Page 13 of Duke of Rath

What was his favorite color?

What did he like to read?

Could she make a jest? Lord in heaven, send her an idea for a jest…

Nothing. All she could think about was how big he was in the enclosed compartment of the carriage…which wasn’t actually small at all. It was bigger than the larder at Rose Cottage.

Silence stretched between them so thick and long, it felt like a high-pitched note. She didn’t know where to put her legs so that she wouldn’t touch his. It was impossible. His long, muscular legs were open, surrounding her knees, and she did her best not to stare at the lines of muscles bulging against the fabric. After a while, he crossed his big arms over his chest, and even through layers of his clothing, she could see how his flesh rippled.

Finally the pitch reached a breaking point, and she couldn’t be silent a moment longer.

For God’s sake just say something positive! she managed to command herself before she opened her mouth.

“I suppose congratulations are in order,” she said in a croaky voice.

His sharp gaze landed on her like a slap. A lion, indeed, cold and watching his prey. His gaze penetrated her, digging deep into her face, and she felt naked and vulnerable even though she was fully clothed in gloves and a bonnet and a long coat.

“Congratulations on what?” he snapped.

Oh, his voice. Even tinged with irritation, it remained the most resonant male timbre she had ever heard.

“Our nuptials.”

“I don’t believe it’s customary to congratulate each other.”

She chuckled. “I suppose.”

Silence fell once again, and she scratched the soft upholstery of the seat with her gloved fingertips. She felt a thread inside her glove catch on a snag in her nail and itched to free her hand and smooth it, but she couldn’t.

She couldn’t imagine feeling more vulnerable.

He returned to staring out of the window. The edge of his jaw moved so fast, she thought there might be a creature trying to break out of there. Her rib cage felt constricted and tight in her corset—oh, damned corset—and she kept sucking in air in an attempt to calm herself. Good God, how long could the ride from the village church to Rath Hall take?

Someone needed to say something. Anything.

This was undoubtedly the tensest, most awkward situation she had ever experienced. She couldn’t endure the silence any longer. The discomfort hung in the air like an acrid smell she desperately wanted to dispel.

“What did you have for breakfast?” she blurted out, and he looked at her in confusion.

No smile, not even a shadow of one, but at least the angry, jaw-working look was wiped off his face. His mouth relaxed from the scowl, eyes brightening to the shade of a sky just before dusk. Something lightened inside her.

“Toast,” he said, looking a little struck. “And coffee.”

Coffee… Right away her mind went to the botanical plant, called Coffea arabica. It came from inland East African regions and had red berries that could be roasted and were beloved by many. The plant grew in subtropical highlands and loved warm temperatures and humid conditions. She longed for an opportunity to see the real coffee plant and study it.

But that was not what a duchess would talk about.

“I’ve never tried coffee,” she said. In fact, they didn’t even have money for proper tea, so the tea they drank was mint, lavender, rose hips, and other herbs and plants Patience could grow or forage in the nearby woods. “Is it good?”

He kept staring at her with his penetrating glare. “Yes.”

“How does it taste?”

“Intense. One can say a little bitter, but pleasantly so. Roasted.”

“Oh. Is it true one feels alive and energetic after drinking it?”

He nodded. “I suppose so, yes.”