Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
A footman opens the door for me, and I move forward to climb in but stop when I see someone out the corner of my eye. God damn it. ‘My lady,’ I smile tightly, my eyes low, sweeping my hand out in gesture for Taya.
She picks up the bottom of her dress and walks past me, stopping just shy of the steps up into the carriage. She keeps her attention forward, and my senses are bombarded by the most intoxicating scent. Lord above, what is that? I discreetly inhale through my nose, fighting off the dizziness. Honeysuckle. It’s honeysuckle, delightfully sweet. I find myself leaning forward, drawn to it, and she looks at me, tilting her head. I withdraw and swallow, as she removes her bonnet and shakes out her hair. Long, unruly hair. Hair that is unmanageable, I expect. She climbs in, I close the door, and make my way to another carriage. A safer carriage.
And I vehemently ignore the pulse that’s erupted inside my breeches.
‘I’m afraid there is no room, Frank,’ Mama says, shifting up close to Lady Wisteria.
‘I’m sure there is space in the other coach,’ Papa says.
I look back at the other coach, the coach I abandoned only a moment ago, seeing Sampson Winters climbing into it, joining his sister Taya. Jesus. The carriage carrying Mama, Papa, Lady Wisteria and Clara rolls away, and I am left standing on the dirt contemplating my options.
Then Sampson’s dark blonde, curly mop pops out of the window. ‘Come on, Melrose, we haven’t got all day.’
‘Pray for me,’ I whisper to myself, wandering over and climbing up into the carriage. I lower to my seat, which is, unfortunately, opposite His Lordship and Her Ladyship, so avoiding eye contact could be somewhat tricky.
The carriage starts rumbling along, and Taya pulls out a fan, wafting it leisurely in front of her face, blowing her unmanageable hair around her face. My God, what is she doing? I don’t know, but I’m beginning to think that the hair matches the owner. Unmanageable. Let it be known, that fan is not there to cool Lady Taya Winters down, for London is hardly boasting soaring temperatures today. No, that fan is a tool, and by God it works.
She gazes out of the window, smiling over the top of it, and I swallow, as Sampson declares his departure, virtually diving out of the window.
‘What the bloody hell are you doing?’ I blurt, practically lunging for his leg to save him from falling to the cutting stones. Of course, I miss it, for the man moves fast, and I look out of the window, turning my head to see up onto the roof. He’s sitting up there, relaxed, taking in the view. ‘Such a waste to be cooped up like chickens in there,’ he says happily, turning his eyes to me. ‘Behave, won’t you, Melrose, while I am up here, and you are down there with my sister?’
I huff and pull myself back into the carriage, and I get as comfortable as one can in such a situation. Which is what, I ask myself. What is the situation? Just an attractive lady? I am used to those. But this one? Perhaps it is because she is forbidden, for everyone wants what they cannot have.
I reach into my pocket to retrieve my story and distract myself by reading for a time, so I may ignore the rather pleasant feeling of her eyes on me. I frown, feeling around in my pocket. My heart begins to race. ‘Oh no,’ I murmur, scanning the floor at my feet. The bench either side of me. My lap. ‘Bugger it all, no.’
‘Looking for this?’
I peek up and find Lady Taya waving a foolscap folio before her face, the piece replacing her fan. I gasp and reach forward, snatching it from her grasp, and she recoils, surprised. My God, did she read it?
‘I’ll take that as a yes.’
I scowl to myself and tuck it away, looking out of the window. ‘I apologise, I did not mean to act so sharply.’
‘What is it?’ she asks.
‘Private.’
‘Oh? You won’t tell me? Not even if I promise to keep it a secret?’
I peek at her, and she starts wafting that fan again, her smile hardly seen. Unmanageable! ‘Oh please,’ I say, unable to stop myself. ‘Your tactics are insulting.’ Does she think I’m that shallow? And then it occurs to me that perhaps she does. My God, does everyone think I am so shallow? One dimensional? That a seductive smile and a silent promise may influence me. I feel sick. Wait. What is she promising?
Frank!
She laughs, and it is like sweet whispers in my ear. ‘I do not have tactics, Mr Melrose. I’m simply curious.”’
‘Well, my lady,’ I smile, and it is forced. ‘A gentleman never tells.’
‘Tells what?’ she asks quickly and strongly, coy, letting her smile loose. She needs to stop smiling at me immediately. And laughing. In fact, she shouldn’t talk to me or look at me either.