“It is simple enough,” he said, handing her the reins. “Keep to this lane, straight ahead. I will drive again when we come to the bend.”
She gripped the reins, sitti
ng so straight her back hurt.
“That is fine. Do not pull back unless you wish to stop. Give him a tap there, he is slowing. There, well done.” He leaned against the bench, angling toward her. “Now I can get a look at you.”
She tore her gaze from the road for the barest moment and saw that he was, indeed, looking at her, and in a way that made her hands sweat on the reins.
“Oh no, don’t do that. Stop it.”
“Why?”
“Because you make me nervous.”
“So you said. It becomes imperative that I determine why you have that effect on me.”
“Come on, I don’t make anyone nervous.”
“Apparently, I am not anyone.”
She blew out her cheeks and tried to focus on driving. She could feel him staring at her, contemplating her, and it was such an unfamiliar sensation that she sprouted goose bumps as if she’d been tickled. Thoughts fled her head. Apparently they found the place too crazy to stick around.
“Hm …” he said.
Her heart beat harder. Had he noticed her brow wrinkle?
“What is it? What are you hm-ing about?”
“You have freckles.” He ran a fingertip along her cheekbone. “A thing I had not noticed before. Yes, this has been productive.”
“I don’t think you’re supposed to do that,” she whispered, his finger still touching her face. She didn’t mind so much, except for how hot her face felt.
“Mrs. Cordial,” he said gently, “you are the one with the alluring freckles. I simply observe.” But he removed his hand.
At last the bend appeared, and she stuffed the reins into his hands, leaning back to sigh.
“And what would you do if I stared at you now?” she asked.
“The same as you, I suppose—grit my teeth and look elsewhere. Preferable to be the gazer than the gazed upon, is it not?”
She did look him over since she could. His profile was significant, as if it belonged on legal tender. His jaw was delightful to contemplate, and his long hair pulled back beneath that top hat was just so manly.
Really? her Inner Thoughts said. Are you sure ponytail plus top hat equals manly?
You tell me, Charlotte challenged.
Her Inner Thoughts shut up after that, probably too distracted by Mr. Mallery’s manliness to taunt her anymore.
“If you must look at me so,” he said, “I wish that you at least would speak.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Speak aloud one of your thoughts.”
“I … I think your profile belongs on a dollar bill.”
“That sentence will keep me wondering late into the night.”