Chapter Six
Smollet left London at one o’clock, in a post-chaise, with Lucas’s trunk and Tom’s portmanteau, but it was closer to two by the time Lucas climbed into his curricle. He was able to ignore Tom’s proximity while he threaded his way through the London traffic, but once they came out into the countryside, it became impossible. He was intensely aware of Tom seated alongside him, intensely aware that their thighs almost touched. The beat began again, in his head, in his blood: Tom, Tom.
Tom didn’t try to talk. He sat alongside Lucas, relaxed, slouching slightly.
Silences between them had always been comfortable before, but this silence wasn’t comfortable—it was taut with expectancy. The air seemed to crackle, as if lightning had struck nearby. Lucas found himself sweating slightly
