Page 12 of A Spinster's Guide to Landing a Lyon

“It feels…achy.” With how breathy she sounded, she hardly recognized her voice.

“What do you want to do about it, Amelia?” His voice was soft in her ear.

“I don’t know.” Confusion reigned in her mind. Of course she wanted him. She wanted him to show her everything he knew about taking care of this ache. It was a dream. There were no consequences.

But.

At the thought of consequences, she paused in her dream. Of course there were consequences. She would have to live with this man for the foreseeable future. Holidays. Visits. Social gatherings. And more. She couldn’t be dreaming about him.

“I have to stop, Benedict.” Five of the most painful words to leave her lips. “I have to.”

“Stop.”

“Have to.”

“Stop—”

“Amelia?” A clear voice rang through the haze of her dreams. A warm hand was shaking her shoulder. And not from a distance. From being wrapped around her.

“Amelia, wake up. The carriage has stopped. We’ve arrived.”

And that was the moment she lifted her head. Not from the leather squabs upon which she had first fallen asleep.

No.

Instead, she had lifted her head from the warm cedarwood and spice scented shoulder belonging to none other than her sister’s soon-to-be betrothed.

Chapter Eight

He hadn’t meantto fall asleep. Hadn’t meant to let Amelia fall asleep on him. And certainly had not meant to wrap his arms around her protectively while she dozed.

But it had happened, and it had given him the oddest feelings.

She was the responsible one. Dutiful. Poised. Overly concerned with her image and reputation. A slave to theton.

Exactly the same as another blonde he had known too well. Had let into his life. His heart.

Yet holding her in her sleep felt natural, as though his arms had been made to hold her all along. As though everything his arms had been doing thus far in life was only in preparation to hold her.

She was the kind that took care of herself and everyone around her. Just considering the lengths she was willing to go for her sister exemplified that. But here in the carriage, the space had become his domain. Somehow he had become the protector. And surprise of all surprises, for some reason she had conceded to him by first crawling into the hiding space, and then finding refuge in him as she slept.

Though…what refuge it really was, he couldn’t reassure her.

His dreams had been vague, but the heat—and stiffness—in specific parts of his body didn’t lie. The dreams involved sheets. A large bed. Tumbling around. And holding Amelia with an altogether different purpose.

Thankfully he had been jostled awake before her so he could compose himself before she witnessed his state of arousal. That would not do. He was here for her sister.

“We’re here?” she mumbled in response to him rousing her from her slumber.

“Yes.”

And in an instant, whatever vulnerability, all shreds of submissiveness, and every last tiny trace of familiarity toward him vanished.

“You must be on your best behavior,” she said while fixing her hair.

“You think I would do otherwise?” he asked, slightly affronted that she was implying he would act otherwise.

“I don’t know you.”