The Duke Effect (The Rogue Files #7) - Sophie Jordan Page 0,45
to remind her.
He’d been most attentive this day. Polite and cordial, but this—she—was not what he wanted. He’d been clear on that when she arrived.
She was only here as the Birchwood’s guest in order to help him, or, specifically, to help the duchess, and so far she hadn’t helped him with anything at all. She was of no service to him. No help at all. She was an inconvenience. The duchess seemed fine. Hale and hearty, in fact. She couldn’t stay here forever on the chance the duchess became ill again.
Nora should go home where she belonged. She had a family and a life waiting for her . . . a purpose and vocation. She missed her laboratory and all her things. As much as members of the community called her eccentric, she knew she was needed there. She was wanted in Brambledon. She had a place there. Always. Not here. Never here.
As soon as she returned to Birchwood House, she would start planning her return home.
She gasped as their carriage ground to a halt, her hand flying to the loop swaying overhead to catch her balance.
Oh, rot. A delay was the last thing she wanted. When she inhaled deeply, she caught his scent again. Masculine with a faint whiff of soap.
She wanted to get back to the house, to her chamber and her privacy where she could pout in relative peace and safety. Away from him.
Awkwardness swelled around them as they sat planted, the moments dragging into minutes. She folded her hands over her lap and unfolded them. Then folded them again. Restless energy danced along her nerves.
Usually she did not feel so uncomfortable. A sense of awkwardness required self-awareness. Usually she was indifferent to how others perceived her.
At least she had never cared before.
She did not like these sudden . . . feelings. It was not her way. She did not like caring what he thought about her. This sudden interest and concern for how Sinclair perceived her was vexing.
He leaned forward and the sudden movement made her flinch. Her hands flew to clench the edge of the velvet seat. Fingers curling. Knuckles tight.
He paused and looked at her, evidently aware of her reaction, and that brought a rush of heat to her face.
His gaze lingered on her a moment longer before he proceeded, scooting forward to part the curtains and peer outside their carriage for a better view of the traffic. His intent all along, apparently, was to look outside. Not to touch her. Of course not. He had always been circumspect toward her.
Except he was so close. His face inches away from her as he investigated the state of affairs outside. She could practically count his eyelashes—all dark and lush and long.
“Anything amiss?” she asked, hating how breathless she sounded.
“I cannot see if there’s an accident or anything of the sort ahead. Hopefully we’ll be moving along soon.”
He dropped back down on the seat again with a sigh, but this time he seemed closer, his bigger body encroaching on her space in the tight confines. He stretched his long legs so that his feet settled alongside hers.
She smiled shakily. “It seems we are stuck.”
“Not for very long, I imagine.”
She nodded. “Indeed.” Pause. “You have been very generous with your time today. You are doubtlessly eager to put this day behind you.”
He canted his head. “Why do you say that?”
“I’m certain you did not appreciate the earlier spectacle with . . .” She gestured vaguely.
“That bastard?”
She jerked at the use of profanity. Not because she was particularly offended, but because she had not expected that from him. It seemed so out of his very dignified character. So very unrestrained and he was the epitome of restraint. She grimaced. The very antithesis of Nora.
He shook his head. “Don’t give him another thought.” His lips twisted wryly. “Believe me, I won’t.”
“He knew the duke. Knows the duke . . .”
“If the man was an important person to Birchwood I would have already met him.”
She nodded, trying to let his words soothe her, but she was still stuck on the notion of how her presence was only bringing discomfort to his orderly and noble life. Certainly she had not thought of him when she barged her way into his world, but now she thought of him.
Now she thought of him a great deal.
Studying him, she admitted that she liked his face. She liked all of him. His face. His form. His large and capable hands.