allowed herself to be assisted to the high seat of the curricle. When she was seated, arranging her skirt around her, he went round, climbed in beside her, and took up a light blanket. “It’s chilly,” he said, and started tucking the blanket in around her. At once, a feeling of security and contentment flowed over her. She was accustomed to taking care of herself, yet how snug and warm she felt in the care of a man whose strength and character she respected and admired. She had another feeling, too, which had nothing to do with security but, rather, with her keen awareness of the gentle pushing of his hands against her thighs, remote though they felt through the blanket. His head was bent directly in front of her. If she leaned but a few inches forward, she could kiss that spot by his ear where a tendril of his dark hair fell casually. Suddenly he looked toward her, his gaze a soft caress, so full of things unspoken she could hardly breathe. Thus they remained, until he finally looked away, sat straight, took up the reins and urged the horses into the crowded roadway. After a silence made almost unbearable by the unspoken emotions swirling around them, he, not turning his head, softly asked, “Evleen O’Fallon, is there something between us?”
Her heart pounded. Never had she been so physically affected by a man. But what was the sense of it?
“You know what Mama says,” Patrick called from the back.
Patrick and his big ears! She might have known. She squeezed her eyes shut. Not another word, Patrick, please, please.
“Evleen, you must never love an Englishman.”
She twisted around and glared. “Patrick, without doubt I shall kill you the moment we get home.” She noticed Thomas’s shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter. “You’re laughing?” she asked, feigning high indignation.
He answered, “Patrick is absolutely right, you know. We Englishmen are conceited, overbearing, and exceedingly selfish. Highly unsuitable as husbands. Better a handsome Irishman.”
“I most certainly agree,” she answered lightly. The emotion-filled moment was over. She positively must see it did not happen again. In fact, to further her resolution, she had a question of her own. “And what about you, Lord Thomas? Surely there must be a woman in your life. You never said.”
He took his time, seeming to concentrate on maneuvering his curricle around a slower-moving coach before he answered, “It is my father’s wish that I marry Miss Bettina Trevlyn. Eventually I probably shall.”
Her spirits plunged. So ridiculous, but she could not let go. “Do you always do what your father tells you?”
He cast her a lopsided grin. “Actually, no. Since I’m only a second son, my father leaves me to my own devices. However, in this instance—”
“Do you love her?” Oh, how rude. She fought the urge to clap her hand to her mouth, astonished at what had just popped out. “Sorry. You don’t have to answer that.”
“Love and marriage do not necessarily go hand in hand,” he commented dryly.
So he did not love Bettina. Even knowing the futility of it all, Evleen felt greatly relieved.
“What street do we live on, Lord Thomas?” Patrick called.
“Arlington Street, a most prestigious address, by the way. Many dukes have lived on Arlington Street.”
“Which ones?”
“Well, let’s see, the Dukes of Hamilton, Beaufort, York. Matter of fact, the Duke of York died quite suddenly in his arm chair while living on Arlington Street. His body was removed to Saint James Palace, where it lay in state.”
Evleen listened, her admiration for the man growing all the more. How considerate he was to take time to explain. Most men would have ignored Patrick, or told him to keep quiet, but not Lord Thomas. Despite herself, she sneaked a peek at his profile, so clean cut with that firm chin and straight nose. I must stop this, she thought, thoroughly disgusted with herself.
Lord Thomas spoke again. “Before we arrive home, I must warn you, you might be in for a difficult time.”
“Lord Trevlyn is angry?”
“He was sick with worry, but it’s not Lord Trevlyn I’d be worried about, it’s...” he hesitated, as if keenly aware a gentleman must never defame a lady.
“You don’t have to say it,” she responded. “I know whom you’re talking about, but don’t say.” She cast a swift glance behind her.
He said softly, “Be aware they are not overly sympathetic and might cause trouble.”
“I know. But there’s nothing I can do about it, is there?”
From behind, Patrick asked, “What are you two talking about?”