His hand was on her arm, sliding up to grip her shoulder, moving so his palm was at the back of her head and he was pressing her closer, even though they were already connected at the mouth, and how much farther could she possibly go?
Without ending up on his lap, that is.
Did he want her on his lap?
But we’re standing, she reminded herself.
Thinking too much still, Ida, that voice reminded her.
Right. Keep kissing, stop thinking.
And then it was impossible to think as he intensified the kiss, even though she wasn’t certain how. Just that everything was more intense—it felt as though there were colors exploding inside her head, and her whole body felt languorous and at the same time as though she wanted to jump out of her skin.
She heard a noise, and realized it was she, and it was a moan. She was moaning, and now the hand not cupping her head was at her neck, fingers sliding over bare skin. She wanted to arch into his hand, place her body in his care, curl inside him and forget about thinking ever again.
It felt wonderful to be kissed. And to kiss. She found herself mirroring his action, brushing her tongue against his, wanting to make him react as strongly as she had.
“Nggh,” he said, removing his lips even though his hands were still on her. He leaned his forehead against hers, breathing heavily.
I did this, Ida thought in triumph. I rendered him inarticulate.
Before remembering that he was an unwanted encumbrance on her journey, him and his sleek handsomeness, his responsibility apparently extending to making sure she was safe, even though she’d told him she would be fine.
Although she had to admit that was thoughtful of him.
“Ida, you—” he began, then shook his head. He removed first one hand, then the other, and Ida wanted to beg him to put them back. To kiss her some more.
Did she really just think that?
Yes. She couldn’t deny the truth of what she wanted, even though she was entirely conflicted and had just made an irrational choice, which wasn’t something she ever thought she’d do.
First time kissing someone. First time being irrational.
“Well,” she said, stepping back from him, “that was educational.”
She heard his intake of breath, and wondered if she had said the wrong thing. All of her studying had not mentioned the correct thing to say after someone had put his tongue inside her mouth, and vice versa.
Perhaps she could make a study of that. Although she didn’t want to kiss any other gentlemen to have a control. That should alarm her, but she was too unsettled to be alarmed.
“Educational?” he echoed, sounding displeased.
Apparently educational was not to be on the list of post-kissing descriptors. Somehow his displeasure pleased her, which was another entirely irrational thing.
But if saying it made her less vulnerable, less prone to wanting to start it all over again—which she knew she shouldn’t, this was Lord Carson, after all, the gentleman who desired a soft, welcoming respite at the end of the day, of all things.
Definitely nothing close to Ida.
“Precisely.” She spoke in as sprightly a tone as she could manage, although it still sounded rather breathless.
“Hedgehog,” he said in an amused tone. As though he knew what she was doing.
Not only not dull, but intelligent and incisive to boot.
Drat.
“Thank you for that educational interlude, Lady Ida,” he continued. “There remains nothing more but to wish you good-night. Again.”
She froze for a moment, then nodded in agreement. “Good night,” she murmured.
She would not be discomfited by him, no matter how nonplussed, and yes, discomfited she was.
One kiss had rendered her oxymoronic.
She could not let it happen again. Even though she had been the one to instigate it in the first place.
Bennett walked slowly down the hall to his own room.
Had what just happened just . . . happen?
He rubbed his hand over his face, still feeling the imprint of her mouth on his lips. Her hand clutching his arm.
He glanced around the hallway, relieved nobody was there to witness his obvious befuddlement. And his erection.
He pushed the door open, taking a deep breath as he did so.
His room was similar to Ida’s, with what appeared to be a large, comfortable bed, a chair, one window instead of two, and a desk. Mrs. Hastings had set a candle on the bedside table. The room was lit with a flickering glow that made it look very homey, and suddenly Bennett realized just how tired he was.
And how much he wanted to return to her room and continue what they’d started. Not finish it, he wouldn’t risk that situation, knowing she wouldn’t want that herself.
But if he could just touch her. Caress her skin, and kiss her mouth, and make her make those low humming noises he’d heard from her when they kissed.
The reality of it brought him up short. Lady Ida. Lady Ida the Prickly Hedgehog had kissed him. She’d begun it, and she’d seemed to truly enjoy it. Lady Ida. And him.
“You are ridiculous,” he muttered to himself as he drew his shirt over his head. He ran his hand absentmindedly across his chest, then paused as yet another thought that did not belong in his usually practical brain appeared—what if it were her touching his chest? Sliding her fingers over his stomach, through the hair on his upper body, down to there?
His cock throbbed at the thought.
No. He couldn’t think about that. It wasn’t right. No matter how enthusiastic his cock was at the idea.
He folded his shirt and put it on the chair, then took his boots and trousers off so he was just in his smallclothes.
He hadn’t planned on taking this trip, so of course he didn’t have anything to sleep in. Like her. Was she sleeping in her chemise? Just a thin scrap of fabric over her body?
Or wearing nothing at all.
Stop thinking, Bennett, he thought as he got into bed.
He closed his eyes firmly, placing his arms on top of the covers and willing himself to think of anything but her.
Bills for equipment, the average life cycle of barley, the correct spelling of “clandestine.”
There. That should do it.
And if he ended up staying awake all night in a torment of suspended sexual frustration, well then, he would be so exhausted he wouldn’t be able to muster any kinds of thoughts at all—either salacious or appropriate.
Wonderful. Frustration or fatigue, with the distinct possibility that it would likely be both.
“Good morning,” he called out as he reached the bottom floor, relieved to see her already sitting downstairs.
He’d wondered if she would try to leave without him, but short of sitting outside her door all evening—which would provide its own different temptation—he couldn’t control that.
“Good morning,” she replied in that low voice of hers, one he couldn’t help imagining saying dangerous things close in his ear. “Did you sleep well?”
No, I lay awake trying not to pleasure myself as I thought of you.
He’d finally managed to drift off around three o’clock, only to wake up a few hours later as the other guests in the inn started stirring.
They were back downstairs in the public area, a few other people staring blearily at the wooden tables at which they were seated. They looked as bad as he felt.
“Absolutely,” he lied. “And you?”
She lifted her chin as though daring him to refute her. “Yes, wonderfully.”
She had to have spent at least some of the night thinking about it, even if it was only weighing its educational value.
“I’m surprised to see you this morning,” he said, leaning back in his chair.
Her expression shifted into that prickly defensive one that seemed to be her default. “Why?”
“I thought you might have tried to leave without me.”
She swallowed, an
d glanced away. Aha! She had thought about it, at least.
“Why didn’t you?” he continued.
Then she did look at him. “Well, I did consider it, of course. You knew I would. But your reasoning makes sense, and I judged it better to run the risk of utter scandalous ruin by traveling with you rather than run the risk of utter scandalous ruin by traveling on my own. With whatever dangers there are out there.”
He felt himself exhale in relief. “Thank goodness. You are not as stubborn as it first seemed.”
“I am too!” she said, making him burst into laughter.
She hesitated, and then she started to laugh too. “Oh, I’ve just proven . . . something,” she said, smiling.
“Now that that is settled, we’ll need to discuss the terms of the journey,” he began. “We were fortunate this time to secure two rooms. But as we proceed, if I believe that it would be safer for us to share a room during our journey, we will. And I will also say that you cannot argue the point if I make that judgment. You have to trust me.”
“I think I do,” she said in a wondering tone. “I trust so few people, it’s remarkable.”
He was struck by the sincerity in her tone.
“I am delighted that you do trust me, although I’m not certain I’ve earned that trust. All I’ve done is not marry your sisters. Hardly something worth trusting another person for.”
“If not marrying my sisters were something to trust a person over, that would mean I would only distrust two gentlemen in the world.” She lifted her gaze to him, and he was caught by the intensity of her expression. “And I have to say, I do trust those gentlemen. As I do you.”
“That is settled, then,” he replied, feeling the warmth of her words—her trust—wash over him.
“What’ll you have this morning?” Mrs. Hastings said as she approached the table. “We’ve got tea, oatmeal, eggs, and toast. Nothing else.”
“Tea and oatmeal, please,” Ida said. “With lemon, if you have it.”
“Tea and eggs.”
Mrs. Hastings placed napkins and cutlery on the table.
“So,” she began, after Mrs. Hastings had bustled away. “About last night.” And then she turned bright red, but he couldn’t laugh at her, not with her feeling so clearly vulnerable.
“So . . . ?” he said.
He could practically see her brain clicking and whirring as she processed her thoughts. He liked watching her think.
“Are you all right?” he asked, unable to resist poking his hedgehog.
Wait, not his. The hedgehog with whom he happened to be keeping company. And kissing.
“I am fine, thank you,” she replied stiffly. “We cannot—that is, I do not—” She faltered.
He stretched his hand out to place it on top of hers. She looked at him then, her eyes wide, her expression almost confused.
The confused hedgehog. Not quite as prickly, but just as adorable.
He did not think she would appreciate the adjective.
“Do not what? If you wish to apologize for kissing me, that is fine, but no apology is necessary. I quite enjoyed it,” he said, winking at her for good measure.
Her cheeks flushed red, and her eyes sparkled with a militant light. There you are, Ida, he thought. There’s my girl.
“I was not going to apologize,” she sputtered, and then he almost laughed aloud, although he knew she would likely storm off, and that would be awkward, since he would have no choice but to chase after her. “I was going to say,” she continued exaggeratedly, “that I will understand if I have made you uncomfortable.”
“In other words, you want to apologize,” he said. Wicked, he knew, but he just couldn’t resist teasing her.
“I—well, I—I suppose, yes. I am sorry.” Her tone was sincere, and he squeezed her hand in response.
“There is no need. I am not uncomfortable. It was a kiss. You were curious about what it would be like to kiss me, I presume.” He shrugged, looking at her from out of the corners of his eyes. “And now you know, so we may proceed.”
He smothered a smile as he heard her mutter some sort of disgruntled noise, then withdrew his hand and glanced around the room, pointedly not looking at her. This was definitely the most fun he’d ever had.
And it had only been one kiss.
What would it feel like if there were more?
Chapter 8
Do not worry about what you are wearing. Adventure has no regard for fashion.
Lady Ida’s Tips for the Adventurous Lady Traveler
“Shouldn’t we be going?” Ida asked, glancing up at the sky, which was not helpful. The sun was covered by clouds, so she couldn’t figure out what time it was. Just that it was after breakfast, and Della was out there somewhere, and now that she’d decided to let Lord Carson accompany her, she wanted them to be on their way. She’d thought the trip might take a week, but what if it took more?
“Soon, Lady Impatient. We need clothes. Unless you wish to wear your library clothing for the duration of the trip?”
Ida hesitated. She’d never worn the same dress two days in a row, never mind having worn the same underthings. Why hadn’t she considered that when embarking on the journey?
Oh, yes. Because she’d impulsively stolen a carriage and run away from London in search of her sister, leaving Lord Lapdog and her mother’s plans behind. And she was a duke’s daughter who had never had to consider anything like a change of clothing. Things were just done for her, and she’d accepted them as a matter of course.
Well, then.
“I suppose so,” she said grudgingly.
“I knew you would see reason,” he said in a smug tone.
“Hmph.” That was as close as she would come to admitting he was right.
He took her arm. “Mrs. Hastings told me there is an adequate shop for ladies, and the men’s clothing store is just across the street.”
“Do you have enough money for all of this?” she asked. Because she was fairly certain she did not—not that she knew how much anything cost, but she couldn’t imagine Pearl’s birthday money would stretch to accommodate the cost of a new wardrobe and traveling funds. There was a limit to the duchess’s generosity.
“I do.” She didn’t doubt it, he sounded so positive. Then again, he had the ability to sound persuasive about anything.
“Stop making those noises,” he said.
“What noises?”
“Those disapproving noises. You’re thinking again. I can tell.”
“I’m always thinking,” she replied in a reproving tone.
“Can’t you just stop? Or maybe only think about what kind of clothing you wish to purchase?” They’d stopped in front of a small shop with a sign indicating it was Mrs. Battle’s Boutique, and he pushed the door open, a welcoming bell tinkling overhead. “Be like most other ladies, as far as I can tell?”
“I can’t.” It was as close to a confession as she could manage.
“No, of course not.” She braced herself for what else he might say, how he might make her feel odd and strange. As she usually did.
“That’s because you are so intelligent and honest. Not to mention foolhardy and impetuous.”
It didn’t sound as though he were judging her poorly. Almost the opposite, in fact, despite the last couple of words. But she had no opportunity to ask him to clarify, since they were now inside the shop.
Just that his words made her tingle all over again, as though his words were kisses. Verbal kisses that sparked something inside.
“Can I help you?” A lady stepped toward them, a look of surprise on her face. The shop was filled to overflowing with bolts of fabrics, dress forms, and ribbon hanging from the ceiling. Luckily the proprietress was short in stature, or she would be perpetually pushing ribbons off her face.
Ida was not short, so she held a piece of dark purple ribbon to one side as she looked around the shop.
“Mrs. Battle?” Bennett asked. The woman nodded. “Yes, we’re hoping you can help us. O
ur luggage is with our other coach,” Bennett said smoothly, as though he dissembled everyday. He likely did. “And my sister is in need of a few things in case the coach does not catch up with us.”
“Of course,” Mrs. Battle replied. “I was wondering why two such fine gentlefolk would be patronizing my shop. But I assure you, the quality is just as good as you would find in the best shops in London.”
“I am certain it is,” Bennett said reassuringly, and the woman smiled in response.
He was very good at that charm thing.
“Did you stay at The Goose’s Egg? Mrs. Hastings’s meat pie is wonderful.”
“Yes, it is.” Ida smothered a giggle as Bennett shared a knowing look with her.
“Let me just pull some things out. I do keep some ready-made gowns in the shop for some of the local girls, as long as you don’t mind wearing serviceable colors.”
Ida arched a brow toward Bennett, who looked chagrined.
“Serviceable colors will suit me perfectly,” she said. “Thank you, Mrs. Battle.”
It didn’t take long for Ida to select a few gowns and other necessities, unfortunately having to pass over the purple ribbon, which didn’t go with anything else Ida had chosen. Mrs. Battle didn’t have that much of a selection, but as she’d promised, the gowns were well-made and in serviceable colors like dark green and leaf-brown, and soon they were out the door, looking across the street to where Holdings’ Haberdashery stood directly opposite Mrs. Battle’s Boutique.
“Do you suppose the town has nothing but alliterative shops?” Ida asked in a low, amused voice.
“No, if that were the case The Goose’s Egg would be The Goose’s Gegg, or something like that.”
“Mrs. Hastings’s Hotpies and Hotelier.”
“Meatpie and Manor.”
“The Goose’s Egg is hardly a manor,” Ida pointed out.
Bennett waved his hand as they crossed the street. “Artistic license. For the alliteration and all.”
Ida had a smile on her face as they entered the haberdashery, and she realized she had never had twenty-four hours filled with so much smiling. And conversation, and sparring, and remarks on her general prickliness.
The Lady Is Daring Page 8
