closed and the hansom rocked slightly as the driver climbed back aboard. The start was smooth. India laid her reticule beside her and drew a woolen shawl around her shoulders. The evening was cool and damp but not uncomfortable. She tied the fringed ends in a loose knot below her breasts and leaned her shoulder against the side of the cab. Her eyes swiveled, not toward the street, which was still noisy with the activities of vendors and the revelries of the gamers, but to the viscount, who continued to sleep through it all deeply.
The cab's exterior lanterns illuminated Lord Southerton's face as the driver took the first turn. India renewed her first impression of features that were both finely drawn, as though with a careful hand, but stamped with strength, as though by a bold one. The effect was to render his perfectly proportioned face with certain intriguing opposites: a nose that was aristocratic in its line, aggressive in its thrust; a firm yet sensually yielding mouth; lashes that were almost silkily feminine, and dark brows that were most decidedly not.
Sleep, she noted, when the lantern swung its pale arc of light into the cab again, did not seem to render the viscount particularly unprotected. India could not dismiss the conflicting appearance of complete relaxation and readiness as she studied him. He was virtually boneless in the way his long frame had accommodated itself to the hard angles of the cab walls and bench seat, yet the spare lines of his body suggested tone and vigor. She supposed that depending on the circumstances, this was a man who awoke with a languid stretch or an unerring pounce. It did not surprise her when the image of a great striped, stalking tiger flickered at the periphery of her mind's eye.
A small smile lifted the corners of her mouth as she turned away. She wondered if he knew that he was not a merely handsome man but a very nearly beautiful one. It was likely, she decided. Men who were graced with much less often thought a great deal more, provoked to find themselves so by doting mamas and fawning matrons with daughters on the marriage mart. India considered saying as much to him, not necessarily as a compliment but as simply something that must be said to remove it from further consideration. She amused herself thinking what tone and phrasing she might adopt to intimate such an outrageous thing. Practical: You are a beautiful man, my lord, but that is neither here nor there . Bold: It cannot have escaped your notice, my lord, that you are a beautiful man; however, it is of no consequence to me . Amused: And how have you passed your days, my lord, since you last posed for the great Michael-angelo ?
She would say nothing, of course. She could not imagine that the words would ever come properly to her mind when she would be in need of them.
India sank more deeply into her seat, gentled by the steady rocking of the cab and syncopated beat of the horse's hooves on the cobbles. She closed her eyes for but a moment.
India missed the viscount's awakening, but he did not miss hers. He was turning from paying the driver when he saw her stir. He paused, waved off the cabbie, then sat back in the seat and awaited India's return to full consciousness. She came to it with an abrupt little jolt as though breaking a fall. South knew he would not like to awake so rudely. There was no peace in the sleep that came before, and usually no peace in the living immediately after.
"Miss Parr," he said, inclining his head. "May I assist you from the carriage?" He permitted himself a small smile when she stared at him blankly, though he was more troubled than amused. There was no recognition in her eyes, no sense of her surroundings. She was thoroughly unprotected in that moment and remained unconscious of it for several more.
"What?" She blinked slowly. "Oh. Oh, why, yes. I slept, didn't I? Odd, that's never happened." This last was said more to herself than to him. Her chin jerked, a small, birdlike
The cab's exterior lanterns illuminated Lord Southerton's face as the driver took the first turn. India renewed her first impression of features that were both finely drawn, as though with a careful hand, but stamped with strength, as though by a bold one. The effect was to render his perfectly proportioned face with certain intriguing opposites: a nose that was aristocratic in its line, aggressive in its thrust; a firm yet sensually yielding mouth; lashes that were almost silkily feminine, and dark brows that were most decidedly not.
Sleep, she noted, when the lantern swung its pale arc of light into the cab again, did not seem to render the viscount particularly unprotected. India could not dismiss the conflicting appearance of complete relaxation and readiness as she studied him. He was virtually boneless in the way his long frame had accommodated itself to the hard angles of the cab walls and bench seat, yet the spare lines of his body suggested tone and vigor. She supposed that depending on the circumstances, this was a man who awoke with a languid stretch or an unerring pounce. It did not surprise her when the image of a great striped, stalking tiger flickered at the periphery of her mind's eye.
A small smile lifted the corners of her mouth as she turned away. She wondered if he knew that he was not a merely handsome man but a very nearly beautiful one. It was likely, she decided. Men who were graced with much less often thought a great deal more, provoked to find themselves so by doting mamas and fawning matrons with daughters on the marriage mart. India considered saying as much to him, not necessarily as a compliment but as simply something that must be said to remove it from further consideration. She amused herself thinking what tone and phrasing she might adopt to intimate such an outrageous thing. Practical: You are a beautiful man, my lord, but that is neither here nor there . Bold: It cannot have escaped your notice, my lord, that you are a beautiful man; however, it is of no consequence to me . Amused: And how have you passed your days, my lord, since you last posed for the great Michael-angelo ?
She would say nothing, of course. She could not imagine that the words would ever come properly to her mind when she would be in need of them.
India sank more deeply into her seat, gentled by the steady rocking of the cab and syncopated beat of the horse's hooves on the cobbles. She closed her eyes for but a moment.
India missed the viscount's awakening, but he did not miss hers. He was turning from paying the driver when he saw her stir. He paused, waved off the cabbie, then sat back in the seat and awaited India's return to full consciousness. She came to it with an abrupt little jolt as though breaking a fall. South knew he would not like to awake so rudely. There was no peace in the sleep that came before, and usually no peace in the living immediately after.
"Miss Parr," he said, inclining his head. "May I assist you from the carriage?" He permitted himself a small smile when she stared at him blankly, though he was more troubled than amused. There was no recognition in her eyes, no sense of her surroundings. She was thoroughly unprotected in that moment and remained unconscious of it for several more.
"What?" She blinked slowly. "Oh. Oh, why, yes. I slept, didn't I? Odd, that's never happened." This last was said more to herself than to him. Her chin jerked, a small, birdlike
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