Page 16 of The Girl Who Fell Through Time
“See? Nothing to worry about,” he murmurs, though there’s a faint tremor in his voice.
She nods, trying to steady her breathing. “Thank you.”
He’s surprisingly strong for such a lean-looking gentleman. The Duke is nearly twice his width. She hadn’t expected Dorian to be able to withstand her weight, slight as it is, and certainly not for so long.
So long. He is still holding her.
“You can probably put me down now,” she murmurs.
Dorian coughs. “Ah, quite!”
He sets her down carefully, his eyes averted, as though he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. Selene fetches Mistress Stripe, and together they make their way to the gate. It has been left unlocked despite the late hour. Dorian must have bribed someone to keep it open.
Her trunks are, as promised, already loaded. There is no footman, just a single driver. Dorian helps her into the carriage himself, their fingers brushing briefly. His hands are more calloused than a gentleman’s ought to be, perhaps from riding without gloves.
Settling into the seat, she releases Mistress Stripe as soon as the door closes. The cat yowls her displeasure, growling as the carriage rumbles away. After a while, though, she gives up and settles into the seat beside her.
Dorian eyes the cat warily. “What’s your cat’s name?”
Selene hesitates, embarrassed to admit the name she chose as a child. “Missy,” she says instead.
He makes no move to pet the cat, which doesn’t bode well. Selene isn’t sure she trusts people who don’t like cats.
To ease the tension, she says, “It’s a lovely night for an elopement.” She stares out of the window. The moon is bright, the stars as clear as diamonds.
Dorian raises an eyebrow. “Is weather ever suited to this sort of thing?”
“Well, a thunderstorm wouldn’t bode well.”
“Good point,” he says with a faint smile.
The carriage trundles on for nearly a mile before Selene finds her voice again. “How are we going to get a back-dated marriage certificate?”
Dorian is still staring out of the window, though it’s pitch-black under the shadow of the trees, and she doubts he can see a thing. “I have a priest who owes me a favour.”
She blinks, startled. “I had no idea you were such an accomplished liar.” She isn’t sure if she’s impressed or uneasy.She was married to a liar before, and dishonesty has never seemed like a skill to be proud of. But tonight, his lies have spared her a great deal of trouble.
Dorian glances toward her, briefly. “How well do you know me, really? By my recollection, we haven’t spoken since my father’s funeral.”
A flush creeps into her cheeks, and shame heats her skin. He’s right. She has barely offered him more than a polite nod since that day—and now here he is, marrying her to save her from a trouble he doesn’t even understand the extent of.
“I mean from back at school,” she says hastily, eager to change the subject. “You always seemed like an honest sort of fellow.”
His smile is faint, weak, and doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “A lot can change in so many years, Selene.”
Selene. The way he says her name catches her off guard. There is no honorific, no disdain—just a quiet familiarity that disarms her. It’s how he must have said it when they were children, but now it carries the weight of his adult voice. It isn’t proper, of course. He should still be calling her My Lady or Lady Selene.
But then, she reminds herself, they are to be married. This will be the first of many intimacies they will be expected to share.
“It’s a long journey,” he says, his tone shifting, becoming more brisk. “You should try to get some sleep.”
She wants to tell him she’s afraid to sleep—that the last time she closed her eyes, she’s fairly certain she died. The fear of falling asleep again, of being thrown back to face the Duke or reliving this day, sits heavy in her chest. Worse still is the fear of going back even further—to Roselune Abbey, to the life she has already outgrown.
She can’t imagine returning to the person she once was. How could she go back to light-hearted conversations withfriends, knowing what the future holds? How could she find joy in things that once delighted her, now that she has changed? However uncertain the future might be, it’s the past that terrifies her more, now that it’s a liquidious creature that doesn’t stay where it should.
“All right,” she says softly, sensing that the conversation is over.
She would have preferred to talk with him longer, to get to know this man she has tied herself to, but she knows better than to push him now. He could still change his mind.
