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“Are you going home to Crawley Farm for Christmas?” he asked, tension scorching my arm.
The question caused my mouth to drop open. Did he say…“Excuse me?”
“I’d like to drive you home.”
Had someone hit me in the head with a sledgehammer? “Are you serious?”
His eyebrow shot up. “Very.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Do you prefer to take two trains across England in the middle of winter, while crossing a very busy London? With my Cadet, we could be at Crawley Farm in less than four hours. We can leave as soon as you’re ready. Today. Or tomorrow if you prefer.”
It didn’t escape my notice that his hand was still wrapped around my arm, and that his thumb drew a slow circle over the sleeve of my dress.
“You must be joking.” I shrugged free, not without some effort. “You said we weren’t supposed to see each other again. Do you ever mean what you say, or is it all a ruse to confuse me? I bet you have fun with that.”
The implacable cast of his shoulders slackened before tensing again. “I simply want to offer my help. It’s Christmas. We can spend some time together. As friends.”
“You don’t make any sense. Friends? Are we friends now?” I gnashed my teeth. Hot and cold flushes ran through me. I blamed my frazzled state on the storm of emotions he evoked in me.
He held up his hands. “Fine. Enjoy your trip on the train. It’ll be either cold or overheated, likely fairly crammed, and probably late. Have fun.”
Unbelievable. Surely, he had something in mind, and there was only one way to find out what he wanted. “All right,” I almost yelled when he was walking away. “I accept your kind offer. Shall we go tomorrow?”
A smirk that was all predatory menace quirked up his lips. “Excellent. Tomorrow, then.”
“Tomorrow.” If—and it was a rather big if—I recovered from the shock.
