“When do you think we’ll get back to London?” she asked.
“Depends on the state of the roads and the availability of horses, and assuming we encounter no obstacles orproblems on the way, it’ll take most of the day and part of the night—sixteen or seventeen hours at least. I’d prefer to drive through in one day.” He gave her a sidelong glance. “If you can bear it, that is.”
“Of course I can. I’d rather be home than spend another day on the road.” After the nightmare trip with Mr. Nixon, she could bear anything. “But it’s a long day. Can your coachman manage that kind of journey?”
“He can. He’s driven a lot longer and in much worse conditions. And I pay him well.”
“So what time in the morning shall we lea—eek!” She broke off with a shriek as something huge and winged swooped out of the darkness straight at her. She felt the whoosh of air against her face, caught a glimpse of talons poised to attack, and ducked, just as something caught on the hood of her cloak. The tug almost overbalanced her and she would have fallen had not Edward grabbed her and pulled her hard against him.
“Wh-what—?”
“An owl.” He made no move to release her, his arms wrapped firmly around her. “Did it hurt you?”
“N-no, it just gave me a fright.” She gathered her wits. “When I saw those talons coming at me...” She shivered.
“But it didn’t touch you,” he soothed, his voice deep and reassuring.
For a moment she simply gave herself over to the comfort of his embrace, leaning against him, her cheek pressed against his chest, his arms firm and solid around her. She took a few deep breaths, breathing in the familiar scent of him, of soap and sandalwood and starch. And safety.
Then, remembering her resolution to be more independent, she straightened and stepped back. “But why—I mean, owls don’t normally attack people, do they?” His embrace loosened, but he didn’t quite release her.
He ran his hand up her spine and cupped the back of her head, exploring briefly. “I think you’ll find that little gold tassel was the target.” His hand was warm.
“The tassel?” She felt the tip of the hood. Sure enough, the tassel was gone. “I was attacked fora tassel?”
His mouth quirked. “It was agoldtassel, after all. Your owl clearly has expensive tastes.”
She stared up at him a moment, then laughter bubbled up from somewhere. An owl with expensive tastes. How perfectly ridiculous.
Ned held her while she laughed, her body soft against him, her laughter a little high, a little out of control. More than was warranted by a mild joke and a small fright with an owl.
She hadn’t cried at all over her abduction ordeal, but now... This laughter was a release. He held her close in the darkness, just for comfort and support, he told himself, even as he breathed in the scent of her, the spicy tang of his own soap wrapped around the sweet, warm fragrance of woman, a combination he found quite... irresistible.
A hunger stirred in him, deep, long denied. He fought it. This wasn’t for him.Shewasn’t for him. Innocent, vulnerable, sweet—no.
Her laughter ended on a hiccup, and she rested her cheek briefly against his chest before pushing herself gently out of his embrace. “Sorry, I got a bit carried away there. I must be more tired than I realized.” Wiping under her eyes with her bare fingers, she glanced apologetically up at him, and her hood fell back just as a beam of fugitive moonlight bathed her satin-pale face.
Her hair was pulled back in a knot, but tiny dark curls clustered like feathers around her forehead and ears. The bruise shadowed her cheekbone, like a stain on a pearl. Her eyes were wide and fathomless, her mouth lush and damp and sweetly curved.
Ned couldn’t take his eyes off her, couldn’t breathe.
A single tear glittered unnoticed on her cheek. He reached out a finger to collect it and caught himself up in mid-gesture. Gloves. He pulled them off and stuffed them in his pocket. She watched him, frowning slightly.
“I’m perfectly all right,” she began.
He cupped her cheek—her skin was like cold silk—and with his thumb smoothed the tear away.
“Edward?” she said hesitantly, but she didn’t move, didn’t push him away, just stood there, with her cheek cradled in his hand and her eyes dark pools of mystery in the moonlight.
The clouds buried the moon again and they were standing in darkness with the scent of spring-damp earth all around them. His awareness filled with her, still and somehow breathless and expectant. Her skin warmed under his touch.
He couldn’t stop himself. He bent and kissed her, softly, a bare whisper of skin against skin. A tremor of heat. A wisp of sensation.
She shivered but didn’t move away. He tried to read her expression in the moonless dark but could see nothing. She sighed, and her breath warmed him.
He kissed her again, and with a soft murmur her lips quivered, then parted. She leaned into him and he tasted innocence and luscious heat and sweet, intoxicating acceptance.
She returned his kisses, eagerly, a little clumsily, pressing her softness against him, loosing a ravening hunger deep within him. He pulled her hard against him, deepening the kiss, inflamed by the taste of her, the feeling of her in his arms.
