Page 31 of Unforeseen Affairs (The Sedleys #6)

The blast of steam from the handsome, gleaming locomotive was deafening. Still, such a thing ought not bother Colin. An engine was an engine, after all. The chugging, the hissing of the steam, the rattle of the boilers—all were familiar sounds, recalling a ship’s engine room below the waterline.

And yet, bother him it did.

He’d strictly avoided traveling by rail ever since his return to shore. Not just because he’d had no need for it, but the thought of the swaying motion, traversing the countryside at breakneck speed…

A queer feeling had lodged itself in his chest—not quite like dyspepsia, though he had no better description for it. But Colin was certain that liver pills would do nothing to quell it.

And it wasn’t just the train—there was the young lady on his arm, the one who frequently set his heart to racing with uncertainty.

Miss Sedley had thought of everything for their trip, and she was eager to depart. And Colin, it seemed, was in no position to refuse.

He’d offered his service to her. And Colin was a man of his word.

He scanned the platform, half-expecting an angry relative to emerge from the crowd, finger-wagging and furious.

Because that was what he deserved. Just a handful of days ago, Colin would never have imagined himself to be the sort of man to carelessly handle an unmarried young lady and accede to her demand to accompany her around the country.

Her fingers rested lightly on his arm, with just enough pressure to make his collar feel tight and his back hot—a rotten combination to pair with his stomach upset.

He sometimes wondered whether it would be better to simply give in and live his life with careless and ruinous abandon, the way Beaky did.

Flirt with every pretty girl he encountered, revel in the attention lavished upon him.

Suppress his conscience while visiting brothels and doing heaven-knew-what at every foreign port…

To cunt and gunpowder, a sailor’s best friend.

Colin grimaced at that memory, and at the memory of his last breakfast with Beaky.

His former friend had made his lack of respect for Colin quite clear, and though he’d done a marginally better job of concealing his envy, that was laid bare enough as well.

Colin could not think of Lieutenant Pearce without feeling pained and foolish.

He had worried on more than one occasion that Miss Sedley might think him akin to Beaky, a rogue of the highest order.

But even if she did, they were still here, together.

For whatever that counted for. He wished he knew her mind, that she might speak in ways other than veiled riddles or emotionless statements of fact.

“Are you certain you wish to go through with this?” he asked, in a final attempt to spare them both whatever trouble they were sure to soon find themselves in, not to mention his head.

If they were to board together, there would be no going back, no returning to the lives they’d previously led. He might lose any chance of ever seeing her again after this, were he to tarnish both of their reputations and alienate himself from her entire family.

“Yes. Absolutely,” Miss Sedley said, her gaze trained upon the rail porter as he shouted out instructions to those assembled on the platform.

So be it.

Colin tightened his grip on the slight valise she’d brought along.

Once they’d boarded and settled into their first-class compartment, he took more care than necessary in placing it atop the gilt rack alongside his own half-filled sea bag.

Doing his best to ground himself in the present, he paid more attention to the mounted photographs—one of the seaside, another of an impressively tall trestle—than he would under normal circumstances.

He ran a hand along the expensive hardwood paneling, remarking idly on the finer quality of materials in their compartment as compared to the rest of the train.

Miss Sedley did not respond, and Colin sat down across from her.

After a few more minutes of restless anticipation, the dreaded moment finally arrived, and the train lurched forward.

For a few seconds Colin’s head felt disconnected from his body, unable to catch up with the car’s movement.

But then he shut his eyes and, to his immense relief, the feeling subsided.

Perhaps he might manage this after all.

As much as he tried to encourage himself, he was afraid to open his eyes. He remained still, doing all he could to think of anything but the awkward swaying and unpredictable jerking of the rail car.

If Colin had known that it might one day lead to this condition of his, Colin would have done everything he could—run away from home, if necessary—to avoid following in the family tradition of joining the Royal Navy.

No.

No, he wouldn’t have, he bloody well knew. Colin would die in the name of duty to his country. That value had been instilled in him since he was old enough to speak.

But was this trap he found himself in not worse than death, during the times when its iron jaws closed around his brain? He sometimes felt as though it might be.

He did his best to think of the open sea—not of the motion, but of the wind in his face, his hair rough in the salt air.

It had been one of Dr. Collier’s suggestions, to call to mind that which he found most soothing when the compulsion to ruminate struck.

Time passed, and Colin did his best to focus on the allure of the unending ocean, the cries of gulls and terns gliding around his ship.

“Is it the motion that distresses you?”

The sound of Miss Sedley’s voice caught him off his guard, and he felt a bolt of panic. He swallowed, and gave himself a moment to calm down before answering.

“It is nothing.”

“Mrs. Stone is similar. She rarely opens her eyes in a carriage.”

Thankfully, carriages didn’t upset Colin’s head enough to put him off them. He decided not to answer, lest it invite more comparisons between him and the fragile and eccentric Mrs. Stone. He didn’t like the idea of being painted with the same brush.

“Are you sure you’re quite well? I could fetch you something from the dining car if you—”

“No, thank you,” he managed to say. “I am perfectly at ease.”

“Only it’s been some time since we departed London,” Miss Sedley replied, a note of concern in her voice.

With his eyes shut to the world and his mind set on the open ocean, he wasn’t sure just how much time had passed. With a deep breath he opened his eyes, starting at the sight of Miss Sedley’s drawn brows.

Quickly she relaxed her features, and Colin wondered if he’d imagined the concern there.

He turned to peer out the window. The grays of London were nowhere to be seen; the landscape was greener, and the air looked clearer. If he had to guess, he supposed they were over halfway there. The thought bolstered him. Not much farther to go.

When he glanced back at Miss Sedley, she was watching him from underneath those thick lashes with a penetrating gaze. She did not look away when their eyes met; there was nothing in her expression but open curiosity.

It felt comforting, in a way, being considered thusly. After a long moment he wondered if he might speak, but could not think of what to say.

Finally, she did instead.

“A Gearing is nothing if not loyal,” she murmured.

Right—he’d said that to her before, hadn’t he?

Colin shifted and turned away from the window.

“I did say I would be completely at your disposal.” He smiled, trying not to worry about what would happen were someone to see them together, or even just hear a rumor of this little jaunt.

Or if his head became too heavy to hold up, his vision too scattered to keep upright.

“Are you so often misled by others that you have difficulty taking someone at their word?” he asked her.

“Most people’s word is worth little more than slop.” Now she turned to look out the window. “But not yours.” She paused for a moment before adding, “Thank you.”

Why did it feel so bloody good for her to say that to him?

Perhaps because she didn’t temper her praise by calling him a spaniel, or by adding a chuckle or an eye roll.

Perhaps because she’d reluctantly accepted his offer of assistance, instead of expecting it as her due.

Perhaps because she didn’t think of him as a lion, as some vaunted name with which to feather her cap, but just as a lad.

A lad to tease, to cajole into breaking rules, to explore with her.

Colin stared at his hand, held in a loose fist atop one knee.

“You may trust that my promises carry weight,” he said. “And when I spoke, as a gentleman, of the matter of protection…” He tightened his fist. “If anything were to happen, if anyone were to assume anything about what transpires between us over the next day or so…”

“Sir Colin, I doubt the city is lacking in accommodations. We should not be so hard-pressed as to have to share lodgings—”

“Even so,” he said, now looking to her, his tone reflecting the seriousness of what he was about to pledge. “Even still. I vow my protection, as a gentleman and an officer of Her Majesty’s Navy. I will not abandon you to rumor and scandal.”

Miss Sedley stilled.

“I will do the honorable thing.”

“Would you?”

Something played about her eyes as she watched him. Mischief? Or disdain? Colin could not tell.

“Aye,” he said.

“And what of the other evening?”

His heart skipped.

“The other—”

“When you pressed your advantage,” she said, enunciating each consonant as if it gave her immense pleasure.

“When I…” Colin nearly choked. He’d not expected this, but she was right—he’d grossly mishandled her. “When I… I…” He drew in a breath. “If you wish to end our association, I would—”

“No.” She cut him off harshly, her eyes narrowed. “As I have said, I am committed to bringing about the end of Mr. Bass’s career as a charlatan. As are you, and together we will achieve that end.”

“Miss Sedley,” he sputtered, exasperated.

“I confess, I do not know what to make of you. You seem to wish—nay, you do wish to discomfit me and… torment me.” Colin felt his cheeks warming, but he continued on, frowning as he got it all off his chest. “And all the while I only wish to do the correct thing and fulfill my promise to you. What is so wrong with chivalry, madam, with gestures made in good faith and with kindness?”

She looked down in silence.

“Will you not look at me? Will you at least do me that courtesy?” His words sounded harsh to him, but they were necessary, and he was not sorry for them.

When she looked up again, her face was full of something raw, something just as potent as his own feelings.

A naked want .

“Do I? Torment you, that is?”

The words dripped with a self-satisfied pleasure.

“I confess,” she nearly purred, “I find that… compelling.”

Suddenly the compartment felt stuffy, his clothing far too constricting. Sparks of light flickered about the periphery of his vision.

“I wanted you to kiss me,” she continued, calm and steady now, speaking blithely as if about the weather and not a reckless entanglement of their physical forms. “And I would very much enjoy kissing you again. This ache… it’s curious.”

She held one elegant, gloved hand splayed across her bosom. Colin felt powerless to resist its pull, watching as she slid it gently down toward her lap. His breathing sped up, and his vision blurred.

“So curious,” she repeated as she slowly, maddeningly caressed herself. “I find myself thinking…” She paused and frowned, not haughtily, but earnestly. “I find myself bitter with envy, thinking of you with that Miss Pearce. Kissing her. Touching her.”

“No,” he blurted out. “I wouldn’t. I—there’s no understanding between us.”

Why had he said that? Damn his cursed honesty.

“Oh, is that so?” She paused, her lovely fingers so gentle upon the rise of one enticing breast. “Would you like there to be?”

He swallowed and shook his head. “No. Not anymore.”

Fuck . He could not fib to save his life.

She studied him. And then, knowingly, she licked her lower lip.

Christ. His cock hardened. He never should have boarded this train, nor agreed to go to Manchester. They had to spend the evening together, for God’s sake. And the following day.

The world was slipping away. Colin did not know which way to look, nor how to keep hold of his senses, or his balance.

He closed his eyes again.

“Miss Sedley,” he managed, his voice raspy.

“I’m sorry. We don’t have to speak of it.”

He could hear her smile, and knew she wasn’t sorry in the least.

“Polite company wouldn’t,” he reprimanded, shutting his eyes even tighter.

“But we might be honest with one another, you know.”

“We might,” he admitted, then quickly added, “But now? There could be plenty of time later to… be honest. What purpose would it serve now?”

She did not respond. The shaking of the rail car was the only sound for so long that he almost opened his eyes to make sure she had not slipped away in distress.

But then she sighed—a drawn out, pretty sound, full of yearning. It caught him square in the chest, startling him so much he almost missed her whispered response:

“To see what it felt like.”

He clenched his jaw.

Everything fell to pieces. He was falling…

no, not falling, just lightheaded. But then the car jerked suddenly, and Colin lurched forward, then grabbed his head with both hands, gasping for breath.

Amid the chaos in his mind, he wondered if he should roll to the side onto his seat, lest he collapse to the floor.

“Sir Colin?”

His head swung to and fro, as if he were amusing himself upon a swing hung from a tree limb. But there was no swing. No tree. Nothing amusing in the least.

Just dread. Dizziness and dread.

“Sir Colin!”