Suddenly, the carriage shuddered, then crawled forward. “What the hell?” he cried. “You’re moving!” But as he walked alongside, he noticed it only rolled forward a carriage length before halting again.
“We’re in line, you know,” she said.
“I did not know. If you’ll recall, I’ve been in that torture chamber for the past hour waiting for Rosy, who still hasn’t emerged.”
“That’s because she was seventeenth on the list. The line is moving periodically because the carriages are positioned in that same numerical order. And why was it a ‘torture chamber’?”
“Let’s see.” He began ticking things off on his fingers. “My wig itched and I couldn’t move without my sword catching on something.”
Before he could go on, she had the audacity to chuckle. “I see I should have given you the same lessons on walking at Drawing Rooms that I gave your sister.”
“Perhaps so.” He eyed her closely. “Or perhaps you should just have found me a different sword.”
“That did what? Disappeared when you were done with it?”
“Preferably. Speaking of that—” He removed the sword and scabbard and handed it up to the coachman. “Do you have room to stow that beneath your perch?”
“Certainly, Your Grace,” the coachman said as he took it.
“See there?” she teased. “You found a way to make it disappear all on your own.”
He laughed. Then coughed. “God help me, my mouth is bone dry. And that’s another thing. If you’d warned me that the Queen’s Drawing Room didn’t include refreshments of any kind, I would have slid a flask into my pocket before I left Grenwood House.”
“That would hardly have worked. Your coat is much too well-fitted to allow for a flask that wouldn’t give you away at once.” She thrust her head out the window. “Thomas, could you bring His Grace some refreshments?”
When the footman answered in the affirmative, Geoffrey wondered what the fellow could possibly have on hand. The damn woman already ran Geoffrey’s household better than he could run it himself. Then again, he’d been ducking out every day to avoid seeing her, so he’d hardly left her any choice.
As he was leaning on the window, the carriage moved again.
“That’s it,” he grumbled after it stopped. Opening the carriage door, he climbed inside and settled into the seat across from her. “I might as well get comfortable now that you’ve made yourself anonymous.”
He stretched out his legs and collided with hers, which were draped in some sheer fabric but were still distinguishable. This and the other carriage behind it were the largest his coachman had been able to produce from the depths of Grenwood House’s carriage house, the only ones capable of carrying a woman in a hoop skirt and her companion.
But he hadn’t been expecting to be in the same one withher, even only for a short while.Diana had ridden here with Rosy, while he’d come in the other carriage with Mrs. Pierce. So he hadn’t had the chance to make adjustments for the fact that both he and Diana had long legs.
He had the chance now, however, because he sat directly opposite her. Instead of taking it, he shifted position so that his thinly clad knee brushed hers, and a bolt of desire shot through him. Clearly, he’d acted in error.
For a moment she froze, her breasts rising and falling more rapidly than usual. He couldn’t wait to see them more fully in an evening gown tonight. Her present dress was of some purple fabric that stretched from her toes to just under her chin, where it met the lavender ribbons of her straw bonnet. It was far too unrevealing for his liking.
Then she straightened, to move her knee away. Damn. This was precisely why an unmarried couple wasn’t supposed to be alone together in a carriage.
“Admit it,” she said, her voice strained. “You simply don’t want to eat while chasing down a carriage.”
That provided a suitable distraction, thank God. “You brought food, too?” His stomach rumbled, as if echoing his question.
“I could hardly let a fellow of your stature go without sustenance for too long. You might have fainted, and even with Thomas’s help, we would never have been able to lift you.”
“I’ll have you know I’ve never fainted in my life.”
“Thank heavens. You might have crushed someone. But you’re looking a bit peaked at the moment. That’s all I’m saying.”
Crossing his arms over his chest, he snorted. That was ludicrous. He never looked “peaked” either. Or if he did, it was because he was thirsty and starving.
Thomas approached the window on Geoffrey’s side of the carriage and slid a small picnic basket through it. Geoffrey practically snatched it from him, then rummaged through its contents. “What the devil are these?” he asked, picking up a miniature pear too small to be real.
“Marzipan pears.”
His mouth watered. “Marzipan is my favorite,” he said, then eyed her suspiciously. “You asked Mother what I like to eat.”
