The Problem with Seduction - By Emma Locke Page 0,75

act. “Pack your things,” he said. “We leave as soon as I can collect my baggage from Merritt House.”

She glanced at the window. “But it’s dark, my lord.”

Blast. He wasn’t at all used to traveling with two women and a baby. “At dawn, then.” He took three strides to come up beside her. He leaned to murmur in her ear. “You’re going to tell me what your solicitor told you. I want to hear it all.”

She nodded. Her eyes were downcast. He could smell the clean, floral scent of her hair. Even her skin gave off an intoxicating waft of honeysuckle. He wanted to hug her, not rant at her. Yet he forced him to hold back, because he didn’t trust her. Not a whit.

She raised her eyes. “My lord? Where will we stay?”

There it was again, the expectation that he provide for her. He felt his lack like a glove across his cheek. Succubus or not, he’d promised to safeguard her. He wanted to. He wanted to be the best protector she’d ever had. But he had no ability to do so—he didn’t know how, nor could he afford it.

This business of being with a woman was far and away the most difficult thing he’d ever attempted. With a last look at the woman he’d somehow become completely entangled with, the not-quite-lady who required his protection and, at the same time, refused to let her guard down even the tiniest inch, he shook his head. “I’ll see to it.”

Chapter Fourteen

THE CARRIAGE RIDE TO DEVON wasn’t the romantic retreat she’d had in mind when she’d implied to Nicholas that Lord Constantine liked having her by his side. If anything, Con had gone out of his way to ensure there was nothing amorous about the two of them locked in a carriage together. He’d insisted on Oliver riding with them, rather than in a second carriage, and he’d demanded that Mrs. Dalton come, too. Elizabeth’s instincts told her it was because he feared being alone with her.

Rather than be pleased with herself for bringing him to that point, she worried. Had she lost his trust so completely? He seemed to think she’d withheld news of the Grand Canal’s misfortune deliberately. She would have told him, eventually. Between his odd behavior upon her return to Merritt House, their torrid kiss in her drawing room and his subsequent denial of her favors, she’d forgotten it completely.

But his assumption about her motives left her conflicted, because while she hadn’t intentionally kept this news from him, she couldn’t promise not to do just that in the future. He’d made a point she hadn’t considered, one that left her trembling. If he became solvent, what would become of her? Would he be as free with his time if he had obligations to see to? Would he still consider himself Oliver’s father, or would he turn his back on the bastard child he had no ties to?

Would he marry?

She inhaled so sharply, his attention jerked from the window pane to her. She smiled too brightly. His eyes narrowed. That cleft between his brows deepened.

Then, thankfully, he looked away again.

Mrs. Dalton didn’t stir. She’d tucked herself in the corner next to Elizabeth and promptly fallen asleep. Elizabeth gazed at Oliver in her arms. He, too, had been lulled by the sway of the carriage.

Over the many miles they bumped and jostled, Con didn’t look at her again. She drew her wrap more tightly around her shoulders and rested her head against the carriage wall. Oliver and Mrs. Dalton continued to sleep, but Elizabeth was too aware of Con to even close her eyes.

Another quarter hour passed. She became fascinated by a ticking muscle at his jaw. And just above his knee, his hand gripped his thigh so tightly, his knuckles whitened.

“I beg you not to stare at me, Elizabeth.”

“There’s little else to look at.”

“Then go to sleep.”

“I can’t.”

He slowly pulled his gaze from the window. “Read a book.”

“That,” she said with a laugh, “is not at all the type of thing I would do.”

“You can’t just watch me for hours on end. It’s deuced uncomfortable.”

“It won’t be hours, my lord. Oliver will wake soon and I will be distracted by him.”

Con shifted to sit slanting on the bench. She sympathized with his cramped confines. He couldn’t stretch his legs without bumping into Mrs. Dalton, and he was far too tall to be tucked into the carriage without a respite. “Had I known you’d be bored, I’d have planned