Page 22 of The Duke of My Desire

He nestled into the squabs and crossed his arms over his chest, resisting the urge to steal a glance at her as the silence stretched for several beats before she spoke again.

“Oh. Right. Well, then…enjoy your nap, Your Grace.”

He didn’t instruct her to use his given name this time. Instead, he merely nodded his thanks and let the silence settle over the space, uncomfortable yet necessary.

He needed to gain control again—control over this moment, this situation, his body, his thoughts. Everything. He was a disciplined man, accustomed to his own rhythms and routines and Justina had come into his life and upended it without even trying.

He must regain control.

Inhaling a deep breath, he willed his body to relax and his mind to clear, but it was a difficult thing when he could feel Justina’s presence beside him, warm and alive and distracting as hell.

Even more difficult when he could still feel her hands on his body, her warm breath on his neck.

He had a very strong feeling there would be no nap in his future.

Justina settled back against the squabs and smoothed her skirts into place, stealing another glance at the perplexing man pretending to nap beside her.

She’d only just met the duke, but in these past few days, she’d gleaned enough to form a general idea of his personality and temperament. He was sweet, affable, mild-mannered.

So why had he suddenly gone all gruff and awkward with her? He’d enjoyed the neck rub, there was no question of that, so why had he ended it so soon, and so abruptly? Had something upset him?

She couldn’t imagine what that might be. Perhaps he was simply out of sorts because he was tired. He couldn’t have slept well last night, not in a chair that had given him a sore neck, though he had to know he only had himself to blame. She’d offered to share the bed and he’d refused.

Frustrated, Justina turned to the window and huffed out a silent sigh. Men. She loved them, truly she did, but she’d learned long ago that pride could turn even the most sensible man into an unreasonable buffoon.

Even Phillip was afflicted on occasion, and he had been the steadiest, most even-tempered person she’d ever known.

She smiled as memories flitted through her mind. Her marriage had been wonderful, but it wasn’t perfect. She and Phillip had butted heads on occasion, which led to some passionate rows, which then led to even more passionate lovemaking.

She missed that. She didn’t often allow herself to wonder what life would be like if he were still here, but every now and then she couldn’t help but muse over all that might have been. Would they have a child now? Perhaps a little girl with Phillip’s black curls and mischievous smile? With a little brother for her on the way?

Her heart ached for all she had lost, the future filled with love and joy that now seemed like a dream she could never recapture.

Oh, she knew she was not in her dotage. She was still young and there was every possibility she would marry again, but it wouldn’t be the same. Phillip was gone and she would never have again what she used to have with him.

She missed him terribly, but she also missed the girl she’d been before he died, the girl brimming with youthful innocence and hope. She would never be that girl again, never reclaim the innocence she’d possessed before it was stolen from her, and that sense of loss still lingered even now. Not as acutely as it once had, but it was there, and it probably always would be.

Justina allowed herself one last wistful sigh before ruthlessly shoving all thoughts of Phillip and the future aside as she gazed out the window at the yellowing fields, the trees flaunting their rich reds and golds of the season.

The remainder of the day’s journey passed in much the same fashion, mostly silent, with Justina gazing out her window and Gregory pretending to nap.

By the time they reached the coaching inn which would provide their accommodations for the evening, she’d had quite enough of the bumpy road, the stuffy carriage and, most of all, the exasperating duke who’d ignored her all day.

“Shall we see if they’ve a private parlor available to rent?” Gregory asked as they approached the entrance to the King’s Arms Inn. “We can eat our dinner there before retiring for the night.”

Feeling peevish, Justina took her time in answering him, pretending instead to study the inn’s exterior, taking in the whitewashed walls and windows framed with shingles the same cheerful shade of blue as the front door.

“I don’t know,” she said, sliding him a sidelong glance. “Perhaps. If you can promise it will not be a silent meal.”

She was well aware she was scolding a duke as if he were a recalcitrant schoolboy, but she didn’t much care at the moment. She was annoyed with him.

To his credit, he had the good grace to look embarrassed, which eased some of her irritation. Not enough to compel her to take pity on him, though.

“I promise,” he said, his voice suitably—and adorably—contrite. “I feel much improved after my nap.”

Justina eyed him speculatively for half a heartbeat, knowing full well he hadn’t slept one wink today, but in the interest of friendship, she let it go without comment and stepped inside the inn.

They met with the innkeeper and made arrangements for a single room, again posing as brother and sister under false names, though this time Gregory requested a cot for the night, apparently still unwilling to share the bed with her, but also unwilling to sleep in a chair again.