and it had been very pleasant indeed. A bit of an understatement that, though—very pleasant indeed. She wondered if he remembered. It had been almost a month ago. She doubted he had forgotten, though, for he had gone as long as she before that without kisses or anything else.
And she ought not to be thinking of such things now. Especially about the anything else.
She took refuge in other mental ramblings. Perhaps she ought to have left behind some sort of note for her father-in-law rather than slinking away like a naughty child who expected to be pursued. Would she be followed? But no one would know where she was going or how she was traveling. Perhaps she ought to have written to John, just to tell him she was quite safe and would write at greater length later. Though why she would do so, she did not know. John never wrote to her. He probably would not care if she went to the North Pole to live. Perhaps she ought to have left a note for Mrs. Andrews to explain why she must withdraw so soon from her committees and would be unable to do any more sick visiting. Perhaps …
She lost her battle with sleep at that point. Her thoughts floated away, and her head gradually slipped sideways until it rested against a warm, solid shoulder. She was vaguely aware of it, even of whose it was. She was even aware that it was not quite right to keep her head there, but she was too sleepy to act on the thought. It was a firm yet comfortable shoulder. She burrowed her head a little farther back to wedge it more securely between shoulder and cushion and slid the rest of the way into sleep.