least Mrs. Webberâs farewell had been much warmer than her welcome. Had Ted been successful?
Her senses had been attuned to him all evening, causing a heady, distracting buzz through her limbs. Brushes of their shoulders. Bumping of knees. When heâd grabbed her hand, a tingle had raced along her spine straight down to the toes of her high boots. The reaction disconcerted her. She was supposed to be helping him, not developing an infatuation.
At the end of the car, before they crossed into the enclosed vestibule, Ted stopped to speak quietly to one of the porters. Clara yawned, nearly weaving on her feet with weariness. Mercy, this had been a long, exhausting day.
âCome along, Miss Dobson,â Ted said tersely and led her into the car.
Her stomach sank. He must have failed. Once again, Claraâs runaway tongue had caused trouble. How many times had her mother warned her to remain quiet?
The door closed behind them, leaving her alone with Ted, who immediately dropped her arm and strode into the small sitting room area. Oh. Well. That certainly told her everything she needed to know.
Clara followed, stripping off her gloves. âTed, I am so veryââ
He moved swiftly and before she knew what was happening, he wrapped his arms around her. He was . . . hugging her. So forcibly that her face was smashed into his necktie and she struggled to breathe. Wriggling, she turned to the side and slid her arms around his waist. No fragrance of any kind, just a clean, manly smell. Wool. Soap. The ale from dinner.
Without thinking, she shifted her hips in closer, aligning their bodies. He felt . . . nice. Very nice. Hard and warm and real. Like when you stood on the deck of a ship in a storm and grabbed on to a thick support column to keep from being washed overboard. Relief. Thatâs what he felt like to her. An overwhelming sense of well-being.
She realized his hand was . . . stroking her back. A gentle glide he was likely unaware of, but she was very aware of the movement. All her attention centered on that one spot, the leisurely sweep of his palm, and she relaxed, her limbs growing heavy. A sigh escaped her lips.
He drew back suddenly, stepping away and avoiding her eyes. âI apologize. I just . . .â A large hand dragged through his short hair. He straightened and gave her a broad smile. âYou were extraordinary tonight, Clara. Just marvelous. I never would have guessed.â
Happiness rushed through her veins, so much so that she bounced on her toes. âTruly? Youâre happy? I was worried Iâd mucked it up for you.â
âNo, clever girl. You just raised my bankâs profits 3½ percent over the next four years.â
The numbers didnât make sense to her, but she understood raising profits. âOh, thatâs fantastic, Ted.â She dropped onto the sofa and unpinned her hat. âDoes this mean your employer will give you a raise?â
He stared at her as if she had food stuck between her teeth. Snapping her lips shut, she ran her tongue along the front of each tooth but didnât notice anything wedged there. So what had she said?
He tossed his derby onto the tea table. âYes, something like that.â
A knock sounded and Ted went to the door. Clara rubbed the back of her neck and longed for the moment she could remove her corset. Then her spirits plummeted. Without any nightclothes, sheâd have to sleep in her dress and underthings. To strip down to her chemise while sharing the car with Ted was unthinkable. Perhaps she could take the corset off and then put her outer clothing back on, just for sleeping. Hopping aboard a train to escape had been a marvelous idea . . . until one stopped to consider the practicalities. Like nightwear.
And what would Ted wear to bed? A nightshirt? His underclothes? Perhaps he slept naked.... Just the idea heated her face. She patted her cheeks to try and cool down her skin. Think of his nonexistent