Page 19 of The Governess and the Rogue (Somerset Stories #6)

She’d thought sitting beside him would be easier than taking the seat across from him.

But just because she couldn’t see him without angling her head didn’t mean she didn’t know he was there .

His broad-shouldered maleness seemed to fill up the compartment.

Even when she wasn’t looking at him, she could still smell his cologne.

Still hear the steadiness of his every breath.

He was, for the most part, a pleasant companion. At times talkative, amusing her with stories about his family or anecdotes from his time in the army, and at times quiet, gazing out the window with a pensive stare while Bea busied herself writing in her journal.

It was during one of the latter moments, not long after departing the station in Paris at half past eleven in the evening, that Bea tucked her journal away into her traveling valise and asked the question that had been plaguing her since sunset.

“How will we be addressing our sleeping arrangements?”

Jack continued staring out the window as the railway station disappeared into the darkness behind them. He didn’t appear to have heard her.

“Jack?” Bea prompted.

“Just making sure they didn’t find a way to get back on the train,” he said.

Mrs. Rawson and the Farradays had disembarked at the station, but not before making a final visit to Jack and Bea’s compartment. Mrs. Rawson had once again encouraged them to join her in Paris. When her entreaties had failed, she and the Farradays had bid Jack and Bea a final adieu.

“Let us not say goodbye,” Mrs. Rawson had said. “For we shall meet again.”

“We shall,” Mrs. Farraday had concurred with a glitter of determination in her eyes. “That much, I vow.”

Bea had seen them on the gaslit platform but a few moments ago, Mrs. Farraday looking furious at having been thwarted, Miss Farraday as composed as ever, and Mrs. Rawson wrangling a barking Benjamin with Pearl’s assistance.

Jack couldn’t have failed to notice them, as intently as he’d been staring out the window.

“That would be impossible, surely,” Bea said to him.

“Nothing is impossible where Mrs. Farraday is concerned,” he muttered. “Didn’t you hear her vowing to see me again? She may even now be clinging to the brake van.”

Bea stifled a reflexive grin. She could too easily picture Mrs. Farraday leaping onto the last car of the departing train. “I don’t imagine she could hang on for very long. Not with all her petticoats and crinoline.”

“That’s because you don’t know what she’s capable of,” Jack said grimly. Abandoning the window, he sat back in his seat. “After Paris, she and her daughter will undoubtedly come to Somerset. It won’t matter a jot that I’m engaged.”

Bea looked at him in the light of the small oil lamp that hung in the corner of their compartment. “But you won’t be engaged then, will you? Our engagement ends in Southampton.”

Jack met her eyes. “Ah yes. Our amicable breakup.”

“Don’t say you’d forgotten?”

“On the contrary,” Jack said. “I remember everything.”

An inexplicable flicker of heat crept up Bea’s throat. She ignored it, just as she ignored the scorching memory of their kiss. What else could she do? Nothing could come of it, or of these dratted emotions she’d been feeling.

“Then you must recall what you’d decided to do about this part of the plan,” she said in what she hoped was a matter-of-fact manner.

“The sleeping arrangements,” Jack replied. “Do you know… I can’t say I had a particular plan about those.”

The blush stealing into Bea’s cheeks burned hotter under his regard. “Mrs. Rawson said there was no sleeper carriage, and that we must sleep sitting up.”

“Mrs. Rawson is correct.” His mouth curled with faint amusement. “Have you never slept upright before?”

“I have,” Bea replied, on her dignity.

But never with a gentleman.

And never with a gentleman she’d kissed but a few days before.

“Are you ready to retire now?” he asked.

“I am,” she said.

“You don’t need to change into your dressing gown first? Take your hair down? Make your wish on the evening star?”

“I’ve made my wish, thank you.” It had been many hours since sunset. Bea had spent much of that time staring out the window. “And I’m quite all right as I am.”

“What else do you require for your comfort?” Jack asked. “Shall I summon the porter to bring you a blanket?”

She was amazed he could be so cavalier about it all. “Do you often sleep with ladies in such conditions?”

His smile reached his eyes. “No,” he said. “You’ll be the first.”

Bea didn’t know how to feel about him finding humor in their situation. Not when she couldn’t yet tell if it was at her expense. “I’m warm enough without a blanket,” she said at length.

“What about a pillow?” he asked. “Or will my shoulder suffice?”

She abandoned any hope of concealing her blushes. It was many hours yet until they reached Calais. Try as she might, she couldn’t pretend indifference for every one of them. For one thing, she was too weary. For another?—

“Your shoulder will do nicely,” she said.

Jack flashed her a roguish grin. “Not the answer I was expecting, but I’ll take it.”

Bea removed her bonnet, placing it on the empty seat opposite them. Her pulse was quaking, and her mouth suddenly dry. She hadn’t been this close to him since he’d kissed her. But for all the awkwardness of the moment, she really was quite tired.

“If I may?” she asked.

“By all means,” Jack replied. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Settling herself back in her seat, Bea gingerly rested her head on his shoulder. It was firm beneath her cheek, the soft wool of his overcoat caressing her skin.

Her chest constricted on an unexpected swell of emotion. It had nothing to do with the kiss they’d shared or the butterflies she’d been feeling when she looked at him. It was something else.

Something far more dangerous.

He was so big. So solid.

For the first time in memory, Bea felt safe.

Jack put his arm around her, gathering her into his warmth. “Better?” he asked.

She swallowed the lump that was forming in her throat. How could anything be better? But it was.

Oh, but it was.

“Yes, thank you,” she managed.

He turned his face into her hair. “Sleep as long as you need,” he said. “I’ll wake you when we get to Calais.”

Bea wondered how any woman could sleep in such circumstances.

But exhaustion had a way of removing one’s inhibitions. Her eyelids grew heavier and, as the train chugged inexorably toward the conclusion of their make-believe romance, she drifted into a boneless slumber in the safety of Jack Beresford’s arms.