She saw the confidence in his gaze, but also glimpsed a deeper, hidden vulnerability. The latter gave her a strange jolt. She’d never been important to any man before.
It was a strange feeling, a realization that, for her, opened up a completely novel aspect of their situation. As comprehension sank into her consciousness, she owned to feeling a touch rattled by how far matters between them had progressed—how deep the connection between them had reached.
Into my soul. And into his.
She would have shaken aside the idea as silly, only it wasn’t.
In embarking on her journey of discovery with Nicholas, she’d never imagined it would come to this.
That it could.
The sound of a dove in the nearby trees jerked her back to the here and now, and she remembered they were still entangled.
She pushed up. “We should head back.”
She was cravenly grateful that he agreed without a word.
Once they’d straightened their clothing and Nicholas had lifted Adriana to her saddle, he swung up to Tamerlane’s back, and side by side once more, they set off to return to the Place.
As they cantered, Nicholas kept his gaze forward and counseled himself to patience.
If her silence as, with the glow of aftermath still rosy in her cheeks, she’d gazed at him was any indication, he was slowly and surely succeeding and steadily advancing toward his goal.
But he couldn’t push or press.
She was Lady Adriana Sommerville, Miss Flibbertigibbet, and he had to allow her to make up her own mind.
* * *
That evening, Addie gathered with the rest of the company about the dinner table, and they went over the details of their plan one last time.
While a rhubarb pudding was being placed before them, Nicholas looked at Phillip. “We’re assuming the man who contacted you will be the one who meets you in The Drove. I know you didn’t see his face clearly, but from your meeting in the tavern, what do you remember of him?”
Phillip thought, then offered, “He was solidly built. Burly. I never saw him standing, but I got the impression he was tall.”
“So a large man,” Nicholas said. “What color hair?”
Phillip tipped his head, his gaze distant as he thought back. “Brown, I think. Mid brown, not dark, with a touch of gray at the temples.”
“Straight or curly hair?” Addie asked, getting into the spirit of the interrogation.
“Lightly curly.”
“What shape was his face?” Nicholas asked.
“Squarish. Quite fleshy.” After a moment, Phillip added, “He had large hands. Thick fingers. And”—he screwed up his face in thought—“I think he was wearing a coat with a light check. Tweed, maybe.” He refocused on the others. “I’m quite sure I’d never met him before.”
Nicholas looked at Addie and Dickie. “Does that description suggest anyone to you?”
Both thought, but eventually, shook their heads.
“He’s not a neighbor,” Addie offered.
Dickie added, “I don’t know anyone like that, but I can’t say I’ve never crossed paths with him, either.” He met Nicholas’s eyes. “At a race meet or boxing match or someplace like that.”
Nicholas nodded. “At this point, he could be anyone. If he’s an agent acting for someone else, he might not even have been in this area before.”
With dessert dispensed with, at Viola’s suggestion, they rose and retreated to the drawing room.
