Undressed with the Marquess (Lost Lords of London #3) - Christi Caldwell Page 0,39

he hadn’t . . . and couldn’t. It was a part of him that would always be. And because of that, there was nothing else to say. She, however, spoke as one who believed he’d fully put that life behind him. There was a niggling of guilt that worked around his gut, at letting her to that incorrect supposition she’d made. One that would no doubt result in her hightailing it back to her cottage.

Dare placed himself in front of her. “Very well, you cannot tolerate carriage rides,” he said, bringing them back ’round to the discovery that had unearthed old resentments from their past. “The only answer that makes sense is that you won’t ride in a carriage.”

“We’ll return to my cottage, then,” she said in deadened tones.

Was hers a question? His chest tightened. “Is that what you wish? Is that what you’d like me to do?”

Indecision filled her eyes. Her lips moved ever so slightly; no doubt on the tip of her tongue was just that, a request to end this before it began. But she wouldn’t. Because she’d committed to doing so. Because she’d see herself as a coward for reneging, even though he’d never fault her or blame her.

“No,” she said, and that confirmation came as if dragged from her.

He knew this woman so well. And yet how ironic, at the same time, that he should know her not at all. He’d not known of her friendships or of the little yet important things, like how a carriage ride could set her stomach churning. Or that she’d learned to ride.

“I intend to see this arrangement through.”

She’d yet again agreed to join him. He’d allowed her now several opportunities to remove herself from the arrangement, and as such, he needn’t ask any further.

But he didn’t want her like this, feeling trapped.

She’d been that too many times in her life, and he’d be damned if he allowed himself to be one who’d force her into another—albeit different—corner.

Dare dusted the tip of his index finger along the curve of her chin. “Are you sure?” he asked, hearing her reluctance and wanting confirmation that she’d thought through this decision, and that she would take an out if that was what she wished. “Once we enter London, there will be no going back. The world will know you as my wife.”

She drew in a shuddery breath. Was it his touch, or horror at the prospect he’d raised? How desperately he wished for it to be the former. “I have to do this.” She glanced back to the waiting carriages. “Not just for me, but for Gwynn.”

A wave of relief swept through him. One that didn’t have anything to do with escaping an explanation to the duke.

“From the ashes of our past, perhaps a future can be born for the both of us,” Temperance said.

“We’ll ride together, then.”

“You being in the carriage will not change my reaction to riding.” It would only add a layer of unease, having him in close quarters.

A half grin curved his lips up. “I wasn’t referring to the carriage.” She followed his stare over to the servant holding the reins of Temperance’s horse. “I’ll have your mount readied so that you can ride.”

“Are you suggesting we ride together?” she blurted.

Dare smiled, eager to restore them to some place of ease they’d played pretend at before. “Unless you’d prefer to ride in the carriage . . . ?”

“No!” she exclaimed. “Thank you. I . . .”

He waited.

“I’m a proficient rider. My brother taught me; however, I don’t keep the pace that you set.”

He held up a hand. “It is fine. We’ll arrive in London when we arrive.”

Something glimmered in her eyes, some emotion, some sentiment he couldn’t make sense of.

And as he joined her on the walk back to the carriage, he couldn’t stave off the questions as to what else had changed for Temperance in their time apart.

Chapter 9

Seated on the carved armchair with Gwynn snoring away, Temperance frantically put her needle to work, trying to distract herself from the thought of her undertaking. The bed pillow she’d tucked under her in the form of a makeshift cushion did little in the way of offering comfort.

Sleep hadn’t always come easy to Temperance.

As a small girl, and then as a young woman, she’d learned the cost of slumbering too soundly was that it made one too slow to escape a violent beating from the hands of one’s father.

When she’d left London and started anew in the English countryside,