“I knew you would come.” He stepped forward and kissed her gloved hand. “Your carriage awaits.”
Clara glanced over her shoulder. The large coach blocked the view from the house, so Clara could at least relax about being seen.
He assisted her inside, then climbed in and closed the door.
A small lamp gave the lush, leather interior a dim, dreamlike glow while crimson velvet curtains covered the windows. Clara tried to breathe normally as she sat down and arranged her skirts.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“Nowhere. We’ll remain here. Unless youwantto go somewhere.”
She shook her head. “No, here is fine. Then I can leave when I wish.”
You’re thinking out loud, Clara.
“Precisely my thought as well.” With all his attention focused on her, he rested an arm along the back of the seat behind her.
She stared at his face. He was so handsome in the lamplight, it hurt just to look at him.
“So, tell me,” he said with a friendly, open expression, “what was the emergency?”
Clara tried to think clearly. She did not wish to tell him that she brought him here to inform him that someone had proposed to her. She was certain he would not be attracted to such desperation—a single woman carrying a torch for him, begging to see him immediately and sneaking out in the middle of the night to do so. He’d bolt like a fox. He would think she was entertaining foolish, romantic hopes that he, too, would propose, when in actuality, Clara was doing everything possible to shun those hopes.
“It wasn’t an emergency,” she said, “I just suddenly realized that I did not respond to your last letter, and I haven’t seen you for an entire week.”
The marquess was quiet for a moment, then he began to stroke her arm with the tip of his finger. “You know, I thought I might have shocked you with that last letter. Did I?”
She cleared her throat. “No. Well, perhaps a little.”
He continued to stroke her forearm, causing gooseflesh to erupt in every corner of her body.
“You can take off your glove if you like,” he said.
“Why would I want to do that?”
He merely shrugged.
She gazed at him for a moment that felt electrified, then swallowed hard and took both gloves off. She set them on the seat beside her.
It was strange that on all their previous encounters—except the first perhaps—she had felt confident around him and had become bold and flirtatious. Tonight, she was nothing of the sort. She was nervous and frazzled and shaky. He had all the power.
As if he could read her mind, he said, “You mustn’t worry. There’s no need to be nervous.”
She swallowed uneasily. “I can’t help it. It’s very late and we are very much alone and… I shouldn’t be out here with you. I have no idea what to expect. Will we talk? Or are you going to kiss me?”
Amused by the question, he chuckled. “What wouldyoulike to do?”
“Talk,” she instantly replied. “At least, to begin with.”
His expression warmed and he leaned back. “For the record, I prefer to talk first, as well. What would you like to discuss?”
Clara considered it. “Well, here in your carriage at two a.m., I doubt that polite rules apply, so can we get around talking about the weather?”
“Absolutely.”
“Then I would like to ask some questions I’ve been told are too forward for polite society. Tell me about your family and your home and your childhood. I would also like to know something about your past romantic affairs.”
His head drew back with surprise, but he still looked amused. “I’ll tell you anything as long as you promise to oblige me the same way.”
