Page 30 of Miss Wylde and the Wynd

“We should find our seats. I do not want the two of us stuck in the middle and staring across at the other.”

“And I am off to purchase mine,” Panmure said before he looked at Georgie. “Save me a place beside you so that we can come to know each other better.”

If Damian didn’t know better, Georgie shivered, but from revulsion, not anticipation.

“I do not care for him,” she whispered when Panmure walked away.

At least she showed good judgment regarding people. She only lacked such wisdom when she decided to venture on her own.

“Why did you claim I was your wife?” she hissed quietly. “I may not be from England, but those words said where anyone could hear will spread and gossip of the marriage of the brother of the Earl of Wyndham will likely arrived in London before you do.”

He did not care. “I will simply tell anyone that they are mistaken and as usual, Panmure’s gossip was incorrect.”

“Is he often wrong?” she asked with worry.

“Most of the time, so I would give him no further thought.” He then assisted her into the mail coach and took a seat next to the door and window and she sat beside him. As others entered, three men sat on the opposite bench and a woman beside Georgie. None of the other passengers were Panmure.

“The viscount will not be joining us.” the woman cackled. “The only place available was up top and he was too good for that. Even wanted one of us to be booted for His Lordship but the driver was having none of that. I say good riddance to the likes of him.”

Good riddance indeed because Damian had not wanted to spend the next twelve hours being taunted by that rakehell. Though, he would have found enjoyment knowing that Panmure was forced to ride up top, especially if they encountered rain.

*

Thank goodness they were not forced to share the mail coach with such a dreadful man, but that did not mean that their travels were pleasant. It was crowded with the six of them and Georgie was pressed against Damian. The length of his strong, solid thigh was pressed to hers and she wasn’t certain if the heat was from him, or her reaction to their close proximity. Both sat with their hands folded on their laps, her arm flush against his. It was impossible to move away because the woman beside her took up the rest of the seat.

It was not proper that she sit so close to Damian, so much so that their bodies were touching but there was nothing she could do except exit the mail coach, which she certainly would not do. She had braved sailing from Italy to England in the bow of a ship, she could survive twelve hours in a crowded carriage.

The passengers were friendly enough, Georgie supposed, but the woman next to her smelled of garlic and was soon asleep and snoring loudly. The men across the carriage included a fisherman, based on the odor that rivaled the garlic; the one in the middle she took to be a man of business sorts based on his clothing that was not common, but not fine either. He sat straight and stared forward, no emotion in his eyes, nor did he speak a word. The man across from Damian was a young man, who mournfully stared out the window as if he were leaving behind his closest friend or the love of his life.

However, the fish and the garlic soon became too much to endure, and even though it was not proper to do so, she turned her face toward Damian and inhaled his scent—a mixture of citrus and sandalwood, far more pleasant than the other aromas that filled the coach.

She really should not have her face against his arm, but it was the only escape from the stench.

Damian then lifted his arm and rested it along the back of the squabs. Perhaps it was to be more comfortable, or he did not like the way she pressed her face against him, or maybe he was simply making certain that everyone knew that she belonged to him, which should irk her but it didn’t.

His hand then cupped her shoulder and nudged her closer.

Georgie glanced up into his blue eyes, curious as to what he was about. He certainly could not mean for her to move closer so that she was leaning against his side because that was highly improper. Worse, it made her all the more aware of his masculinity and recalled how he had looked with his shirt open at the neck. Everything about him was firm, muscular.

Georgie’s heart pounded as her pulse rushed and as improper as it was to sit so close to Damian, her cheek near his chest, she could not force herself to pull away.

“If you would like to sleep, I will see that you are not disturbed,” he whispered.

“I am not tired,” she insisted. Though as she finished speaking a yawn erupted from her chest, much to her surprise. Then again, she really had not slept well last night, nor during the three-week journey aboard the Annabelle.

Damian chuckled then gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze as a true husband might do, and even though she was independent, and his actions were simply because he was more protective than any father or brother she had ever met, Georgie did not fight him. Instead, she enjoyed the comfort he provided and let her eyes drift shut, enjoying his scent over the other options of garlic and fish.

She had only meant to rest, not sleep, but the next thing she recalled was the coach halting in such an abrupt manner that if Damian had not used his free arm to place across her waist and held her close, Georgie may have tumbled to the floor.

She sucked in the breath at the intimacy, even if it was simply so she didn’t fall. Warmth filled her being, a comfort that she had not experienced in a very long time and should not be experiencing now.

Realizing that her growing and unexpected desire for Damian was beginning to rise, she pulled back. “Thank you.”

He let his arm drop and settled back as well.

“Ten minutes to see to necessities. I will leave whether you are on the coach or not,” the driver called.

The older woman scrambled to get out of the coach, stepping on Georgie’s foot in the process, as the other men followed, leaving her and Damian very much alone.