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However, pretending to be asleep was not getting him anywhere. He sat up, which got her attention, and he inquired in a husky voice, “Well, then, a name, please … I must have a name.”
“Oh!” She gasped. “I thought you were asleep.”
He moved to her side of the coach and pressed closer. “Now, how could I sleep with you so near?”
“Hmmm,” she answered agreeably. “I had been thinking the same about you.”
He laughed and looked at her face before he took her now ungloved fingers, found her wrist, and put it to his lips. It was, he knew, audacious, and he was surprised that she did not object. “Now then, my beauty, what is your name?”
“Sarah … Parker,” she said easily but fidgeted and did not meet his eye; however, before he could continue to question her, she took over and asked, “And yours, sir?”
“Ah.” His voice was low as he bent his head and nibbled at her neck and then her ear, again surprised that she allowed it. “Shall I tell you now or later?”
His efforts he knew had excited her. He was an experienced man and understood her reactions at once. But she seemed in control and pulled away from him.
“Now, if you please,” she answered. “And do stop that, sir.”
It irritated him that she called him sir. It was not what he wanted to hear on her lips. However, wariness got past the drink, and he thought he would give her his middle name, “Justin,” he said.
“And is it not followed by another?”
He was reluctant to tell her he was Lord Westbrooke. It might put her to caution, it might make her feel uncomfortable, and it could also get him into trouble. “All you need to know is that it is Justin.”
“Is that so? And will you heed me if Justin is all I have to go by?”
“If your lips speak, I must always take heed,” he answered gallantly.
She giggled. “Then do release me, sir, for you have me in quite a tight grip.”
Indeed, he had her pressed to himself so he could feel her beautiful, well-shaped, full breasts up against him. He smiled at her, only loosening his hold a mite. “You still have not called me by my name.” He bent and dropped a soft kiss on her lips, noting with pleasure how full and ripe they were.
“Justin, then, please … I trusted you not to take unfair advantage of me,” she said softly.
Her words nearly sobered him, and he sat up straight, saying lightly, “Advantage is not something I meant to take of you, child. You have naught to fear from me.”
She smiled. “Do you see any fear in my eyes?”
He looked into them and said, his voice low and hungry once more, “No … I see a contradiction to your words. I see an invitation. Do they lie?”
“No, for you were very kind to take me all the way to Lymington—a five-hour journey at best—and the truth is I was loath to do it by myself in the dead of night.”
“Zounds, woman, I don’t know what can have driven you to it,” he exclaimed with some feeling. She had a vixen-like quality that was most appealing if not downright seductive.
“I have my reasons, believe me,” she answered simply and smiled softly at him.
“How old are you?” he demanded suddenly.
“One and twenty,” she answered proudly.
“Lord, then why aren’t you safely married?” he asked with genuine surprise.
“Haven’t fallen in love yet.”
He laughed caustically. “Love is a notion. It doesn’t really exist. Settle for comfort, child.”
She sighed. “You are so unfeeling … unromantic. I am afraid that I would not be comfortable without love in my marriage.”
“You don’t know what you are talking about. Love is a deuced nuisance. Settle for friendship. Love mucks up a person’s mind, be sure of it,” he grumbled and sat back against the thick squabs to contemplate his remark with more anger than sadness.
