Page 58 of Miss Wylde and the Wynd

“Likewise,” Georgie murmured before she glanced at Damian from the corner of her eyes.

“I have so many questions.” Frome chuckled.

“I am certain that you do,” Damian returned. “But they will wait for another time.” He shifted his eyes to the two women also sharing the coach with them.

“Oh, I cannot wait.” Frome chuckled as he withdrew a flask from the inside of his suitcoat.

“Is it not a little early to imbibe?” Damian asked.

“Not when one has not yet slept.” He took another drink. “I have been on a bloo…” he paused when his eyes flicked to Georgie, “a mail coach since Cambridge and I find it impossible to sleep on one.”

“It is safer that you do not,” Damiam grumbled. “I woke to find someone trying to lift my purse. They are no longer traveling with us.”

Again, Frome looked at Georgie. His friend knew that Damian intended never to marry, which was still the case, except he was traveling with a wife.

He then nodded, looked Damian in the eye before he turned to look out the window. Already Damian was anticipating their next conversation away from listening ears.

Georgie glanced at Damian, questions in her brown eyes as if she wasn’t certain whether she should be concerned, or perhaps she was simply curious.

Damian simply winked at her and smiled.

Her frown deepened as she looked away then retrieved that book from her satchel.

Damian let her read and looked out his window.

Why had he winked at her?

He had only meant to assure her that all was well, but so much more could be read into a wink.

It did not help that once again she was seated very close to his person and her thigh was pressed against his. There were layers of clothing between them. And, despite them having traveled for two days now, her hair still held the light scent of lavender.

Was it just her hair or did her entire body carry the floral aroma?

Was it on her breasts, thighs, and nether regions? Would it fill his nostrils when he kissed her in a manner to bring her the most pleasure?

Bloody hell!

His own nether regions stirred with such thoughts and he knew that he must shut them down before he became uncomfortable and the evidence was on display, if anyone happened to look at his lap.

He could always hold the satchel of what remained of their food on his lap and nobody would be the wiser, though Frome may suspect and Damian would likely never hear the end of his desire for his wife.

Damian glanced over at Georgie to see how far she was into her book and if it was long enough that she’d be entertained until it got too dark to read.

Except, it wasn’t the book that held his attention but her breasts because her bodice gaped from the way she was sitting, which allowed him a better view of her creamy breasts barely confined by the pale-yellow cotton.

She took a deep breath, her breasts rising then falling as she sighed.

Frome cleared his throat and Damian looked up.

“How long have you been married?”

“A few days.”

His friend nodded. “It is a shame that you are stuck on this mail coach, and not alone.”

“Yes, it is.”

Frome chuckled again and looked back out the window.