Lydia was still staring at Ivan as he walked toward the carriage. His tall frame, his steady walk, his expression that always seemed unreadable. For a moment she forgot to breathe. Then she quickly shook her head and scolded herself inside.
Why are you looking at him? Stop it, Lydia.
Ivan reached them, his face calm but his eyes flickered briefly toward hers. His voice was soft when he said, "Let's go."
The coachman stepped forward and opened the door of the royal carriage. Ivan moved first, holding out his hand to help Lydia up. For a long second, she hesitated. Her eyes dropped to his hand, strong and steady, waiting for her. She told herself not to take it, that she didn't need his help. Yet her own fingers betrayed her, reaching out and settling reluctantly into his palm.
His touch was warm. Too warm. It made her heart jolt.
She pulled her hand back as soon as she climbed inside. He followed her in, his presence filling the space instantly.
