Page 59 of My Best Friend's Earl
A broken wheel, perhaps? Or claims of one, at any rate.
Constance studied the passing scenery as she pondered. Betsy’s home must not be far from the Hollands’ current location. If she were to hazard a guess, she predicted they’d stop there. It would be far more comfortable than an inn. Would they stay overnight? How long was she going to be alone with Southwyn?
A glance at the man in question showed him watching her with open curiosity. “What is it?” she asked.
“I don’t think you’ve ever been quiet for this long in my presence.”
“I’m thinking. Enjoy the silence. It doesn’t happen often,” she mused self-deprecatingly.
His handsome face creased into a scowl. “Don’t do that.”
She blinked. “Do what? Think?”
“Speak of yourself in a negative way. I enjoy your chatter.” His annoyance melted into a wry smirk. “Yes, I’m surprised to discover that as well. But it’s the truth. I’m usually flummoxed by what comes out of your mouth, and I… like that. A silent Constance Martin is unnerving.”
The noise she made might have been a snort, or a weak laugh. Honestly, she didn’t know which, as his simple statement so thoroughly stunned her.
“What were you thinking about?” he pressed.
Studying his face, Constance considered how he’d react if she shared her suspicions about their friends playing matchmaker.
“My brain is a hive of activity as usual,” she said instead. After all, they’d agreed—although not in so many words—to go back to how things were before their devastating kiss. Past Constance would never discuss such things with him.
Yet, Southwyn was being so kind. Did he still want to return to their previous relationship of mutual tolerance? Could they?
A few days earlier, Franklin Wellsley had visited the bookshop and given her a message for Althea. In short, Franklin loved her friend. Lack of a dowry wouldn’t sway his affections, and he was trying to find a way for them to be together.
Assuming Franklin succeeded, did that solve the other problems Southeyn had mentioned, but not explained? Pushing for details now, when they’d already agreed to retreat to their non-romantic corners, felt like begging.You listed two things as obstacles to us being together, and one of them is taking care of itself. Is that enough? Do you want me now?
Apparently, she could only beg with his mouth on her body. Memories of the way they’d been together on that oneoccasion immediately sprang to mind, making the carriage too warm for comfort.
With her focus on the passing scenery, Connie silently wrestled her myriad emotions under control. Cooler air seeped through the glass and felt wonderful on her face, as she leaned against the wall. The movement caused her cloak to fall open, bringing a chill to her overheated skin.
A noise from the other seat in the carriage made her look up. Southwyn’s eyes were dark and fixed on the flesh swelling above her neckline. It wasn’t even a terribly low neckline, more’s the pity. Granted, it was low enough to warrant a fichu, which she’d abandoned an hour earlier after Nathaniel spit up on it.
She nearly laughed aloud as Southwyn’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He wrenched his attention back to her face with such obvious effort, it was difficult not to preen. It didn’t serve anything but her pride, but it was lovely to know she still affected him. Taking pity on his fracturing composure, Connie tried to change the subject.
“Is there a particular reason you’re in a better mood today? I would enjoy some pleasant news for a change.”
God, the way his gaze slid so hungrily over her made the cold from the windows moot. Southwyn’s throat worked again and all at once, she remembered the taste of his skin there. The scent of his cologne filling her senses. The rough abrasion of new beard stubble beneath her tongue, with a hint of salt. How his chest vibrated against her when he spoke.
“My mood? Maybe it’s hope you’re seeing. There were countless times this week when I considered calling on you.” His eyes were bright as he unabashedly drank her in. “I may have found a way for us to discover just how happy we could make one another. But I’m still sorting the details, and I knew you’d want to talk about everything.”
“I thought you like hearing me talk, milord.” Not only was Wellsley searching for a way to be with Althea, but Southwyn hadn’t given up on them after all. Constance’s heart felt more buoyant than it had in days as she leaned forward, hoping the light from the window effectively illuminated her cleavage for his viewing pleasure.
She felt his inspection like a caress, brushing her curls—oh God, the escapee hairs were probably twisting about her head like a lion’s mane—lingering on the cleft of her breasts, down to the outline of her thighs, and back up.
For once, he didn’t hide his appreciation. He didn’t appear to be hiding a single thing, in fact. Or maybe he didn’t realize his pupils took over that hazel color she loved so much. With his lips slightly open, Southwyn’s mouth practically begged for a kiss.
When he matched her posture and rested his elbows on his knees, their faces were mere inches apart. By the time he finished his perusal and met her eyes, she’d nearly forgotten what they were discussing.
Like they had in his study, he reached out his pinky finger and caught hers. And just like the first time, the touch sent a shiver up her arm. His small finger curled, bringing her hand into the cradle of his. Then his thumb caressed a path along the thin skin of her inner wrist. Goose bumps rippled in his wake.
“I realize this requires a leap of faith for you. But I’m asking you to trust me. I’m trying my damndest to take care of Althea without marrying her myself.”
Constance swallowed roughly. “I care about Althea. I won’t have a relationship with you if you marry her.”
Dark lashes cast shadows on his lean face as he watched her intently. “I won’t put you in that position. Please trust me.”
