Page 13 of The Duke’s Defiant Love

"As was mine." Amelia folded her hands in her lap with a composure she did not entirely feel, her heart still unsteady from the shock of the door flying open. "I would ask you to consider, Your Grace, which of us is more likely to have confirmed the arrangement with the driver, and which of us is more likely to have simply assumed the world would arrange itself correctly around him."

"That is an uncharitable assumption for a woman who has not yet told me her name."

"I have not told you my name because you have not yet earned it, and climbing uninvited into a lady's carriage does very little to improve your case."

"I did not climb in uninvited. I climbed into what I believed to be my own carriage, which I am entitled to do without securing your permission first."

For the first time since he had climbed into the carriage, Amelia allowed herself to look at him without the distraction of an argument.

It was a mistake.

He was, quite simply, an extraordinarily handsome man.

Tall enough that the carriage seemed a little too small to contain him, broad-shouldered beneath his perfectly fitted evening coat, he possessed the sort of physical presence that made space around him seem to arrange itself without conscious effort.

His dark chestnut hair, brushed back from his forehead, had begun to loosen slightly from the evening, a few strands falling with careless precision near his temple. His eyes were a deep, compelling brown, darker in the shadowed carriage and startlingly direct whenever they settled upon her.

His features were sharply aristocratic with a strong, clean jaw, high cheekbones, a straight nose, and a mouth that looked far too severe when he was silent and unexpectedly compelling when amusement touched it. There was nothing soft about his face. Nothing boyish. He looked every inch the duke he was, no doubt controlled, assured, accustomed to being obeyed.

And yet there was something else beneath that composure.

Something warmer. More dangerous.

Perhaps it was simply the closeness of the carriage, or the flickering candlelight that softened the hard lines of his features, but Amelia found herself suddenly aware of details she had not permitted herself to notice at the ball: the breadth of his shoulders, the strength of his hands resting loosely against his knees, the way he occupied the small space between them.

He caught her looking.

Of course he did.

Amelia’s spine straightened. “We must remedy this situation, you’re in my carriage.”

Sebastian’s brow arched, slow and insolent. “Once again, I assure you, I am not.”

“I assure you that this one is mine.”

He leaned back, stretching long legs that ate up the space between them. “Then perhaps you climbed into mine by mistake. Either way, here we are.”

Amelia’s lips curved, sharp as a blade. “How gallant. Most men would apologize and remove themselves.”

“Most men haven’t paid the driver already.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Then I’ll find a solution.”

She reached for the handle. Sebastian slapped his palm flat against the door, body angled across the narrow gap. The motion brought him close…close enough that his scent, dark and spiced, wrapped around her. Their faces hovered inches apart. The argument died on her tongue.

“Don’t be ridiculous, we are already moving,” he said, voice low. “I’ll see you safely home.”

Amelia’s breath caught. “I don’t need an escort.”

“Indulge me.”

She opened her mouth to refuse again, but the carriage lurched and the movement pressed her back into the seat. Sebastian was flung forwared and braced above her, one hand still on the door, the other gripping the frame near her head. The vehicle’s sway rocked them closer.

“You’re insufferable,” she whispered.

“And you’re flushed.” His gaze dropped to her parted lips, then traced the rapid rise and fall of her chest beneath silk. “Where shall I accompany you?”

“You’ll do no such thing!”