Last Dance in London (Rakes on the Run #1) - Sydney Jane Baily Page 0,101

way, you have led me to believe it would be your way, as well. You’re blushing again. Besides, if you screamed, I’m not sure my driver would stop. Shall we try it?”

“No, that’s quite all right. Please keep your hands to yourself.”

“How about if I sit next to you?” He had a gleam in his eye.

“Definitely not.” She sighed, feeling weak at how much she wanted him to kiss her and do more. Daily — sometimes hourly — she yearned for his hands upon her bare skin.

“Lord Marshfield, while my mind and morals insist I resist you, we both know the closer your proximity, the more I want you to kiss me.”

His eyes widened. “I’m honored you would be so candid with me. It gives me hope this forced banishment to the country won’t be entirely wasted time.”

Yet he didn’t press the issue. She viewed the outskirts of London through the carriage window, passing a herd of cattle heading for Smithfield market, and then fewer and fewer people, and soon, the countryside. The conversation turned to a parliamentary bill he was going to put forth in the new year, designed to prohibit unlicensed medical practitioners.

“Quacks!” Jasper proclaimed, “endangering our citizens,” and Julia agreed.

After another long while, he drew out a basket from under his seat and offered her some ale, which they shared, slaking their thirst before he also withdrew rolls stuffed with cheese and spiced beef.

She hadn’t expected to be fed, especially not in such a rustic way, by an earl.

“I don’t like to waste traveling time sitting in a public house being fleeced of my money for inferior food,” he explained while she stripped off her gloves.

Julia couldn’t discount his reasoning. Moreover, the roll was delicious.

“Surely, we’ll have to stop somewhere for...,” she trailed off and raised an eyebrow.

“I can easily stop anywhere for that,” he reminded her. “Yet I suppose you need privacy.”

She felt her cheeks heat again and wished she and her sister didn’t share the trait of every emotion being played out upon their faces.

“Let me know when, and we’ll stop,” he offered. “I brought more food and drink, and both my driver and footman also have such. I try never to stay the night at a tollhouse inn.”

“But we must stop to change horses.”

“Yes, of course, although not as often as if we drove them at a quicker pace. My driver keeps them steady and lets them rest twice, and they shall make it through to my preferred coach house where they’ll be stabled until our return journey. We’ll pick up four more Cleveland Bays or at the worst, Norfolk Trotters. If your pursuers had been Robin Redbreasts,” he added, mentioning the branch of Bow Street that rode out into the countryside to pursue highwaymen, “and we were racing ahead of their fast horses, then we would be in bad bread, to be sure.”

The notion of being chased by either the authorities or highwaymen was a grim one. Julia was glad she’d caught up to Jasper when she had, imagining otherwise she might be seated at the Bow Street magistrates’ court being questioned.

Into her continued silence, he began to stare at her, his gaze resting first on her lips and then lower.

Julia cleared her throat to bring his attention back to her eyes.

“Will you do me a favor?”

His face split into an impish grin. “Just ask.” His tone would melt ice.

“When we stop at the coach house, will you send word back to Hanover Square so my sister’s servants don’t start to worry and said a frantic word to Sarah?”

“That’s all?” He looked disappointed. “Yes, of course.”

Then Jasper sighed, perhaps realizing she wasn’t going to let him push up her skirts and petticoat, nor lay her back against the comfortable squabs and move between her thighs. Just the thought was enough to make her damp, however, and she had to try to think of something else besides wanting him.

“Will you tell me about my ring, which I don’t suppose you have with you?”

“Sadly, no,” he said. “It’s a sordid tale. Are you ready?”

She nodded.

“Very well. Lord Stridewell was a naughty boy, something I can get away with but a married man cannot. At least not some, not those married to a formidable shrew such as the baroness.”

“He is having an affair,” Julia surmised.

“Too simple,” he said, “although that was what I first thought, too. Have you heard of Rudley’s?”

She shook her head.

“Nor should you have,” he agreed. “It’s a private club for gamblers who