Half an hour later Sarah was driven out of town in solitary state in a somewhat musty vehicle from which two energetic chambermaids had removed one mouse’s nest, a fine array of cobwebs and six months’ worth of dust. Nicholas, clearly at home with a team, was on the box, trying the paces of a local farmer’s impulsive purchase of a local bankrupt’s livestock.
It was reasonably comfortable, she decided, after an experimental bounce on the upholstery, although the back of the seat facing her seemed to have slipped out of position. She moved across and gave it a tug and it came away in her hands in two pieces, leaving a large space under the driver’s box.
Guilty at the damage she tried to fit them back, then realised that they had not broken, but seemed to be designed to be removed. On impulse she pushed one down between the facing seats and discovered that she had created a bed, long enough for someone to lie full-length with their feet sticking into the space at the front.
By the time they pulled up alongside the other two coaches and Nicholas had handed over the reins to one of the men she had the centre couch in place and the two sides as normal.
‘Ah, one of those,’ Nicholas said as he climbed in.
Sarah had thought she had discovered something rare and interesting. ‘Should we let Millie, Charlie and Pendell have this one?’
‘No need. I had a look and Pendell is out cold stretched along one seat, Millie along the other with her cap over her eyes and Charlie is snoring in a nest of blankets between the seats. We may need these for ourselves.’
‘I thought you looked as though you had not slept well.’ Sarah felt the blush rising to her cheeks.
‘No, I did not,’ Nicholas said curtly. ‘Did you?’ He did nothing to move the central squab that kept them neatly separated, one each side of the carriage.
‘No,’ she confessed, wondering if her cheeks could possibly be as heated as they felt. ‘I suppose you have a great deal to think about and plan.’ If only her treacherous memory would stop presenting her with images of the Nicholas of her dreams, then she might be able to look him in the face without blushing.
He nodded and Sarah fell silent, feeling snubbed. It was as though she had the chilly, distant Mr Smith of the London dockside back again. Had Nicholas decided that she was becoming too familiar, forgetting her place in the presence of a duke?
‘What is wrong?’ he asked after two miles had gone by in silence.
‘Nothing.’ She had been careful to keep any hint of a frown off her face. ‘Your Grace.’
‘What the—?’ Yes, definitely Mr Smith had returned. ‘What are you sulking about?’
‘Sulking! I am not sulking. You did not appear to be in the mood for conversation and I am aware that I have become, that is—’
‘Sarah, I do not require you to address me like that.’ He still sounded irritable, but the frozen look had left him. ‘I had a bad night, probably as a result of too much cheese at dinner.’ The hint of a smile appeared, presumably as a signal that had been a joke.
‘And I was probably too over-excited at having located Wilton,’ she offered.
Silence fell again, but it was rather more companionable now. Nicholas leant over and lifted the squab, pushed it back into position and shifted so his back was in the corner and he could stretch out his long legs with a suspicion of a wince.
In that position he could look more directly at Sarah. ‘Have you given any thought to where you would like to live when you have your money back from Wilton?’
She shook her head. ‘It feels like counting my chickens when I do not even have any eggs in my basket yet. But I am not so certain that I would want to sell the ships if I can get them back.’
Where had that come from? It had never occurred to her until she found herself uttering the words.
‘Run a shipping company? Yourself?’ Nicholas sounded less mocking than bemused. ‘A female ship owner would be...unusual.’
‘Women run stagecoach companies,’ she pointed out. ‘Mrs Mountain, for example.’ The little flame of excitement flickered and went out. ‘But I have no ships yet, so it is only an idea. Perhaps I should sell them and invest in your steam vessels instead.’
‘And that, too, is only an idea: notes and sketches, some very vague estimates.’ He shifted as though the seat was becoming uncomfortable. ‘I have a few months to work on it before the Season.’ He might as well have been referring to a visit to the dentist.
‘Is that so very distasteful and time-consuming? Oh, of course—you will be looking for your duchess.’
She had the feeling that he regretted mentioning the Season and had no desire to answer her question. ‘I might. I am almost thirty, after all. Time to be thinking of my posterity. My heir is a cousin who would be very surprised to be wrenched from his comfortable position as a cathedral dean if an accident should befall me.’
‘Presumably you will be the biggest catch on the Marriage Mart. I cannot think of any other unmarried dukes.’
It wouldn’t please Lady Farne, of course. However hopeless she must know her own position to be, it would be painful to see the man she loved wed to another. Sarah had not liked the widow, and it surprised her to feel this sneaking sympathy for Nicholas’s sister-in-law. Loving a man you could not have must be hellish.
‘There is one other available, a widower, aged eighty-seven, but I believe we may discount him.’
‘I think so,’ she agreed. ‘You will not have to try very hard to attract a suitable debutante.’
‘No,’ Nicholas agreed. He did not sound particularly pleased about it.
Sarah held her breath, in case she jerked him out of this revealing, thoughtful mood with a sound or a movement to remind him that he was not musing aloud to himself.
‘It seems... It seems to me that one should have to try hard, that this is a very important decision, one of the most important I will ever make, and that it should not be easy. That leads to mistakes that are painful to undo, misjudgments that last a lifetime.’
That was not abstract, that was the result of a real mistake, she realised. Nicholas had fallen in love with someone who did not return his regard? Lady Farne? But no, that could not be the case—he seemed almost to dislike his sister-in-law whilst Sarah remained certain that Lady Farne felt strongly for him.
He had fallen silent, staring out of the window at the passing fields and coppices, so she ventured, ‘I always imagined that a duke would have a list of all the required characteristics of a duchess and would use it to identify the most suitable candidate, then propose and be accepted.’
Nicholas gave a faint huff of laughter and turned back to look at her. ‘Yes, I suppose that’s the way it is done. It would be refreshing to find someone who would turn me down, I think. The title has the effect of shining a strong light in someone’s eyes: they do not see the man standing behind it.’ He shrugged, almost as though he was giving himself a shake. ‘What a coxcomb I sound, lamenting feebly that nobody could love me for myself when love is the last thing I should be looking for.’
‘It is? But why? Do we not all wish to be loved? To share our lives with someone who sees us and knows us and cares for us?’
She shivered at his expression and those blue eyes seemed to look straight through her like shards of ice.
‘A snare and a delusion. A pretence to secure what the lover wants, that is all. Love can grow, I will give you that, but to fall in love with someone I do not know? Impossible.’
‘You believe—’
‘I know,’ Nicholas said flatly.
Sarah fell silent. That sounded like bitter experience, not theorising. She could only conclude that Nicholas had loved once and had been disillusioned, hurt and left with no faith that love was possible. She was certainly not going to argue with him. She had never meant to see into his heart so intimately: this was far too personal and exposing.
‘I should have thought to buy a book or a journal,’ she said brightly. Too brightly, she thought with a wince at her over-jolly tone. ‘Never mind, the countryside is interesting.’
Nicholas raised an eyebrow and she shrugged. ‘Oh, very well. It is not particularly fascinating, I must admit. A great deal of sky, some undulations, a lot of fields. It looks quite prosperous.’
‘Yes.’ Nicholas stared at the passing scene with what she assumed was a landowner’s knowledgeable eye. ‘Well kept, in good heart.’
‘Your land is in Gloucestershire, is it not?’
He nodded. ‘Mainly. I have other estates around the country, of course. We have dairy and beef cattle and orchards in the Vale and sheep and cereals on the hillsides. I would not change it for any other land.’
Sarah thought he had relaxed, his whole body less tense now he was talking about something he loved. There was that word love again. He would marry someone suitable in order to give that land heirs to cherish it as he did.
But what about yourself? she wanted to ask. Don’t give up, there must be someone who would be perfect for you.
Nick told himself that he had perfectly good social manners and brooding in his corner was ill-bred and selfish. He made conversation and kept them both awake while their little convoy stopped to change horses, to swap the drivers around and, at just past noon, to eat.
Sarah was very quiet after that and, when he leaned forward to look into her face, he saw her eyes were closed. He wished his were, and then recalled that the carriage would convert to make a bed.
‘Sarah.’
‘Mmm? What? Oh, I am sorry, I dropped off to sleep.’
‘And I am beginning to doze. Shall we try converting these seats and see if we cannot get some rest to make up for our disturbed nights?’
They wrestled all three central squabs into place. Sarah rolled up her cloak and he folded his greatcoat to make pillows, then pulled down the window shades.
‘You see, it makes a good, wide bed.’ He lay down and stretched out his legs. ‘Almost long enough for me.’ By dint of curling up on his side with his bad leg uppermost he found it was positively comfortable, if rather firm.
Sarah lay down too, twitched her skirts decently over her ankles, shook out a shawl over herself and curled up too, one hand under her cheek. She smiled at him in the dim light. ‘Sleep well.’
Nick was conscious of the carriage stopping, of the door opening a crack and then closing softly and then they were off again. It would have only been Pendell or Millie, he thought, squinting to see if Sarah had been disturbed. No, she was still where she had fallen asleep, tucked up respectably a good eighteen inches away from him.
He closed his eyes, too sleepy to even feel more than a sense of comfort at her nearness, the soft sounds of her breathing. Despite the occasional lurch and bump as the carriage wheels hit potholes and ruts she was profoundly asleep and he slid into darkness within seconds.
This dream was gentler, sweeter, than the one the night before, Sarah thought as she curled herself around the warm, solid male body beside her. They had their clothes on, which was easier, because last night her fantasy had been shot through with anxiety about her own body and her own inexperience.
The skin under her lips was firm and soft at the same time, and smelt of Nicholas’s soap and, indefinably, of him and she nuzzled against it, feeling the thud of the big artery in his neck, the prickle of afternoon stubble along the edge of his jaw.
His arm came around her, pulling her in close to his body, then up, so she was sprawled over him. It was comfortable and disturbing, all at once.
At which point it occurred to Sarah that her thoughts were exceedingly coherent for a dream and that she was, in fact, awake and kissing Nicholas’s face.
She opened her eyes, found herself nose to nose with him, staring deep into his eyes which were wide open. Nicholas was as awake as she was. A bump in the road drove her body into his and the impact brought with it the fact that not only was she lying on a man, she was wantonly draped over an aroused man. She might be inexperienced, but it did not mean she was ignorant.
Nicholas froze. ‘Hell. I am sorry—’
‘No... I mean, no, it isn’t your fault. I woke up and I was kissing your neck. Or rather, I thought I was dreaming that I was and then you put your arm around me and you were asleep too. It was lovely and so I just drifted and then the carriage bumped and I ended up on top of you like this.’ She ran out of breath.
‘It was lovely?’ Nicholas asked, his breath a caress across her lips.
‘I thought so. It was nice to be kissing when we weren’t angry with each other.’ But he hadn’t wanted her to kiss him. He had said, Hell, when he woke. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have...er...taken advantage of you.’
That provoked a huff of a laugh. ‘I do not feel taken advantage of. But it was rather a one-sided kiss. Should we try it together?’
The carriage lurched again, their noses bumped and she said, ‘Ow!’ and then their lips met and everything changed. The jolting carriage vanished. The air darkened and swirled, even though her eyes were closed now. There was the familiar taste of Nicholas, subtly different now that he wasn’t angry; there was the strength of his body supporting hers and the feel of his muscles shifting beneath her and there was the consuming, aching awareness of him, of the movement of his lips as if their mouths were holding a silent conversation and the clamour of her body that wanted things she only half understood, half guessed at.
Sarah came to herself to find she was lying on her back again and that Nicholas was beside her, propped on one elbow. She blinked up at him and smiled. It felt rather wobbly.
‘That was very pleasurable and probably a thoroughly bad idea,’ Nicholas said. He sounded grim.
‘It was—’
‘Don’t you dare say interesting,’ he warned. ‘I am not in the mood to be calm and rational and sensible about this.’
There is a ‘this’?
‘I suggest we restore the seats, raise the blinds and drop the window glass. I feel the need for some cold, fresh air.’
‘It isn’t very cold.’ Sarah scrambled across to the nearest window, lifted the blind and opened it.
‘Better than nothing.’ Nicholas was restoring the squabs to the backward-facing seat with some force. When they were seated again, with a strong breeze blowing through the carriage and making her eyes water, he cleared his throat. ‘This is a difficult situation.’
‘No, it is not,’ Sarah interrupted before he could get launched into some speech about compromising her. ‘We found ourselves in a...in a somewhat intimate position through chance. We wanted to kiss, so we did. There is no need to make a fuss about it. It isn’t going to happen again, is it?’
‘I sincerely hope not,’ Nicholas said, with unflattering promptness. ‘But even so you will feel—’
‘Please do not presume to tell me how I feel,’ she retorted, suddenly angry and embarrassed. Goodness knew what Nicholas’s sense of what was right and proper would prompt him to say. She certainly did not want to listen to excuses about how he respected her and had no intention of seducing her or making her his mistress. ‘I do not want to discuss it. It was just one of those things. Let us change the subject, please. Where are we?’
Nicholas gave her a look that reminded her that he was a duke, and an irritated and possibly embarrassed one at that, then looked out of the window as the carriage slowed on a slight hill. ‘The King’s Lynn road,’ he said. ‘I think that milestone said seven miles.’
‘Excellent. Where do you expect to stop for the night?’
Nicholas studied the road book. ‘Boston, I imagine, unless we have any problems on the road. We will be crossing the Fens, although at this time of year I doubt there will be flooding.’
They proceeded to make careful conversation about land drainage, King John, who had lost his treasure and crown jewels in the Fens, what Boston’s inns might be like and how much longer it would take them to reach Lockhart’s safe haven of Saltfleet.
By the time the tower of St Botolph’s church, the famous Boston Stump, was looming on the horizon, Sarah thought she would scream if she had to continue to spout platitudes, make interested noises and refrain from blurting out what she really felt.
I think I have fallen in love with you, Nicholas Terrell. And I know it is hopeless and I have no idea how I am going to manage if I have to spend any more time shut up in a carriage with you.