"If you need anything, do let me know. I will have Marcus stop the carriage."
"Miss Clare," Hugh said, holding out his hand to help her climb up in the equipage.
Molly braced herself to feel his touch and fought to school her features when her body thrummed at his presence, his voice, and warmth.
"Thank you." She swallowed her nerves and climbed up into the carriage, settling back onto the squabs and waiting for Hugh to join her.
The carriage dipped as he climbed inside, he rapped on the roof, and the carriage lurched forward.
His usual affable self, he seemed pleased to be with her again, no hint as to what had transpired between them in the early hours of the morning clouding his opinion of her. It was as if all was forgotten or was only imagined in Molly's mind.
This was for the best, of course. Molly did not need him to think that there could be anything else between them other than friendship. Unless, of course, she fell in love with him and he offered for her hand. Then, and only then, would she be willing even to contemplate giving herself to the gentleman.
Dressed in tan, buckskin breeches and highly polished black hessian boots, he again looked like a gentleman ready to stroll about Hyde Park. His white shirt had a loose cravat tied in the barrel knot design and a tan jacket. No waistcoat. No hat. No gloves. Not overly formal, which seemed to suit him. Not that he needed much clothing to look the epitome of sophistication, she would gather he need wear nothing at all, and he'd be perfect in her opinion.
Heat brushed her cheeks, and she took an interest in the streets passing them by outside the window.
"You shall like the Sistine Chapel, Molly. The paintings on the ceiling are simply unforgettable."
Excitement thrummed through her veins, not only because of their destination but because they were alone. How fortunate it was that Miss Sinclair had taken a liking to Marcus, and if the manservant's sweet smile back at her companion was anything to go by, he liked her also.
"I cannot thank you enough for taking me about, Hugh. I shall tell Ava and Whitstone of your kindness to me while I was here."
He threw her a small smile, glancing out the window. "It is a shame that you're only here for such a short amount of time. I feel like I shall miss you when you return to England. It has been so very long that I've had a little part of home beneath my roof. The last time it was Whitstone himself who had come to visit, and you being a mutual friend of His Grace, I know that I can trust you with such declarations."
Molly reached out and took his gloveless hand, squeezing it a little. "I should imagine it is very hard to be so far away from your home. Do you think you shall ever return to England? I know I should look forward to seeing you again."
"I will never return, no." A muscle worked in his jaw, and he frowned, staring at something outside the carriage window. "Rome is my home now, and this is where I shall stay. But," he said, placing his hand over hers that she realized was still laying atop his, "you are always more than welcome to stay anytime you wish."
"If only I could, but my family could not afford to send me for too long. If it were not for my friends, I would not have been able to make my dream a reality. I could not impose on you for any more length of time than I plan on doing already."
"Nonsense. I would more than welcome you to stay, whenever and however long you like."
"We're already skirting on impropriety with me under your roof and you in residence. I do not think I wish to push my fortune too far, sir."
His hand lifted hers a little, and he started to play with her fingers, tracing them with his own through her kid-leather gloves. "You should take these off. It is too warm for gloves in Rome."
Without waiting for a response, he flicked open the two little buttons on her wrist, his bare fingers slipping under her glove to pull her hand free of the soft leather. Fresh air hit her flesh, and he was right, it was cooler not wearing them.
He turned her fingers over, inspecting them. "You have lovely hands."
Molly looked at her gloveless hand encased in his. It looked small and delicate against his large, tanned one. She'd never really paid much heed to her hands, but perhaps he was right. They were certainly not awful-looking.
"You have large, strong hands." The words slipped from her lips, and as much as she may wish to take them back, she could not. It was an absurd notion, but she'd already spent too much time thinking about his hands and what they would feel like caressing her flesh.
Nice, very nice indeed.
The carriage turned, and Hugh moved to the side of the equipage, taking stock of their location. "We're nearly there. Should we be fortunate, we may get a glimpse of a cardinal or the Pope himself. Would you like that?"
"Oh, very much, although I'm no longer so very religious, I still respect those who are. Are you catholic, Hugh?"
He grinned, shaking his head. "No, protestant, and you?"
"The same." She moved over to the window and, pulling the leather strap, lowered the glass. Molly leaned out of the carriage, looking straight ahead and gasped. An imposing, Renaissance building met her vision, complete with a large dome atop it, columns and ornamental statues adorned the building, giving it an air of grandeur she'd never seen before. The carriage rumbled up the long road, gaining ever closer to the circular square. The buildings that circled the Vatican City faced this large square, and people milled about in the area, taking in the magnificent sights.
"I feel that I'm going to enjoy our outing today," she said as the carriage rocked to a halt, and Marcus opened the carriage door.
Hugh jumped out, reaching back to take her hand to help her alight. "You will be amazed, I'm certain. So many people never get to see such gifts. This will truly be a day you will never forget."
Molly couldn't help but smile at Hugh's words. There was little doubt that the day already was one never to forget. Hugh placed her hand atop his arm, turning to face his driver and her companion. "Please come back to collect us here in St. Peters Square in a couple of hours."
"There are plenty of people about, Miss Sinclair. You may return to the villa." Her companion beamed at Marcus, and it solidified Molly's curiosity. There was most certainly something up between the two people.
The driver tipped his hat as Marcus climbed back onto the box. "Of course, Mr. Armstrong."
Molly didn't spare the carriage a second glance as it turned and rumbled down the gravel road. Instead, her attention was caught and held by the magnificent buildings before her. They started toward St. Peter's Basilica, it's large, imposing dome looking down on the populace below. From the abundance of people, it seemed to be the most popular structure to visit.
"We shall go to the Sistine Chapel through St. Peter's Basilica. I want you to see the nave."
Excitement thrummed through Molly. She was in Rome, at Vatican City, and with a gentleman she'd not thought to have met. He was a wonderful host and guide, and she could not thank Ava and Whitstone enough that they were friends with Mr. Armstrong.
They walked up a line of steps heading toward the entrance to the large church. They passed under six high columns before stepping into the portico and then the nave. The gold and ornate columns were unlike anything Molly had seen before. Marble, sculptures, and murals were a feast to one's eye. She could not take it all in, the size alone was tremendous, so many details and history that it would take a person years to view each and everything under the grand roof and view its beauty.