Undressed with the Marquess (Lost Lords of London #3) - Christi Caldwell Page 0,37

her cheek to the window, the velvet fabric smooth against her face, softening the blow as the carriage whipped her head about. The bumpy ride set the curtains fluttering, parting slightly, and then coming together. And all the while, to keep from throwing up, she stared out at the figure shifting in and out of focus.

Dare.

Regal and tall atop his horse. His cheeks were flushed a healthy red from the fresh air and the pace he’d set.

And I’m green . . .

Reaching up her opposite hand, she slammed it against the fabric, keeping those curtains shut.

“Temperance, you look like you are going to cast—”

Stifling a moan, Temperance glared the other woman into letting those words go unfinished.

Gwynn promptly closed her mouth. “I won’t say anything else.”

Closing her eyes once more, Temperance shifted in her seat and rested her head along the back of the bench. She refocused on breathing. “Please . . . don’t.” This was to be her penance, then, for letting Dare back into her life, despite the vow she’d made. There was no other accounting for this misery.

KnockKnockKnock.

The frantic rumble of the carriage wheels slowed, and then the conveyance rocked to a complete stop. Her eyes flew open. She stared questioningly across at Gwynn.

Her friend lifted her shoulders in a little shrug. “I didn’t talk.” Gwynn smiled. “I knocked. It’s vastly different.”

She groaned. “What have you . . . ?”

The door opened.

This time, it would be him and not a servant.

He’d always been contrary in that. Concern glinted in Dare’s face. “What is it?” he asked quickly, moving his gaze over her.

“I’m fine,” she said between clenched teeth. Though in fairness, in this moment, now that the carriage had stopped, she was fine. And if she were being truthful with herself, she was grateful for the reprieve.

Dare leaned farther inside and peered at her face.

“She’s not fine,” Gwynn piped up. “She is sick.” She motioned to Temperance’s stomach and throat, and mimicked retching noises.

“That is enough, Gwynn. Dare—” Except that wasn’t what he would be to Gwynn or anyone in London. “His Lordship,” she corrected, “has affairs he must see to in London. We cannot simpleee—” Temperance’s words ended on a squeak as Dare plucked her out of the carriage. “What are you doing?” All attempts at affront, however, were dashed by the glorious spring air, a soft, luxuriant breeze that acted like a balm upon her sweat-slicked skin.

“Business can wait,” he said tersely.

Gwynn sighed and touched a hand to her chest.

Temperance rolled her eyes. And here she’d believed cynical, life-wary Gwynn Armitage would be the one person who could prove resistant to Dare’s charm.

Easily cradling her against his chest, Dare moved one hand over Temperance, lightly caressing her arms and the small of her back, and this time her belly fluttered for altogether different reasons. “Stop, Dare. I am f-fine.”

“She’s not,” Gwynn called from behind them.

From over Dare’s shoulder, Temperance glowered at her friend. “Enough,” she mouthed.

Wholly unapologetic, Gwynn winked and disappeared within the carriage.

“I really am,” Temperance said as Dare carried her off to the side of the road and through the thick, knee-length grass. He didn’t stop until he’d reached an enormous boulder, and with an infinite tenderness, he set her down.

“What happened?”

“I’m f—” He gave her a sharp look, silencing those assurances. Temperance sighed. “Carriage rides make me sick.”

“They never did before,” he said flatly.

Yes, because there’d been so many times when they’d stolen precious moments together, and he’d put her in a hack to get her home with time enough that she needn’t worry about earning her father’s wrath. “I do now,” she explained in even tones.

“That . . . doesn’t make sense. You’ve taken many carriage rides.”

But the day her world had crumbled—the day she’d been beaten beyond recognition and the babe she’d desperately yearned for had been dead from that act of violence—everything revolved around that day. From that one moment, light had died and darkness had dwelled, and reason hadn’t existed for any of it. Her chest seized with all the remembered agony for the babe who had never been. She gripped the sides of her skirts, praying to a God who’d been so very invisible throughout Temperance’s life that Dare would let it go. That he’d not ask. That she wouldn’t have to sidestep questions about something she’d no wish to speak about. Ever. “Yes.”

That was it. That was all she’d say. Yes.

When he’d first met Temperance Swift, she’d been a girl of ten, and he a lad