There was a thought. What if he pulled her across the coach and onto his lap? She’d protest and struggle but he sensed a rebelliousness in her that matched his own when it came to their physical attraction for each other. One last time, he would promise her. Just one more night together, you and I, and then never again. She would sigh and nod her agreement. Yes, yes, he thought feverishly. She would sit astride him, her arms about his neck, her mouth hot on his. It would only take a moment for him to flip up her skirts and run his hands up the soft, silky skin of her thighs, and then he would slide himself deep inside her. Her body would ripple around him, welcoming him, and she would make those little gasps of pleasure he remembered so well. He would gaze into her eyes, just as he . . . as he. . .
The sensation was so damned real that for a moment he was lost in this fantasy of his own making and he had no idea of what was happening in the real world.
The coach seemed to be tilting, falling, spinning through space. And suddenly Eugenie was in his arms, really in his arms, her cries shrill and frightened. All the same, the warmth of her soft body against his, the brush of her hair against his face, was too much like his daydream and he groaned and began to kiss her. His body was hard and aching with need and he was holding Eugenie, the real Eugenie, not a fantasy woman. He wasn’t sure how his dream had turned into reality but he was certainly going to make the most of it.
The sharp sting of her palm against his cheek cleared his head with a jolt.
Sinclair’s eyes sprung open.
“What . . . ?” he began, finally realizing that there was something very wrong with the coach, and he was lying on the floor between the seats with Eugenie on top of him.
The vehicle was still moving, slowing, with one corner of the body dragging along the ground. Robert Coachman was doing his best—they could hear his voice hoarse with shouting at the horses, words of encouragement interspersed with curses. A moment later the coach came to a halt, and if Sinclair hadn’t been wedged so tightly between the seats he might have been flung into the air. Eugenie, clinging to him like a limpet, her cheek pressed to his, was breathing in his ear.
He no longer felt like kissing her.
His back was aching and one of his legs seemed to be twisted beneath him. As if sensing his urge to tumble her off him, Eugenie clung even more tightly to him.
“You’re choking me,” he muttered. “Dash it, Eugenie, let me go.”
Reluctantly, it seemed to him, she withdrew her arms and pulled herself up onto the seat, kneeling there and peering down at him.
“Are you hurt?” he added. There was a red mark on her cheekbone that looked as if it might turn into a bruise. His reached up to brush her skin with his fingers and she flinched, refusing to meet his gaze.
“I’m fine,” she said. “I’m sorry I slapped you. You seemed to be about to
kiss me, and I didn’t want you to blame me for it.”
Her voice was stiff and he didn’t understand what she meant, although he had a feeling it was to do with what he’d said to her earlier, at the inn. He supposed it was odd, one moment insisting he never wanted to see her again, and the next kissing her. But then again he felt strange when he was around her—completely unlike himself. Not that he intended explaining that to her right now.
He sat up, then clambered to his feet, and reached for the door. The coach was on a dangerous lean, and when he looked out he saw why. One of the wheels had indeed come off. Robert was still settling the horses, and Sinclair jumped down to the ground and turned back to help Eugenie down, too. She seemed reluctant to allow him to touch her but he did so anyway, swinging her out of the crooked doorway and placing her gently on the ground.
She stepped away at once, turning her back on him.
Leaving her to her sulks, Sinclair went to speak to Robert, who was eyeing the broken coach and shaking his grizzled head.
“My fault, Yer Grace. Went through a puddle and it were deeper than it looked.”
“You should have known better.” Sinclair, normally a fair master, was feeling off kilter after his run-in with Eugenie, and not considering his words. He frowned at the damage. The wheel shaft seemed to have splintered and the axle was bent. The coach would probably be out of action for some time, and they didn’t have that long to wait if they were to catch the eloping pair before they reached their destination and were irrevocably wed.
“It is not your fault if the highway needs repairing,” Eugenie said loudly. “And if you were not such a good driver we could have overturned completely. We could have been killed.”
Robert shuffled a bit and was clearly embarrassed by her championing of him. “I should’ve known.”
“Nonsense, how could you?”
Sinclair gave her an impatient look. “I am not blaming Robert for our accident, Miss Belmont.”
“You are not blaming me, either.”
They glared at each other and then Sinclair sighed, giving up on winning this battle, and turned back to concentrate on his coachman. “Take one of the horses back to the inn and get the staff to help.”
“And what of you, Yer Grace? You don’t want to be waiting here with the lady. Lord knows how long I’ll be. Rumor has it the woods up ahead are full of thieves and highwaymen. Won’t yer come with me and wait at the inn?”
Sinclair shook his head. “I want to go on. Miss Belmont and I will take two of the horses and ride on. You can take the other two with you, and then at least they will be safe from any thieves. Once the coach is repaired, or you can get hold of another one, follow on after us. I’ll make certain we leave directions for you, and by then—with luck—we may even have caught up with the runaways.”
Robert Coachman knew to obey his master’s instructions, whatever they might be, and he obeyed them now. “Aye, Yer Grace. What of your luggage?”
“Miss Belmont only has one bag, and I will put what I need into another.”