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She didn’t know how long she sat there, shivering in the darkness, before the carriage door opened again. She startled, expecting to see James again.

Instead, Lord Caldwell’s tall figure appeared in the opening.

“Hart?” His deep voice was quiet, almost gentle. “Elise mentioned you were unwell.”

Honoria tried to compose herself, but her trembling hands betrayed her. “Please forgive me, my lord. I did not mean to disrupt your evening.”

He said nothing for a moment, then stepped inside, closing the door behind him. In the dim light, his features were cast in shadow, but she felt his gaze on her.

Rather than sitting opposite her, as propriety dictated, he settled beside her, leaving a careful space between them. His presence filled the small confines of the carriage, yet rather than being intrusive, it felt comforting… warm. She felt safe.

They sat in silence for several moments, the only sound their quiet breathing and the occasional stamp of the horses’ hooves outside. When he finally spoke, his voice was low. “You’re shaking.”

Honoria clasped her hands tighter in her lap. “It’s a bit cold, but no need to worry.”

Without warning, he reached across the space between them and covered her clasped hands with one of his own. The warmth of his touch was startling, his large hand engulfing both of hers completely.

“You’re freezing,” he murmured. She still couldn’t see his face clearly, but she knew his tone too well not to realize he was frowning.

Before she could respond, he removed his hand, only to unfasten his heavy leather gloves. He turned slightly toward her, his knee brushing her skirts.

“Your gloves are too thin for this weather,” he said, and without asking permission, gently laid his gloves over her hands, sharing his warmth with her.

“My lord, I couldn’t possibly—”

“The last thing I need is for you to catch a cold,” he interrupted gruffly. “I need you healthy.”

Her heart jolted at his words, heat spreading through her limbs.

I need you healthy.

She knew he meant it practically—that he needed her to be healthy, to take care of the children—but part of her clung to the first three words.

I need you.

Why else would he be here, in the carriage with her? Lending her his gloves?

She looked away, unable to meet his gaze. “Thank you. I feel better already.”

He studied her for a long moment, then did something utterly unexpected. He reached out and, with one finger, gently turned her face back toward his. In all the years she had served in his household, he had never touched her with such familiarity.

“Honoria,” he said, using her given name for the first time, his voice barely above a whisper. The sound of her name on his lips loosened something within her. She hadn’t even thought he knew her name. So many firsts tonight.

“I have not heard of such a sudden migraine. Did something cause it?”

She found herself unable to look away from his eyes—dark, intent, in the shadowed carriage.

“I…” she began, but the words wouldn’t come.

His hand moved from her chin to cover both of her hands again, his gloves still atop them. A barrier between their skin.

“You can tell me. You’re safe under my roof, and whatever has you so out of sorts—I shall deal with it.” He paused. “I protect what is mine.”

Honoria’s mouth went dry. Surely he misspoke. But the possessive note in his voice sent an unexpected shiver through her.

In the confines of the carriage, the air between them seemed to thicken. She was suddenly, acutely aware of his proximity, of the subtle scent of bergamot that clung to him, of the warmth radiating from his body so close to hers.

His gaze dropped briefly to her lips, then returned to her eyes. For a heartbeat, she thought he might lean closer, might breach the final distance between them. Kiss her.