like she was drowning. How could any one person have such dark, lush lashes?
His hands moved then, landing on her hips, fisting in her skirts. “So much bloody fabric,” he muttered.
A ragged breath escaped her, expelling from her lungs, easing the tightness in her chest but doing nothing to cure the throbbing.
He uncurled his fist from her skirts, loosening his grip, letting go. His warm palm covered the back of her hand entirely, engulfing it where she held it against him. The intimacy of his longer fingers threaded with hers made something other than her core ache. Her heart gave a tiny little squeeze, and that was alarming. She’d thought this was only physical. Simple biology. Nothing that consisted of sentiment. Nothing as complicated as that.
The carriage resumed, rolling forward and jarring her.
They both blinked, severing the spell, for it did feel like a spell. Some enchantment that had thoroughly addled her and made her forget herself—just as he clearly had forgotten himself. There had been nothing of him in this. No glimpse of the taciturn colonel-turned-duke-to-be. No, he’d been as primitive as the beast in the woods.
But that was gone. The carriage was moving again, and Sinclair was back in all his austerity. His hands briefly gripped her waist and set her on the seat opposite from him, his touch perfunctory and brief.
The carriage rolled to a smooth stop. For a moment Nora thought they were delayed again due to congestion, but then she realized they had arrived at Birchwood House.
“We’re here,” he said unnecessarily, his voice almost overly loud in the closed confines.
Sinclair extended an arm to open the carriage door, reaching it before the groom could. He exited and hopped down deftly, stretching out both hands to assist her. She descended, feeling giddy and breathless from the day’s outing. Once beside him, he offered his arm and she accepted, nestling her gloved fingers in the crook of his elbow.
The air between them still felt thick and charged as they made their way up the steps and inside the house. A pair of footmen stepped forward to collect their gloves and hats.
She tried not to look at Sinclair as she slipped her gloves from her fingers and handed them off to the stoic-faced footman.
She tried, not so valiantly, to not think of those moments earlier in their carriage. When they had been alone and his face had been so close that she could admire the sooty length of his lashes. When he had hauled her onto his lap and seemed like he wanted to kiss her and get his hands under her skirts. Heavens. He’d behaved like he wanted to tear those skirts off her. She dragged in a heavy breath, suddenly feeling overly warm. Goodness. She needed to find Bea and start packing.
She had just untied the ribbons of her bonnet and removed it from her head when the housekeeper appeared, breathless and holding her side as though she suffered a stitch. “Mr. Sinclair. Miss Langley. Thank goodness you’re both home.”
“What is it, Mrs. Blankenship?” Sinclair asked.
“It’s the duchess. She’s ill and taken to her bed.”
Sinclair turned his gaze on Nora. He did not need to say anything. Words were not necessary. His expression said it all.
It was time for her to do what she had come here to do.
Chapter 16
Constantine took Nora by the hand and hastened to the duchess’s bedchamber, his pulse pounding anxiously in his ears.
The duke was sitting at his wife’s bedside when they entered the room. His eyes landed on Constantine instantly. “Where have you been?” he demanded. When his gaze alighted on Nora some of the panic ebbed from his bloodshot eyes. “Ah, you’re here, gel. Thank heavens. Help her. Please.”
Constantine took Nora’s arm and led her closer to the bed.
The duke vacated the chair so that she could use it to sit closer and examine the duchess who reclined listlessly in her regal bed.
The duke took up position beside him along the wall where he stood a safe distance from the colossal bed at the center of the chamber. “Where were you?” he grumbled, his resentment sharp on the air.
“I took Nora . . . er, Miss Langley to visit Middlesex.”
Birchwood looked at him askance. “The hospital? Why? Is the girl ill?”
“No. I thought she might like to observe the surgical theater there. It is quite renowned.”
The duke’s eyes narrowed and he looked at Constantine long and hard before facing forward again. “We needed you here.” He nodded at Nora.