Finally she turned and saw him leaning partway out of the open carriage door.
She went abruptly still.
When their eyes met, he could feel the jolt of it in his body, as surely as he’d gone over a rut in the road.
They regarded each other across that short expanse of cobblestone.
He finally beckoned with a sideways tip of his head.
She hesitated.
Then her shoulders rose and fell in a sigh.
And resolutely, she crossed over to him.
She pretended not to see the hand he extended to help her up and climbed gracefully enough into the carriage, pulling the door shut behind her.
He thumped the ceiling again and the carriage lurched into motion.
Because “Didn’t I tell you?” and “You were right, when aren’t you?” hardly needed to be said aloud, they let the silence say it for them.
He took absolutely no satisfaction in that.
Nor did either of them mention the reason he just happened to be rolling through St. James’s Square in a carriage when his plans hadn’t involved a soiree at St. James’s Square.
Or the reason she had been outside.
They both knew why.
She’d instinctively known he would not be able to stay away.
Dominic was nervous enough to want a cheroot.
Absurdly, his heart accelerated.
Finally, he shrugged out of his greatcoat. “Here,” he said quietly.
She glanced over and up at him, then down at the coat. She tipped forward a little so he could gently settle it around her shoulders.
She carefully leaned back against the seat.
Something radiant swelled in his chest at the sight of her in his coat.
He felt peculiarly delicate and volatile, as if he were some substance that might spill over and ignite. He had come because he could not help himself. It somehow felt as though she’d won, and surely for her to have won must mean that he hadlost. He’d gotten so used to thinking of his life in terms of battles. He hated losing.
He studied her profile. She was staring straight ahead into the twilight, subdued, but not defeated. Thoughtful. But he thought he detected a worried shadow across her brow. Why his throat should feel tight with emotion he didn’t know.
He slid one arm gently behind her and wrapped the other about her waist the way he might exhale, instinctive and unconscious. He gathered her up.
She folded her arms atop his and settled, softly, back against his chest, as if, God help them, they’d done it just so a thousand times.
Her head rested right over the traitorous thud of his heart. Surely, she would feel it.
As the carriage rolled along, he just held her. It seemed all he had available to him by way of apology for the ton and the way it was. He wished it otherwise in that moment, even though he had mastered its thorns and battlefields and relished conquering them. If the world was different, would there be a point to him? He was who he was.
The point to him now seemed to be that he was the person against whom she leaned, and sighed in a sort of relief.
Imagine that. Imagine someone finding comfort in his arms.