Page 110 of The Marriage Method
This was an entirely different degree of lethalness.
She stood on the landing, clad in a golden-yellow carriage dress that had been cut with an elegance that bordered on the divine. The close-fitting bodice hugged her figure, accentuating every voluptuous dip and curve, and the full skirts swept over her hips in a swell of voluminous fabric that terminated in a delicately pleated hem.
The ensemble was completed by crisp muslin undersleeves, a slim belt with a gilded buckle, and a little scrap of a straw hat with an upturned brim.
Miles swallowed, and swallowed again. His mouth seemed to have gone completely dry.
Nell straightened her skirts, settling the folds gracefully over her crinoline. The gown’s color lent a striking luminance to her complexion. The effect was aided by the golden net that bound her fair hair. “Well?” she asked.
“I don’t know what to say,” he replied.
“But you do like it?”
He cleared his throat. “Like seems an inadequate word in the circumstances.”
Her mouth tipped at one corner. “It was you who purchased it for me,” she said. “And this is only a day dress. Wait until you see my evening gowns.”
“If they enhance your charms any more effectively than this one,” Miles replied gravely, “I fear my constitution may not be up to the experience.”
Her dimple appeared. She slowly began to descend the steps, a pronounced hitch in her gait. She wasn’t using her cane. She wasn’t yet strong enough to wield it with her right hand.
Miles bounded up the stairs to offer her his arm. When she took it, he felt, rather foolishly, like the luckiest man in the world. It was boyish. Ridiculous. She was his wife, not some untouchable stranger. All the same…
His heart thudded heavily.
“You must lean on me in the absence of your cane,” he said.
Her smile softened. “You may believe that I shall.”
Miles gazed down at her, his chest gone tight. “I’d have it no other way.”
• • • • •
They arrived at Euston Station a short while later, with just enough time left to entrust their luggage to a porter before their train was due to arrive. After a hurried walk through the crowded terminus and a brief stop at the ticket office, Miles and Nell joined the other passengers on the platform.
It wasn’t the busiest time of day at Euston, but Euston was, at any hour, one of the busier stations in London. Ladies and gentlemen with their families and servants milled about amid the smoke and steam, along with less salubrious individuals traveling alone. It was noisy and chaotic, with people calling out to each other, and porters racing by with their luggage carts.
Miles kept Nell close at his side. He couldn’t fail to notice the reactions she engendered. The pointed, and sometimes stunned, looks from men and women alike. It provoked a fierce protectiveness in him.
“You don’t enjoy traveling?” Nell asked him.
He flashed her a distracted glance. “Don’t I?”
“You’re scowling dreadfully,” she said.
Miles inwardly grimaced. Was it that obvious? “They’re staring at you,” he said.
“Are they?” She sounded entirely unaware. “It’s my gown, I daresay.”
“It’s not the gown,” he grumbled. “It’s you in it.”
“That’s very flattering. But wouldn’t our time here be better spent looking out for Mrs. Pritchard rather than glaring at admiring strangers?”
“I’m capable of both.”
A faint smile touched Nell’s lips. She was amused by his primitive behavior, he didn’t doubt. “Do you think she might be here?” she asked.
“If she’s smart, she’ll have gone to France,” Miles answered.
