all his "bloody hells" was hardly language befitting a gentlemen of refinement, but she refrained. There were currents of an almost savage restlessness beneath his hard, controlled exterior. She didn't know him well enough yet to dare to test the limits of that control.
So now she contented herself instead with rubbing her hands across the smooth seat and breathing deeply of the crisp leathery smell. While the coach rumbled through the traffic of gigs, carts, and sedan chairs, Ty stared out the window, wearing an angry scowl.
Delia couldn't believe her good fortune that Ty had decided to bring her with him. She knew he hadn't meant to do so at first. In fact, he had turned around and started to spew orders at her about staying put and out of trouble, when she had seen a wicked gleam suddenly come into his dark blue eyes.
"On the other hand, by God, I think I will bring you with me," he had said, letting out a short, harsh laugh. "Yes, by God, I believe I will."
She was glad now she had gone to the trouble to wash herself off at the public well, even though it meant that for privacy's sake she'd had to get up long before dawn, shivering out in the open as the wind off the cold bay waters had whipped at her body, clad only in its thin shift. Lord, she was probably lucky she hadn't gotten herself arrested for indecency or given herself an ague and all to please him, though a fat lot of good it had done her for all the notice he'd taken of her new, cleaner self. Instead, he had found fault with the way she ate, likening her to a pig. Her face grew hot at the memory of how she had shamed herself before him, arousing his disgust. I realize that you are hardly a lady, he had said. Oh Lord, how she longed with her whole heart to prove him wrong...
Delia cast a surreptitious glance at his averted face. Last night she had thought him handsome. Now, studying him in bright daylight, she decided he was by far the finest-looking man she had ever seen. He didn't dress like a physician, however; for he was without the tightly curled wig, black suit, and gold-headed cane that normally denoted members of his profession. Instead, he was well-dressed in silk and snuff-colored mohair breeches, with what looked to be real silver buckles at his knees, and a dark blue coat with a lacy, high-necked stock folded over his linen shirt. The whiteness of the stock set off the stark contrast of his sun-browned face.
He was a man of contrasts, she thought. Such as the way he spoke—so posh and educated one minute and cussing up a blue streak like her da the next. And the perpetual scowl on his mouth that didn't go at all with the laugh lines around his eyes. He played the part of a gentleman rake, yet he had spoken so gently to his woman last night when they had parted; he had treated her with such respect. Delia knew it was hopeless to wish it, but still she longed for him to treat her so tenderly.
So respectfully.
No sooner had the coach rounded the Town House toward Queen Street when it lumbered to an abrupt halt, nearly dumping Delia onto the floor. She saved herself by grabbing Ty's leg. The muscle of his thigh was warm and hard beneath her palm and she felt it tense through the thin material of his breeches. She left her hand on his thigh long after she should have—until he stared pointedly at the hand, then at her. Blushing, she removed it, unconsciously balling it into a tight fist on her lap.
Slowly, Delia became aware of shouting and screaming outside, and she leaned out the window to see what the commotion was about. A woman, stripped to the waist and tied to the tail of an ox cart, was being whipped around the Town House square.
The man doing the whipping was going easy on the strokes, but even so the woman's naked back was criss-crossed with red weals. She had been branded as well, on her shoulder with the letter A. The significance of the brand made Delia think again of the woman who had been with Ty in his rooms last
So now she contented herself instead with rubbing her hands across the smooth seat and breathing deeply of the crisp leathery smell. While the coach rumbled through the traffic of gigs, carts, and sedan chairs, Ty stared out the window, wearing an angry scowl.
Delia couldn't believe her good fortune that Ty had decided to bring her with him. She knew he hadn't meant to do so at first. In fact, he had turned around and started to spew orders at her about staying put and out of trouble, when she had seen a wicked gleam suddenly come into his dark blue eyes.
"On the other hand, by God, I think I will bring you with me," he had said, letting out a short, harsh laugh. "Yes, by God, I believe I will."
She was glad now she had gone to the trouble to wash herself off at the public well, even though it meant that for privacy's sake she'd had to get up long before dawn, shivering out in the open as the wind off the cold bay waters had whipped at her body, clad only in its thin shift. Lord, she was probably lucky she hadn't gotten herself arrested for indecency or given herself an ague and all to please him, though a fat lot of good it had done her for all the notice he'd taken of her new, cleaner self. Instead, he had found fault with the way she ate, likening her to a pig. Her face grew hot at the memory of how she had shamed herself before him, arousing his disgust. I realize that you are hardly a lady, he had said. Oh Lord, how she longed with her whole heart to prove him wrong...
Delia cast a surreptitious glance at his averted face. Last night she had thought him handsome. Now, studying him in bright daylight, she decided he was by far the finest-looking man she had ever seen. He didn't dress like a physician, however; for he was without the tightly curled wig, black suit, and gold-headed cane that normally denoted members of his profession. Instead, he was well-dressed in silk and snuff-colored mohair breeches, with what looked to be real silver buckles at his knees, and a dark blue coat with a lacy, high-necked stock folded over his linen shirt. The whiteness of the stock set off the stark contrast of his sun-browned face.
He was a man of contrasts, she thought. Such as the way he spoke—so posh and educated one minute and cussing up a blue streak like her da the next. And the perpetual scowl on his mouth that didn't go at all with the laugh lines around his eyes. He played the part of a gentleman rake, yet he had spoken so gently to his woman last night when they had parted; he had treated her with such respect. Delia knew it was hopeless to wish it, but still she longed for him to treat her so tenderly.
So respectfully.
No sooner had the coach rounded the Town House toward Queen Street when it lumbered to an abrupt halt, nearly dumping Delia onto the floor. She saved herself by grabbing Ty's leg. The muscle of his thigh was warm and hard beneath her palm and she felt it tense through the thin material of his breeches. She left her hand on his thigh long after she should have—until he stared pointedly at the hand, then at her. Blushing, she removed it, unconsciously balling it into a tight fist on her lap.
Slowly, Delia became aware of shouting and screaming outside, and she leaned out the window to see what the commotion was about. A woman, stripped to the waist and tied to the tail of an ox cart, was being whipped around the Town House square.
The man doing the whipping was going easy on the strokes, but even so the woman's naked back was criss-crossed with red weals. She had been branded as well, on her shoulder with the letter A. The significance of the brand made Delia think again of the woman who had been with Ty in his rooms last
Similar Books
