Page 43 of Mercy Fletcher Meets Her Match
Her stomach gave a demanding rumble, shearing through the silence of the night. “I’m sorry,” she said in muted tones of embarrassment. “I skipped dinner.”
Thomas swallowed back another laugh, rubbed his thumb over the curve of her cheek. “I’ll just bet you did,” he said with a sigh, and pressed his forehead to hers.
“I am going to get another lecture, aren’t I?”
“Sucha lecture,” he assured her. “You might have broken your damned neck. What was your plan?”
“I was going to hide in the blanket box,” she admitted sheepishly. “I thought we’d be well on our way before you had noticed.”
And she had been determined enough to feign illness, confining herself to her room for the better part of the day in the service of her little ruse. “I’d never have thought to check the blanket box,” he said, though now he would certainly neverforgetto do so. “Clever of you.” Moot, now, but clever nonetheless.
“I just wanted to help,” she said. “I was careful to dress appropriately. No one will take note of me. I’ve brought a notebook and a pencil and—oh,please, Thomas, don’t make me go back inside.”
“I have decided,” he said, attempting to inflect his voice with as much severity as he could muster, given that she was still mostly draped over him and her lips were still entirely too close to his own, “to allow you to accompany me.”
With a tiny shriek of glee, she cast her arms about his neck in an exuberant embrace. “Oh, thank you, thank—”
“You’d only sneak out again otherwise,” he sighed, and his hand curved over the back of her head to hold her closer. “At least this way, if you’re bound and determined to do something reckless…I’ll be there to protect you.” Keep her close. Keep her safe, even from herself if the need arose.
Her warm breath coasted against the skin just beneath his ear, and her fingers curled into the hair at the nape of his neck. “I promise not to cause trouble,” she said with all the solemnity of a vow.
Thomas closed his eyes and swallowed back a helpless laugh.Good God. He was certain she even believed it.
Chapter Sixteen
They’d taken a hack instead, since there had been no way to explain Mercy’s presence to the coachman, who had expected her to be in bed with some mysterious ailment. But the driver of the hack had asked no questions other than their destination and whether they had the coin to pay for his services, and so they’d been off immediately through the streets of London, on their way to Cheapside.
Though there had been plenty of room within for Thomas to sit beside her, instead he’d cast himself into the rear-facing seat and stretched out his legs instead, propping his booted feet upon the seat beside her. The glow of the gas lamps lighting the streets outside flickered off the lenses of his spectacles in little flashes as they passed. “Stop that,” he chided, nudging her hip with the toe of his boot.
“Stop what?” Mercy asked, feeling the hint of a frown purse her lips.
“Touching your lips.”
“I wasn’t.” Had she been? She hadn’t thought she had. But her lips tingled still, with the memory of that kiss. Perhaps she had been touching them, just to test the bounds of that strange sensitivity that had been left upon them.
“You were. Don’t do it again.”
What an utterly unreasonable demand! “Whyever not?” sheinquired tartly.
“Because it makes me want to kiss you again, and if that happens, you will arrive at the tavern looking distinctly as if you’ve been ravished in a carriage, which would not be ideal.”
She felt her brows pinch together. “Why would I look as if—” Her mouth snapped shut abruptly, teeth clicking together.Oh. Because shewouldhave been ravished in a carriage.
Probably she hadconcussed him, after all, for the only other explanation was that he’d gone a bit…feral. Perhaps she’d knocked the starch straight out of him when she’d fallen atop him—again.
Did twice a habit make? Coulda man be driven to madness by such a thing? She lifted her fingers—
“Don’t.” It was a visceral growl, and Mercy swallowed hard and let her hand fall to her lap once more, considering that perhaps she had tempted fate quite enough for one evening.
Which wasn’t to say she was particularly opposed to being ravished in carriage. But the workings of such a thing escaped her. Of course one would have to disrobe, and there seemed to be little enough room for it. Where was one meant to put one’s feet? Could one stretch out upon the seat of a carriage? Three could sit upon one seat, but not comfortably. Surely such considerations would have to be managed, somehow.
“Sweet Christ, I can practically hear you thinking,” he said, with a low laugh as he tugged at the collar of his shirt. “Yes, it can be done in a carriage. No, it should not be donenow.”
“Have you ever?” Mercy blurted out, fascinated. “In a carriage?”
“No.”
Oh. Perversely, she was disappointed. If he wanted to speak of carriage ravishment, then one of them ought to have some experience with it. “Have you ever—at all?”
