Reborn To Change My Fate-Chapter 104 - Hundred And Four

"I said, no need," she repeated, her voice firm.

She opened her fan again, resuming the motion, creating a physical barrier of moving air between them. "Playing the skiver for years. Getting injured in secret. Attracting the full force of the Royal Guards for a ’fugitive’ hunt. Hiding evidence."

She looked him in the eye. "You must be involved in something dangerous. Something treasonous, perhaps. Or something that threatens the Crown."

She turned her head to look out the small gap in the curtains at the passing city streets. "I am just a woman who wants to live a good life. I want to manage the household. I want to eat honey cakes. I want to be safe."

She looked back at him. "I don’t want your secrets, Derek. Secrets get people killed. I have enough trouble with my sister. I do not need the King’s trouble as well."

Derek looked hurt. The rejection stung more than he expected. He had offered her his trust, the most valuable thing he possessed, and she had pushed it away.

"Marissa," he said, his voice soft, pleading. He reached out, as if to take her hand, but stopped short. "You are my Grand Duchess. You are my wife. We... we should share joys and sorrows. We should go through thick and thin together."

Marissa looked at his outstretched hand, then at his face. His eyes were dark, intense, and searching. For a second, her heart wavered. He looked so sincere.

But she had died once already because of trusting the wrong people, because of getting involved in plots she didn’t understand. She couldn’t afford to be soft.

She raised an eyebrow, a skeptical arch. "Go through thick and thin?" she repeated, her tone dry. "Are you getting carried away with the act, Your Grace? The play is over. There is no audience here."

Derek’s mouth twitched. The hurt in his eyes faded, replaced by a small, resigned, but strangely affectionate smile. She was impossible. And she was brilliant.

"Perhaps," he murmured. "Or perhaps I just..."

SCREECH.

The carriage came to a sudden, violent, jarring halt.

The driver reined in the horse too fast to avoid a pedestrian. The entire vehicle lurched forward with a massive, bone-shaking jolt.

Marissa, who had been sitting relaxed, fanning herself, was thrown forward. Gravity took over. She flew off her seat, tumbling through the small space between them.

"Ah!" she cried out.

Derek didn’t think. He reacted.

He didn’t brace himself. He opened his arms.

Marissa slammed into him. She fell directly into his arms, her knees landing between his legs, her hands bracing against his chest to stop the impact.

Derek grunted as her weight hit him, but his arms clamped around her instantly, holding her steady, keeping her from falling to the floor.

The carriage rocked on its springs and then settled into a standstill.

Silence.

Total, absolute silence.

They were frozen in a tangle of limbs and silk. Marissa was practically in his lap, her body pressed against his chest, her face inches from his.

Instinctively, Derek’s left hand—his good hand—had wrapped around her wrist to steady her. His right hand, the bandaged one, had come up to protect her head from hitting the wall, and was now cupping the back of her neck, his fingers tangled in the soft hair at the nape.

Marissa’s hands were flat against his chest. She could feel his heart. It was hammering. Thump-thump-thump-thump. Fast. Hard. Just like hers.

She looked up.

He looked down.

They stared at each other. The air in the carriage seemed to vanish, sucked out of the space, leaving only a heavy, electric tension that made Marissa’s skin prickle.

He was so close. She could see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes. She could smell the scent of him—leather, the faint metallic tang of the blood on his bandage, and the clean, masculine scent of his skin.

Derek looked at her. He saw her wide, startled eyes. He saw the flush rising on her cheeks. And then, his gaze dropped.

He looked at her lips.

They were parted slightly in surprise, pink and soft. He remembered, with a sudden, vivid clarity, how they had felt against his in the dark room at the Golden Swan and in her bathtub. He remembered the bite. He remembered the softness.

His gaze moved back up to her eyes. The playfulness was gone. There was only a raw, magnetic pull that terrified him and thrilled him at the same time.

He swallowed.

It was a slow, heavy movement. Marissa, watching him with a hyper-focused intensity, saw it. She saw the way his throat moved, the bob of his Adam’s apple. It was a sign of nervousness. A sign of hunger.

Her breath hitched. She felt his hand on the back of her neck tighten, just a fraction. A tiny pull. He wanted to kiss her. She knew it. And God help her, she wasn’t pulling away.

The seconds stretched out, thick and syrupy. The world outside ceased to exist. There was only the heat of his body, the strength of his arms, and the question hanging in the air between their lips.

"Your Grace!"

The driver’s voice, muffled but loud from the box above, shattered the moment like a rock through a glass window.

"I apologize for the stop! A child ran into the road! We are moving again!"

The spell broke. The reality of the carriage, the street, and their positions came rushing back.

Marissa gasped, pushing herself backward. "I..."

She scrambled off him, her movements clumsy and flustered. She retreated to her own seat, smoothing her dress with frantic, shaking hands. She grabbed her fan, which had fallen to the floor, and snapped it open, fanning herself vigorously, staring resolutely at the velvet cushion opposite her.

"It... it is fine," she stammered, her voice unusually high. "It was an accident."

Derek cleared his throat. It was a rough, grating sound. He adjusted his coat, tugging at the end of his sleeve, shifting in his seat.

"Yes," he said, his voice tight. "An accident."

He turned his head, looking out the window at the passing shops, desperate to hide his face. He could feel the heat rising. His ears—the tips of his ears were burning. They felt like they were glowing red.

He watched the city roll by, the blur of colors and people. He tried to be the cold Duke. He tried to be the skiver. But he couldn’t.

Slowly, a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. It wasn’t the charming smile. It wasn’t the mocking smile. It was a shy, foolish, and incredibly happy smile.

He kept his face turned to the window, letting the cool breeze hit his burning cheeks, as the carriage carried them home.