Page 62 of Nothing Compares to the Duke
Rhys put an arm around Meg and pulled her gently until she was lying across the seat, her head resting on the balled-up overcoat he’d removed.
Then he moved to Bella’s bench.
He heard her breath hitch when he placed his hand near hers and brushed the edge of her fingers. She’d removed her gloves. He rarely wore any. Her skin was soft and deliciously warm.
But he removed his hand. She’d made herself clear. Whatever she felt for him, she was determined not to surrender to it. And she was right.
She deserved a better man than he could ever be.
He stared out his carriage window, listening to the rhythm of her breathing, enjoying her violet scent, and wondering what thoughts were churning in her clever mind.
She stared out her own window, fingers tapping on the book in her lap that she hadn’t yet resumed reading.
“Other than shopping and inspecting your father’s property in Gordon Square, do you have plans while we’re in London?” she asked quietly without looking his way.
“I should visit the club.”
“The Duke’s Den?” She glanced his way and he liked the tone of interest in her voice.
“Yes, though I doubt I’ll have time to sit for any presentations.”
“I quite like the notion of investing in ideas.” She laid her hand on the brown leather portmanteau as she spoke.
“Perhaps you’d care to visit the club.” He turned to look at her. They were so close, he could see the flecks of darker emerald green that glittered in her eyes.
“Perhaps I would.”
Rhys smiled. “We could go tomorrow.”
“Not tomorrow.” She swallowed hard, and Rhys sensed there was something she held back. “I have a few matters I must attend to, as well.”
“Should I accompany you?” They were engaged, after all.
“No,” she said quickly. Too quickly. “Most of our time will be spent assisting Meg.”
That explained nothing about the other matters she wished to attend to in London, but Rhys decided it was best not to pry. She wouldn’t confide in him as she once had.
For long minutes they said nothing more to each other and the only sound in the carriage was Meg’s soft rhythmic snore.
Rhys scrutinized the portmanteau Bella had pressed between her side and the carriage wall. “Did you bring any other novels with you?”
Her eyes widened at the question and she gripped the latch on her case. Looking down, she scooped up the book in her lap and offered it to him.
“You can have this one.”
“What will you read?”
“I’ll take Meg’s lead and rest.”
Rhys flipped open the book and got as far as reading the title page ofJane Eyreby a Mr. Currer Bell when Bella shifted on the bench.
He watched out of the corner of his eye as she settled back against the squabs and reached up to loosen the scarf around her neck. Her scent wafted off the fabric and filled the air. A moment later she unfastened the top button of her bodice, and Rhys licked his lips as she stroked the skin of her neck as if to ease tension.
There was no hope of concentrating on the damned book and all the words determined to confound him when Bella was inches away, her body relaxing against the cushions as she began to doze.
Once her breathing slowed and he was sure her eyes were closed, he set the book aside and allowed himself one long look at her. She looked peaceful and lovely. When she was awake, there was always a sense of urgency about her, as if all the ideas in her head were impatient to get out. But in repose, her face softened and she wore the tiniest of smiles, as if whatever she was thinking of in slumber pleased her.
He wondered if he ever featured in her dreams.
