Page 4 of The Runaway Heiress
When he merely took up the reins and clicked a command for the horse to start, she glanced over at him.
“Thank you for taking me home. I’m already feeling much better.”
He gave a curt nod. “Did something happen inside?”
“No, nothing out of the ordinary. I’m tired.”
The only difference was that she couldn’t bear the way Anton looked at her now. Like he owned her. But she was loath to bring up Anton. His name had no place between them.
They rode onward in silence. She sighed and bemoaned her lack of experience in flirtation. If Gray did find her attractive, he certainly hid it well. She’d thought that moment in the hall meant that maybe he did. But what had she expected? No man looked at her as anything other than LaSalle property. She never even danced with anyone except Jean or Anton and the occasional business associate approved by her uncle. Her onlychaperones were the gunslingers in Jean’s inner circle. Who would dare threaten her virtue?
“Do you want to marry him?”
The question was asked so softly, Sophie wondered if she had heard him correctly. A small fluttering of nerves began deep in her belly. She wanted to be honest, to rekindle that spark of closeness from the hallway, but she had learned to not trust easily. Everyone she knew reported back to Jean. How did she know if Gray would be any different?
As far as she knew, he hadn’t mentioned to her uncle what happened this morning. Still. She hedged. “I do want children. I’ve always seen myself married.”
“But to Beaudin?”
She closed her eyes, intending to conjure an image of the hated man, but instead she saw Gray holding her in an embrace that only a husband should. “I don’t know.”
But she did know.
They turned onto Last Ditch Gulch and meandered slowly along the main street. Gray’s expression was in shadow but the occasional streetlamp allowed her to ascertain that he was thoughtful. They rode in silence, the only sounds the steady clip-clop of the horse and the occasional drunken laughter in the distance. Two-story shops loomed dark on either side of them. She watched him from her peripheral vision, taking in the gun holstered at his side and the leather thong that tied it to his thigh. The mark of his profession.
“I meant what I said earlier.” he said. “You deserve a man, not that snake.”
The words were almost angry and inexplicably made her smile. Maybe the chemistry she thought she’d imagined had been real. He was attracted to her. The knowledge gave her senses permission to acknowledge his closeness. She couldfeelhim at her side even though over a dozen inches separated them.That space between them became charged with his energy. It rippled along the length of her thigh and up her side.
“You seem very much a man, Monsieur Gray.” The thought escaped before she had a chance to hold it back.
She heard his quick, indrawn breath and closed her eyes. Sometimes her recklessness ran away with her. “Sometimes I say outrageous things when I’m nervous.”
“Why are you nervous?” His gaze pinned her, making the fluttering in her belly begin in earnest.
“I-I don’t know.” The question held a dangerous undertone and she wasn’t entirely sure she should encourage it.
His gaze touched her face before turning back to the road. When he did, she let out a breath she hadn’t even been aware of holding. Maybe it was best to leave things unspoken.
No. She had wanted this time with him and she’d gotten it. Who knew if she would have this chance again?
“You make me nervous because I…I like you.”
He took in a breath. “You like me?”
“Yes, and I hope you like me.”
Like. Such a poor word choice. It implied so much while saying nothing. She liked Monsieur Sinclair because he taught her how to play billiards and cards during the long winter months. He was a friend, sort of. Friendship with men in her uncle’s employ was always precarious. Their loyalty was to him and not her.
Her feelings for Gray were much more visceral and romantic. Sitting next to him made her feel like she had champagne in her veins and the bubbles were effervescing through her.
They turned left onto the street that would take them home. Their time together was almost over. She gripped the cool metal bar that edged the back of the seat as she turned to him.
“Do you?” she asked.
“Like you?” He refused to look at her. His gaze was focused on the road ahead and his hands tightened on the reins, as ifthey were on a treacherous mountain pass and the horses hadn’t navigated this street a thousand times.
She couldn’t help but smile. It felt like they were school children, neither of them willing to admit their feelings first.
