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snuff. She hadn’t seen evidence of such use, but could not fathom what else he’d keep captive there. His watch fob and chain were golden, linked from one end of his pocket to the other and not visible where his coat hung open.
    Abandoning all propriety and convinced he must surely be asleep, she raised her eyes to his face, enthralled in examination of his person. His hair could not be blacker if he bathed it in soot. Its glossy richness reflected sunlight in blue, and no doubt felt silkier than satin to the touch. It wasn’t overly long and definitely not stylish. A sudden jolt of the barouche sent a lock rakishly over his brow and her fingertips itched to tuck it into place.
    How unfair for a man to possess such ruggedly entrancing good looks. His dark brows slashed straight to give the appearance of seriousness, although at the hearty rumble of his laughter when she proposed her challenge last evening, she surmised he enjoyed humour well enough. His nose was chiselled in proportion to his sharp chin, wrapped with the thinnest beard she’d ever seen. How might it feel to kiss a man with whiskers? She shifted on the bench and reached for Henry, offering a rub to the sleeping pup’s belly in a familiar habit. Devlin’s whiskers could not possibly feel the same.
    She raised her eyes to his face. Devlin stared back with such clarity he likely never slept at all. A shiver passed through her with the realization, still she couldn’t look away. His eyes, framed with lashes black as midnight and twice as thick, held her with hypnotic strength as if striving with unsettling intensity to peer inside her soul. Mortification crept up her neck and further to her ears in the form of a deep blush.
    He cleared his throat with an audacious chuckle.
    Luckily Henry interceded with a sharp bark, a clear signal the dog needed to make use of a nearby field.
    Devlin tapped the carriage roof and signalled to stop. Once outside, he spoke to the footman and Alexandra hurried down the steps and into a grassy area with Henry, although she swore she heard Wharncliffe’s laughter chase after her.
    He waited by the stairs to hand her up when she returned.
    “Just Henry can ride atop with John. Your dog will be in good hands and it will allow the pup fresh air.”
    He handed Henry atop the seat before she objected, although it did make sense and would serve Henry well. Having begun the trip so early, they’d travelled more than halfway to London, and it was as if Devlin read her thoughts when he mentioned his intentions.
    “I’ve advised the driver to travel straight through if that is agreeable with you. Given your lack of maid or chaperone, and the haste we make in an effort to return to London, I thought it best to complete our travels as soon as possible.”
    He handed her into the barouche and settled on the other side. Again good sense prevailed. The sooner she reposed in the privacy of her own bedchamber, the sooner she could plan the next step in her life. No matter Aunt Min’s well-intended gesture, Alexandra knew with assurance she would salvage the situation yet.
    Devlin reached into his waistcoat pocket and produced the same tin she’d puzzled over earlier.
    “Cinnamon candy?” He enquired in an amused tone. Could he read her mind? Divine her thoughts? There was something persistent and unsettling about how neatly his questions aligned with her own.
     
    The next afternoon, Alexandra’s restless anticipation escalated as the carriage approached Kenley Manor. She would give her little finger to exit the confinement of the coach and breathe open air. They’d travelled at a breakneck speed through the night, with only necessary stops. After much effort, she’d found an awkward form of sleep, and settled into a fitful slumber, but now the remnants of their haphazard travel wore her temperament to the bone.
    His Grace appeared no better. He’d deliberately dozed during the day with the intention of staying awake throughout the