"I find it utterly fascinating," she gushed. "It is so lively compared to the countryside."
"It is indeed," he agreed. "While there are many more beautiful cities on the Continent, and certainly much cleaner ones, London is quite unique in its character."
"I wish I had time to see more of it," she said wistfully. "But I promised to return home within a fortnight."
"Do you plan to come back to town for the season?" he asked.
"No. I cannot. I was supposed to have done so the year before last, but my father was struck ill and never fully recovered."
"You have my sympathies."
"You are very kind, Mr. Needham." She looked again to her lap. She didn't understand why she suddenly felt so awkward and self-conscious. Making polite conversation had never seemed such a burden. She wished she was more like Lydia, who was possessed of not only greater beauty, but a quicker wit and a clever tongue.
After a time, the traffic lessened. They had turned north out of the city, but the roads were ill repaired, and the jostling increased. Although she tried to maintain a decorous space between them, the rocking motion of the carriage kept throwing her smaller body against his larger one. Each time the coach jarred her into him, she got a whiff of his distinctive scent, a subtle musk hinting of bergamot.
Seeking distraction, she turned back to the window, but the next time she dropped the velvet curtain, she found Mr. Needham watching her most intently with his deep-set golden-brown eyes. Fighting the urge to fidget, Mariah forced a smile to her lips. "It appears we are leaving London. You mentioned visiting many other cities on the Continent. Have you traveled extensively, Mr. Needham?"
"Yes. Quite extensively. Marcus and I took our grand tour together, and then six years ago when he joined the Foreign Service, he asked me to become his secretary. We have lived abroad most of the time since."
"Which place is your favorite?" she asked.
"Italy," he answered without hesitation. "It is sunny and warm, as are the people. I particularly enjoyed Florence. My second favorite place would be the Dutch Republic. Probably because we spent the most time there."
"What were the people like?"
"I found the Dutch are quite similar to the English in their character."
"How do you mean?"
"Much like us, they are a pragmatic and industrious people who take great pride in their trade."
"Did you learn to speak their language?"
"I did. It behooves one to learn the local tongues. Marcus has a great command of Latin and French, the primary languages of diplomacy, while I have a respectable knowledge of German and Dutch, the tongues of our greatest allies. Speaking of which, would you be terribly offended if I reviewed some correspondence? I apologize for even asking you, but I've received some important letters for Marcus that require immediate translation. "
"I don't mind at all," Mariah replied, wondering if her colorless conversation had bored him. "Please feel free to attend to your duties."
"Thank you for your indulgence," he replied with a smile.
He then reached into the leather satchel he'd carried into the coach and retrieved several wax-sealed documents. With Lady Russell still softly snoring and Mr. Needham engaged in his correspondence, Mariah took advantage of the opportunity to study him.
Her attention was drawn first to his hands, large and well formed with long fingers stained at the tips with ink smudges. She wondered that she hadn't noticed before, but then again, he'd been wearing gloves. She'd earlier noted the dark shadows beneath his eyes. He must have been up very late working. She admired his discipline and respected his diligence.
Her gaze tracked next over his clothing. He wore a coat and breeches of navy broadcloth and an ivory damask waistcoat with gold buttons. His suit was plain but well fitted to him. He might even have been taken for an upper class tradesman but for the fine tailoring and the expensive Mechlin lace adorning his collar and cuffs, which clearly marked him as a gentleman.
She liked that he wore his own hair, a lustrous shade of dark chestnut brown, rather than a powdered wig like so many gentlemen preferred. He combed it straight back from his forehead, secured in a queue. It was a severe style that drew the eye to the distinct widow's peak in the center of his forehead. With his angular features and longish nose, she decided that Nicolas Needham was not an uncommonly handsome man—until he suddenly glanced up at her. For the second time, he'd caught her watching him. There was something mesmerizing about his golden-brown eyes. His lips pursed and his brows lifted ever so slightly, suggesting that he read her thoughts. Although they weren't alone, the closed carriage suddenly seemed far too intimate.
"Have you finished with your correspondence?" she asked.
"For the nonce," he replied, folding the letters that covered his lap and stacking them neatly inside his case. "There is nothing else so pressing that I would deny myself the companionship of a charming lady."