Richard let out a weary sigh and leaned back on his elbows. “For the love of all things sacred, can we return to silence?”
“You were the one who broke it,” she said sweetly. “Not I.”
Before he could formulate a suitably scathing reply, one of the footmen approached with a respectful bow. “My lord, Miss—the wheel has been replaced. We are ready to resume our journey.”
“Thank the heavens,” Richard muttered, springing to his feet as if the earth itself had become intolerable.
Miss Theodosia rose more gracefully and gathered the blanket into a neat fold. “Should I take offense at your eagerness to be gone from my company?” she asked lightly.
“I merely wish to get back on the road.”
She arched an elegant brow, clearly unconvinced but unwilling to press. “Of course,” she murmured, handing the blanket to the waiting footman. Without another word, she turned and began the walk back to the coach, her back straight, her stride unhurried, never once glancing behind to see if he would follow.
Richard watched her for a moment before falling into step. She didn’t behave like any woman of his acquaintance. She was strong-willed to the point of aggravation, stubborn, entirely too independent—but something about her refused to be dismissed.
She was also hiding something. That much, he knew without question.
And he intended to find out what it was.
A footman stepped forward and opened the coach door, offering a gloved hand to assist Miss Theodosia inside. She gathered her skirts, placing one foot on the iron step, but before ascending, she turned her head back towards Richard, her expression laced with that familiar, infuriating amusement.
“I do hope your ride will put you in a more tolerable mood, my lord,” she said sweetly, her tone hovering somewhere between jest and gentle rebuke.
Richard’s jaw tightened, but he forced himself to bite back the retort that sprang to mind.Yes, well, not being in yourcompany is a balm in and of itself,he thought. Instead, he forced a smile and replied, “And I hope you enjoy your nap, assuming you plan to take one or two, which seems likely.”
Her eyes sparkled as her lips curved into a small smile. “You are beginning to know me rather well.”
He stepped closer, lowering his voice just enough to let the meaning linger between them. “I am learning a great many things about you, whether you wish me to or not.”
At that, the smile faltered. Only slightly, but enough for him to notice.
“That almost sounds like a threat,” she remarked.
“Not a threat,” he replied, his gaze holding hers. “Merely an observation.”
For a moment, something unspoken passed between them, but what it was, he did not know. Then, without another word, she turned and stepped up into the carriage, disappearing into its shadowed interior.
Richard stood there a moment longer than was necessary, staring after her, frowning slightly as the door was closed behind her.
She was not at all what he’d expected when this journey began.
And he had a distinct feeling she would prove even more complicated before it was through.
As the coach rolled through the vibrant heart of London, Theodosia pressed her gloved hand to the windowpane, her breath fogging the glass as she gazed out in open wonder. The streets bustled with life—more people than she had ever seen in one place. Elegant ladies in their finery and feathered hats strolled arm-in-arm while their maids followed a few pacesbehind, burdened with hatboxes and parcels. Hawkers shouted their wares from every corner, and children darted between carriage wheels, heedless of the danger, their laughter mingling with the city’s ever-present din.
The carriage turned onto a quieter, more refined street, where the townhouses became grander, their facades gleaming in pale stone or pristine whitewash. Gas lamps stood sentry on each corner, and gravel courtyards kept the soot-stained world at bay. At last, the coach drew to a halt before a stately residence, its entrance flanked by white columns and tall sash windows that glittered like polished gems.
Theodosia instinctively smoothed a hand down the front of her modest traveling habit, suddenly keenly aware of how provincial she must appear in such surroundings.
The coach door swung open, and a liveried footman extended a white-gloved hand. She took it, her boots crunching on the gravel as she descended. Her gaze drifted upward once more, trying to take in the full height of the townhouse, with its elegant lines and air of imposing permanence.
Lord Wilton joined her, hands clasped behind his back. “Shall we?” he asked, watching her with a faint gleam of amusement.
“This is your home?” she managed to say.
He nodded. “For as long as I can remember. It’s been in the family for three generations.”
“It’s... quite extraordinary.”
