Page 33 of Courting Elizabeth

At a halt, I saw that she was shivering in the inn yard. I removed my coat and placed it on her shoulders.

“I have a shawl in my baggage,” she protested.

“Your baggage is strapped to the back of the carriage.”

“And your coat was on you.”

“Making it easier to reach.”

She protested again, but drew the collar close against her throat.

The second day, she fell asleep in the carriage.

Her head slid against the wall with each jolt. After several minutes, I changed places and offered her my shoulder without waking her. She nestled against me with a sigh.

I did not move for nearly two hours.

The warmth of her body passed through our clothes. A curl brushed my jaw. Her hand rested on her skirt, a few inches from mine. I could have taken it. I did not.

When she woke, she understood our position at once. She straightened, her cheeks pink.

“You should have woken me.”

“Why?”

“Your arm must be numb.”

“Somewhat.”

“And you said nothing?”

“You were sleeping. And I would not have moved for the world.”

She looked at me in a way that made the two hours of discomfort perfectly worthwhile.

That evening, at the inn, our rooms were adjacent. I asked the servant to check the lock on hers before retiring. Elizabeth watched me from the corridor.

“Do you fear someone will enter?”

“No.”

“Then why?”

I could not tell her that I wished to erase the fear I had glimpsed in her eyes the night before. I answered more simply.

“Because you will sleep better knowing the door is secure.”

She understood nonetheless.

“Good night, Fitzwilliam.”

“Good night.”

I bowed over her hand. She no longer wore gloves.

My lips touched her bare skin. Since Hunsford, I had been granted nothing like this.

I felt her pulse quicken.