Free Malia Martin by Prideand Prudence Page B

of course, the color brought out her eyes and contrasted perfectly with the golden color of her hair.
    Yes, closing his eyes should have helped tremendously, only the picture did not fade in the least and, on top of that rather unfortunate happening was the fact that now his olfactory senses were more alert, and the scent of lavender seemed to swirl around him like a cloud.
    He suddenly began conjuring thoughts of opening all the small dark buttons that closed Lady Farnsworth’s traveling dress up to her neck. And, most definitely, he would let her hair down.
    James opened his eyes with a snap.
    The lady across from him smiled. James frowned. This was all very bad.
    “Perhaps we should converse?” Lady Farnsworth said softly. “It might help pass the time.”
    Nothing was going to help, of that James was very sure.
    “I hear you have a lovely home in London. Do you enjoy the city?”
    “Not really.”
    Lady Farnsworth nodded. “Well that would seem a good reason to buy a home in town, then.”
    “How on earth did you hear about my house?”
    “I like to keep abreast of the news,” Lady Farnsworth said.
    “My home is news?”
    “It is in Lady Whistledown’s Society Papers .”
    James nearly groaned out loud. “Tell me you don’t get that horrible piece of filth all the way in Gravesly.”
    His traveling companion shrugged prettily and smiled. “I have it specially delivered.”
    “Lovely.”
    “I find it terribly interesting, and I very much enjoy Lady Whistledown’s sense of humor.”
    “The woman is a menace.” The author of Lady Whistledown’s Society Papers , whoever she was, had been the one to put abroad Lady Jersey’s insistence on calling him the Most Delectable Man in England last season.
    Hearing the name whispered among a few ladies of the ton had been devastating. Seeing the horrible moniker in print had been something out of his worst nightmares.
    He would now have to surmise that Lady Farnsworth knew of the name he abhorred. James sighed.
    “Why don’t you like London?” Lady Farnsworth asked, thankfully turning the subject.
    “I did not say that I don’t like it. I said I don’t enjoy it,” he answered.
    Lady Farnsworth looked terribly perplexed. “Aren’t they the same?”
    “No,” he said.
    She drew her brows together, obviously exasperated with his short answer. “What on earth is the difference?”
    “I like London,” he found himself saying. “There are amusements and interesting things and places to see, but at this point in my life I just don’t enjoy it.”
    “How very strange.”
    He was saved from answering because at that moment they rolled over a particularly large rut in the road. James’s head banged against the back wall of the carriage, and he let out a tremendous groan.
    “Oh dear,” Lady Farnsworth said, moving quickly to sit beside him. “Are you all right? Did you hurt yourself?” She reached out, threading her fingers in his hair and feeling the back of his head.
    Her fingers on his scalp felt good, very good, too good. James pulled away from her quickly. “I’m fine, Lady Farnsworth, really,” he said.
    “You didn’t sound fine.”
    He didn’t feel fine. Never in his life had he experienced such an overwhelming sensitivity to another person’s presence.
    She did not return to her seat, but stayed beside him. They were not touching, but he could feel her, smell her, hear her. He just might be going mad.
    “James,” she said softly, laying her gloved hand against his arm.
    “Yes,” he answered without moving, barely breathing in fact.
    “What are you waiting for?”
    James waited for a beat of silence to go by and then said, “Excuse me, Lady Farnsworth?”
    She leaned toward him. “What are you waiting for in your life that will allow you to enjoy London?”
    James frowned. He had been expecting something else entirely. “When I am settled I think I will enjoy it,” he said, and then wanted to take back his words. She had befuddled