Not to mention the kissing.
She liked it. She felt as though she were finally escaping, even though it wasn’t truly an escape, at least not for long—she’d be returning to London eventually, if only to bring Della back and reunite all the sisters.
And then face the scandal of being yet another duke’s daughter who’d run headfirst into danger.
“Good morning.” A salesman greeted them as they walked in. Like in Mrs. Battle’s shop, Holding’s Haberdashery was small and cluttered, with an assortment of hats and handkerchiefs on one side, and fabric on the other.
“Good morning. I am in need of some essentials, if you please.”
“Of course.” The salesman—Mr. Holding, Ida presumed—looked Bennett up and down. “I believe we have some things that will fit you.” He glanced at Ida. “And perhaps while we discuss the specifics, your—?”
“Sister,” Ida supplied.
“Sister will want to have a cup of tea in our waiting area? Mabel!” he called, and a young girl emerged from behind a white fabric curtain, a questioning look on her face that cleared when she saw who was there.
“Mabel, please take the lady into the back and make her a nice cup of tea.”
Mabel nodded, and gestured toward the place she had just come from, Ida walking forward as Mr. Holding approached Bennett.
Twenty minutes later, Bennett reappeared, a package in his arms and a new hat on his head. “Are you ready, sister?” he said with a grin.
“Thank you, Mabel,” Ida said as she stood, placing the teacup on the table beside her. “I appreciate your keeping me company while my brother shopped.”
“It was no problem, miss,” the girl said, staring at Bennett.
And why shouldn’t she stare? He truly was glorious, all long limbs and confident grin and smiling whiskey-colored eyes.
The only thing that wasn’t perfect about him was the hint of stubble on his face, and even that only made him more attractive.
Hmm. She hadn’t noticed the feel of the stubble when she’d kissed him. She’d have to make a note to pay attention the next time.
Oh no. No, there would be no next time. Hadn’t she said just that this morning? Apologized for kissing him, and he’d treated it as though it were nothing? Which made her feel odd, and not in her usual feeling like Odd Ida way.
“You’re thinking again,” he said, squeezing the arm he held.
“I’m thinking we should be on our way,” she said brusquely. Not about how the stubble on your face might feel on my mouth. “We don’t know how long it will take to get there.”
“The carriage is waiting, my lady,” he said, gesturing toward where Eustace stood holding the horses.
Ida took his hand as she stepped back up onto the carriage seat.
“Ouch!” she exclaimed as she sat. Her bottom was sore, and she sprang up, glaring at the seat. She had never sat on a carriage seat for so long in her entire life as she had the previous day.
She almost missed her mother’s sitting room with all of its overstuffed chairs.
He shook his head in mock dismay, then swung up and sat down, making an exaggerated noise that indicated how comfortable he was.
“Hmph,” she said as she placed her bottom gingerly down again.
“We could stay here a bit longer,” he said, “if you need to rest your delicate self.”
She didn’t reply, just glared at him. He, of course, laughed.
“I’d give you something to sit on, but you kidnapped me before I could pack a bag,” he continued.
“You just bought things!” she said.
“I didn’t think to purchase a cushion for your—” He paused, and looked down.
“Besides which, I did not kidnap you,” she replied in a prim voice, feeling her lips start to curl up in a smile, even though she was trying to remain serious. “On the contrary, you are a stowaway on this particular adventure.”
He picked up the reins and urged the horses into motion, causing the carriage—and her—to lurch forward.
She felt his hand at her waist, steadying her, and she tried not to think about how welcome and lovely his touch made her feel.
He’s just making certain you don’t fall onto the road, she told herself. Even though she knew full well that he had already shown that he liked to touch her—hadn’t he taken her hand going up the stairs? And held her as they kissed?
Ida the Omniscient now felt as though she knew nothing at all. And she wanted to know everything. Especially about kissing.
Bennett’s fingers tingled from where he had touched Ida. But that was disingenuous; his whole body felt as though it tingled, every fiber of his being wanting that contact with her again.
He wanted to kiss her so badly it hurt.
Focus. Focus on anything else. Things like—
“My God. I never even asked. Where are we going anyway? Where does your sister live?”
He felt her shift in the seat beside him. She cleared her throat, and he could almost hear her thoughts—Should I tell him? What if I decide I want to go on my own after all? What if someone finds us, and asks where we are going, and he tells them? Is it safer for me to be quiet?
“A town called Haltwhistle,” she answered at last.
“I’ve never heard of it,” he replied.
“Hardly surprising. It is tiny, so small, it took a lot of searching in the atlas to find it.”
“Ah, which is why you were at Mr. Beechcroft’s.”
“Yes.” She paused. “And—and there was not wanting to be at home.”
She was confiding in him. Like before, when she’d said she couldn’t be like other women. He could hear it in the hesitancy of her voice, so different from her usual confident tone. He didn’t want to startle her, but he wanted to know more.
“Why did you not wish to be at home?” he asked, keeping his tone mild.
“Well. You know my mother, the duchess—”
Thoughts of the Duchess of Marymount practically forcing him into marriage with no fewer than two of her daughters came to mind.
“Yes, I am acquainted with her, of course. She is quite . . . insistent.”
“That is one way of putting it.” She sighed. “My goodness, you truly are diplomatic. I envy that ability. I cannot seem to temper my words when I speak.”
“But your mother—?” Bennett prompted.
“She has decided I am to be married. Was to be married. After this adventure, I don’t think anyone will want to marry me.” She sounded pleased.
“Not to me, I would have heard about it, I presume,” he said with a chuckle. “At least, I don’t think so.”
“No, not you. Far, far worse than you.”
“How could there be anyone worse than me?” he said in mock horror.
She nudged him with her elbow. “Silly. You know you are splendid in many ways.”
He wanted to hear more about that, but first . . . “So who did the duchess deem worthy of marriage to her most intelligent daughter?”
She made an embarrassed noise, and he smothered a grin. Lady Ida was not immune to compliments, it seemed, especially if they were about her intelligence.
“Lord Bradford.”
Bennett frowned as he searched his recollection. Lord Bradford, Lord Brad—“No. He is pleasant enough, but he is . . .”
“A nitwit? Yes. A perfectly pleasant nitwit, but a nitwit, nonetheless.”
How could the duchess possibly think Lady Ida would be at all happy with Lord Bradford? How little did her mother know her daughter?
And how much must that hurt Lady Ida? That her parent didn’t know her enough to know who would be the worst possible match for her?
“Do you know Lord Bradford informed me horses go twice as fast as humans because they have four legs, whereas we have only two?” She sounded outraged.
“Well, at least he is interested in nature?” Bennett said, trying not to laugh. “And he can count?”
She nudged him in the side again. �
��That is not the basis of a marriage, and you know it. Oh wait, never mind. You don’t at all. You said you wanted someone soft and welcoming.” Her words were accusing, and he wondered if he’d insulted her when he said that. Never mind, he knew. He had insulted her, even though she had no desire—as she’d said several times now—of wanting to marry him.
Wait, had she stung his pride? Damn it, she had.
They did not wish to marry one another. That had been firmly established. He did not want to hear her announce it in that particular Lady Ida way anymore.
But he did want to kiss her again. And he had the distinct impression that she wanted the same thing.
The two could coexist, could they not? In some sort of parallel theorem?
He did not want to sidetrack her into geometry, however, so he would not ask.
She continued. “Lord Bradford would be soft and welcoming.” Her tone was sprightly. “Perhaps you should consider marriage to him yourself. He’s very similar to a lapdog. I imagine he would fetch your slippers, if you rewarded him with a treat.”
Bennett burst out laughing. She was funny, unexpectedly so. “I could take him out for walks, let him sleep at the foot of my bed. It sounds ideal.”
“For you, obviously.”
“And for you? What do you want?”
A moment where she hesitated, and he wondered if he had gone too far, pushed too much, been too inquisitive.
“That’s like asking me where I wish to escape to,” she began, in a voice so soft he instinctively slowed the horses so he could hear her better. “I don’t know who that person might be. I don’t know if that person exists. Just that I want someone who can accept me, who I am. How I am, more accurately.” That last bit said with a rueful sigh, as though she were acutely aware of how she was perceived.
“It sounds as though you want someone welcoming.”
“Perhaps,” she said. “Perhaps I do. I think it might be more difficult to find someone who would welcome me.”
Damn it. He wanted to stop the carriage, turn to her, and pull her into his lap, kissing her senseless. Anything to show her that she would be welcomed, by the right gentleman. Someone who could appreciate not only her stark, glorious beauty, but who could also appreciate her strong, gorgeous brain.
That person could not be him, however. He didn’t want to be encumbered, and he did not want a wife who would challenge him at every turn. In conversation, in life, in bed.
Did he?
This whole conversation, the past twenty-four hours, felt so intimate. Ida felt raw, exposed, vulnerable. She’d always been able to hide behind things, either a literal pillar or a pillar constructed by her own blunt condescension, tempered by her intelligence and complete disinterest in what most “normal women” were interested in.
It was a large imaginary pillar, to be sure. One that was able to hide all the varying parts of her. Something she’d grown accustomed to drawing over herself, like a blanket.
Not the fuzzy blanket it seemed he desired; a blanket that was more like a shroud, designed to hide what was underneath.
But he was plucking at the fabric enclosing her, luring her from behind her pillar, making her say so many things she hadn’t realized she’d thought, much less felt.
And then there was that kiss. She had to do something to stop thinking about it, about him, and how he’d held her. How he’d made her feel so precious and yet so powerful.
Her mind chased itself in circles looking for something. Anything.
“Why did you compare me to a hedgehog?” she blurted after a few moments of silence.
“Well,” he said in a thoughtful tone, “I suppose at first it was because you were all prickly, and yet also adorable.”
“I am not—not adorable!” she sputtered.
“So you say.”
“Did you always think like that? Or is it only after embarking on this—whatever it is,” she said, gesticulating toward the carriage.
“Would it insult you if I said that I hadn’t paid much attention to you before? Before that day at Alex and Eleanor’s house?”
It didn’t insult her. Nor did it surprise her. “No, not at all. I know how I appear to people,” she began.
“How?” he asked, his tone genuinely curious.
“Well,” she said, hearing the wry humor in her voice, “you likely only saw me when I was lecturing about something or another. I tend to do that, go on and on about a subject even if my audience doesn’t necessarily appreciate it.”
“Like the gas lighting incident,” he said. “But you did that for a reason, didn’t you?”
That he knew, that he might understand, made her warm inside.
“Although I didn’t realize that until I got to know you.”
She shifted on the seat, trying to get comfortable. “Yes. It was the only way I could think of to distract everyone so as to allow Eleanor to speak with our father the duke.”
“So you used your knowledge for good.”
Definitely warm.
“Thank you.” She looked off into the distance in thought. “It wasn’t anything I’d planned—”
“Much as you didn’t plan stealing Mr. Beechcroft’s carriage, I wager.”
She laughed. “Yes, much the same.”
“I admire that, you know.”
She held her breath, waiting for him to say more.
“That you launch yourself into the fray without worrying about how you will be perceived. You have this innate honesty that shines through.” He chuckled. “Sincerus Idaterum.”
She smiled, pleased he had taken up her classification game.
It wasn’t often anybody actually spoke her language; not in the literal way, but in a communicative way. He did. He understood what she was trying to do and say, and he seemed to appreciate it.
That connection felt so special, so unique, she wanted to hold onto it with all of her strength. Even though it wasn’t her future, she knew that.
“But back to me calling you a hedgehog,” he continued, still in that amused tone. “You’re so much more than that, I realize,” he continued, taking one hand from the reins and wrapping it across her shoulders, drawing her body closer to his. “You are an intricate, layered person, Ida. I have to admit I never met anyone like you before.”
“Thank you.” Her throat was tight. “You know most people don’t find me intricate at all. Usually they find me annoying. Or boring. Or both.”
“Or hedgehog-like,” he added slyly.
“But it seems hedgehogs are intricate creatures.” If he was going to compliment her, albeit oddly, she should at least embrace the comparison.
“It takes great maturity to admit your similarity to the animal,” he said, teasing.
“What kind of animal would you be, then?” she demanded.
Silence. She could hear him thinking, though, which was comforting. That he was seriously considering her question instead of just dismissing her, or teasing her some more.
Not that she didn’t like being teased—it turned out she did, especially when he did it—but this wasn’t the moment, and he seemed to know that. Seemed to know her.
What kind of animal was he? One that was steadfast, and persevered through difficult times, and was also governed by routine.
“I think I might be a cow,” he said, aware of how ridiculous he sounded. But not caring. Not with her. Not after the past twenty-four hours or so of conversation. “Cows are very useful animals. They are essential for life if you are fond of milk and cheese.”
“I love cheese,” she said. Another item in the column of facts about Ida. He wouldn’t have expected her to have a preference of foodstuffs beyond pure sustenance. And yet it seemed she did.
“But cows are dull, aren’t they?” he continued. “I don’t want to be a dull animal.”
“I think you’d be a leopard,” she said in a musing tone. “All sleek and powerful and blending into the background until you see them and then realize just how beautiful the
y are.”
Her words left him speechless, but his other body parts responded quite well. It took a moment before he could speak.
“Th-thank you,” he managed to say at last. “Being a leopard sounds as though it would be far more fun than being a Bennett.”
“What is the worst thing about being a Bennett?” she asked, her tone curious.
He exhaled as he thought about it. “I suppose it’s never being able to relax. Never being able to just let go of something and know it will be taken care of. I’m the one who takes care of things, and now everyone expects it of me. I’m the one who does things. Nobody else takes initiative and does things on their own.”
“You do seem to be quite engaged and responsible.”
“Is that how you first saw me? It sounds very dull.”
“I suppose it could be seen as dull, if one were unimaginative.”
Oh. She most definitely was not unimaginative.
She continued. “It takes a lot of concentrated effort not to marry someone, especially with someone else like my mother so determined to make it happen.” Her tone was rueful. How hard must it be for Ida to have the duchess as her parent? “That you didn’t want it, but that you didn’t end up hurting anybody—that told me you were caring and thoughtful as well as utterly responsible.”
It didn’t sound so dull when she said it.
“Thank you. I believe that is also why I always end up taking charge of things—because otherwise, people will get hurt.” His mother, his brother, his father’s tenants and the other people whose livelihoods depended on his family. “Which actually is why I asked Alexander originally to spend time with Eleanor. If I cannot commit to something entirely, I cannot do it in good faith.”
“Oh,” she said with a sharp intake of breath. Was she thinking of him entirely committing to something? In some other context?
He should not be thinking of that now.
“But you said—you said you would like it if someone else could take charge once in a while? Oh no!” she exclaimed, twisting in the seat to look at him. “Who is handling your business affairs while you are away? Dear lord, I never even thought of that! I am so sorry. I could not live with myself if people suffered for all of this.”
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