Page 40 of Along Came a Rogue

He hesitated, his eyes still staring straight ahead as if he was afraid to look at her. “I’ve never spent the entire night in a woman’s bed. I’ve never wanted to stay around long enough afterward to actually sleep with her. But with you,” he admitted tenderly, “for once I wanted to stay.”

Her throat knotted, yet she didn’t dare let herself hope that he might care about her beyond friendship. “Did you truly?”

“Yes.” His brows raised slightly as if the answer surprised him as well. “Apparently, brat, you bring out all kinds of new desires in me.”

Her lips parted in surprise. “What do you—”

“All done, sir!” Hedley called out.

“Good,” Grey answered. He moved to open the carriage door and put down the step to help her inside. “Let’s depart, then.”

He held out his hand to her. As she slipped hers into his to step up into the compartment, his mouth lowered close to her ear and murmured, “Can the baby handle another long day’s ride?”

Her chest tightened at his concern. “Yes,” she returned in the same low voice. “Grey, thank you for—”

But there was no time to say anything more because Hedley appeared immediately at his side, ready to join her in the carriage. Grey squeezed her fingers tenderly with a gleam in his eyes before releasing her hand, as if he knew she planned to thank him for saving her life. More times than he realized.

As she turned to take her seat, she stopped. A small package wrapped in plain paper and twine sat on the bench. She looked up at the two men who stood waiting by the open door. “What’s this?”

“Nothing important.” Grey shrugged. “Thought you might like something to chase away the boredom during today’s ride.”

Then he moved aside to let Hedley step up into the compartment and settle onto the bench across from her, before securely closing the door and climbing up to the driver’s seat. With a lurch, the carriage started off.

Once they were under way, she curiously turned the package over in her hands. She glanced up at Hedley. “Sergeant, what is this?”

“We stopped in th’ village on the way back from fetchin’ the carriage so we could buy you a dress. ’Tweren’t no seamstress in the village, though, so the major requested th’ shopkeeper open his mercantile for us.”

She dubiously arched a brow. “Requested?”

“Strongly suggested,” he amended with a grin. “When we was buyin’ the dress, the major got that for you, too. Like he said, ma’am, ain’t nothing much.”

Muttering something beneath his breath about benches, sore spines, and the devil, he leaned back against the squabs, closed his eyes, and fell asleep before they were more than two miles from the inn.

“Something to chase away the boredom?” she murmured softly. Unable to bear the curiosity any longer, she pulled at the twine and worked the knot away until the paper fell open on her lap.

Her eyes widened. A sketchbook and set of pencils—she could scarcely believe it! Her fingertips trembled as they traced affectionately over the book and touched each of the four pencils bound with a pink ribbon, all of them thoughtfully sharpened and ready for use.

She smiled with happiness even as a tear dropped onto the book in her lap. Because it was the most wonderful gift anyone had ever given her. Because Grey remembered the girl she used to be, which meant she would never be just another widow for him to bed.

And because she knew she loved him.

* * *

“You’re moving again,” Emily chastised as she traced a line carefully across the sketch she was making of him.

“The whole damned carriage is moving,” Grey grumbled and folded his arms irritably across his chest.

“You’re fidgeting, then.”

He crooked an exasperated brow. “I’m bored.”

“I’m not.” A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. Her eyes shined brightly in the early-afternoon sunlight as she slid him a seductive look. “Perhaps this evening we might consider…nude sketches?”

He leaned forward on his seat. “Believe me, darling.” His voice dropped to a husky purr. “The last thing I want you stroking with your hand tonight is that pencil.”

She blushed instantly scarlet, the color fanning out from the back of her neck and flushing down below her neckline. She pretended to not hear his comment and focused all her attention on her sketch, her eyes not lifting from the page as if her life depended upon it.

He chuckled. Little minx.