Nicholas inwardly groaned.
He felt like Judas, breaking bread with the man he would likely betray if Helen showed him the slightest encouragement.
Then the object of his desire breezed out of the house, her cheeks pale against her pink pelisse. Her eyes were as dull as unpolished jade, nothing like the vibrant emeralds that had stolen his breath last night. Perhaps she dreaded the long journey. Perhaps she disliked being cramped in a carriage with two broad men.
She forced a smile when they joined her. “Mr St Clair. I wasn’t sure you would come. It’s bound to be a squeeze, and I know how you hate to crease your coat.”
He wore his expensive clothes like armour—respectable men did not ravish virgins—carried himself with a sophistication so opposed to his inner torment.
Nicholas bowed. “Miss Langley. I was hoping your maid might play valet and iron out the wrinkles.” Except she wasn’t bringing a maid or a chaperone. Sebastian would object to someone witnessing his absence.
“Belinda has taken the week off to visit her sick mother in Hampshire. Lady Brompton assured me she would provide a maid for the duration of my stay.”
“Enough dawdling. I want to reach Grayswood before dinner.” Sebastian ushered them into the carriage. “We’ll be late if we don’t leave now.” Being the last to climb inside the vehicle, he paused to wave to the elderly matron peering through the upstairs window of the adjacent townhouse.
Jenkins waited for the groom to close the door and scramble atop the box before flicking the reins and leading them towards Grosvenor Square.
“Why did you wave to Lady Wallace?” Helen cast her brother a sidelong glance. “She’ll think you’re mocking her, and you know what a grouch she can be.”
“She waved tome. One must be polite.”
“She did? How strange. She always darts behind the curtain when I catch her eye.” Helen’s gaze drifted to Nicholas, to where her knees rested a mere inch from his, and she shuffled back in the seat. “Maybe she read theScandal Sheetand wished to show her disapproval.”
“Maybe.”
When the carriage turned into the square, it was Sebastian’s cue to begin his performance.
“Damnation!” He sat forward. “I forgot to write a letter to Mr Harvey, my solicitor. It was due before noon today.” He rapped on the roof and shouted for Jenkins to stop at the roadside. “Lord Camberley will have my guts for garters if there’s a delay.”
“Why the panic?” she said, oblivious to her brother’s machinations. “I could understand if we’d ventured as far as Guildford. We can wait while you deal with your correspondence.”
She was so understanding she didn’t deserve to be misled. But someone had to deal with that cretin Parbrook. And since losing her brother Michael to a tropical fever, Helen did not want Sebastian to risk life and limb.
“I was supposed to go through the estimates for the mine last night and prepare a five-year forecast, but that fool Sir Thomas kept me out late, and it completely slipped my mind.” Sebastian reached for the handle and threw open the door. “Go ahead. I’ll catch up with you at the Saddlers Inn. Wait for me there.”
“What? No! You cannot leave me alone with Mr St Clair.”
She had nothing to fear. He was a master at suppressing his emotions and would move heaven and earth to ensure they remained safely hidden in the vehicle.
“I would trust Nicholas with my life,” Sebastian said before vaulting to the pavement. “I won’t be far behind you.”
“We can wait.” Helen clutched her reticule in her lap. “You don’t understand. I can’t be alone with Mr St Clair. It’s something the fortune-teller said when—”
“Nicholas is family,” Sebastian bellowed, then slammed the door and strode away.
She sat forward and gripped the handle … but hesitated.
Seconds passed as she stared at nothing.
“What did the fortune-teller say?” Resigned to his fate, Nicholas kept his voice as calm as a saint’s. It was better to make idle conversation than to sit silently with his thoughts. “They’re skilled at concocting elaborate lies and will say anything for a shilling.”
She ignored his initial question and hurled one of her own. “Is it your job to stop me following him?” Confusion danced in eyes that proved hypnotic. “What is it he means to hide from me?”
The carriage lurched forward, and she almost slipped off the seat.
Instinctively, he reached out and gripped her elbow. He had not touched her in two years. Not since he’d dashed tears from her cheeks at her mother’s graveside. Not since the inner ache had become so unbearable, he had almost taken liberties.
They locked gazes … for a heartbeat or two.