by Maya Banks
She ruffled her hands through her hair, shaking the water from the short strands then smoothed them behind her ears. She grimaced when she realized they had no dry shoes.
Bending over, she collected her still-wet boots and placed them directly in front of the fire. Then she walked to the door and opened it to let Ridge in.
As he shouldered past her, her eyes skittered over his chest, clearly outlined by shirt melded to his contours. For one brief moment, she imagined peeling his shirt off for him and allowing her fingers to roam over his firm muscles.
She blinked rapidly, her cheeks growing warm at the direction of her thoughts.
“I won’t be but a minute. Then we can sit in front of the fire and wait for our boots to dry,” he said as she started to close the door behind him.
She nodded and quickly retreated into the hall. Long seconds passed as she stood shivering in the hall. She looked down at her bare feet and flexed her toes. On the other side of the door, Ridge was likely disrobing.
Fleeting curiosity flickered and sprang to life. The naked body wasn’t a mystery to her, but never in her life had one affected her as much as the viscount’s.
Her one encounter with a man could hardly constitute a wealth of experience, but she had decided the art of lovemaking was highly overrated. Until now.
Desire warmed her veins, her shivering ceasing. She found herself wanting to explore Ridge’s body, run her hands over his abdomen, find out if it was as tight as his chest. Would his chest be smooth, or would hair roughen the surface?
A low growl of frustration escaped her, and she rolled her eyes heavenward. Her torment must cease, and she mustn’t let her attraction for the viscount compromise her objective. It would be far too easy to be swept away in the tide of emotions he inspired. And the more she grew to like him, the more guilt plagued her.
The door rattled open, and she stood straighter. Ridge stuck his head out and motioned her in. She hurried forward, grateful to be back in the warm confines of the room.
He pulled a rickety chair from the small desk in the corner and slid it closer to the fire. “Sit here and warm up,” he directed.
She didn’t argue and perched on the edge, rubbing her hands together in front of the flames. The warm spring day had gone by the wayside after a dip in the Thames. She felt chilled to the bone.
She jumped when Ridge’s hands closed over her shoulders. A prickle of goose pimples raced down her spine as his hands began a slow up and down movement from her shoulders to her elbows.
In a matter of seconds, warmth encased her body, the chill long forgotten.
“Better?” Ridge murmured above her.
She nodded, unsure of whether she could even find her voice. His hands left her and she nearly protested aloud. He moved to the side of her and hunched down in front of the fire.
“If we encounter no further difficulties, we’ll be in Brighton tonight.”
And on their way to Spain by the morning.
It was on the tip of her tongue to confess everything. There was still time. But what if he refused to help her? He would be understandably angry with her. She must travel to Spain, and without the viscount, she had neither the means nor the funds to do so. And her father would meet certain death.
If he was even still alive.
She closed her eyes against the hurt such a thought provoked. If she could bear her father back to England, maybe, just maybe he would give up his adventuring life. And they could be a family. With a real home, real meals together and stability.
Her eyes flew open as a knock sounded at the door. Ridge leapt to his feet beside her.
He put a finger to his lips and motioned her toward the corner. She scrambled up and back away from the direct line of the door.
Ridge stood at the door for a moment, his ear close to the wood as if listening for a clue as to who it was. Finally he cracked it open.
He relaxed visibly and swung the door open wider. He motioned his hand toward the interior of the room and stepped aside as the stablemaster shuffled in.
“Pardon the intrusion, your lordship, but I have some information you might be interested in.”
“Carry on then,” Ridge said with a nod.
“One of our carriages just returned. I know I said we didn’t have anything available but the horses I rented you, but if you are interested, I can outfit the carriage with fresh mounts and call out one of our drivers if you prefer that mode of travel.”
Ridge glanced at India, his eyebrow raised in question. She shrugged, content to leave the decision to him.
Ridge turned back to the stablemaster. “How soon can the carriage be ready to depart?”
“Give me an hour. I’ll send word up if you want to wait here. Or if you prefer, you can take a meal belowstairs. Hilda be me wife, and a tasty cook she is.”
“We’ll wait here,” Ridge said. “My thanks to you, good sir.”
The stablemaster bowed his head and backed from the room.
India returned to her perch by the fire. Ridge walked over and bent to touch their shoes. He shook his head.
“They’re still wet. We may have to wear them anyway.”
She smiled. “I’ve endured worse.”
He cocked his head to look at her. “I imagine you have. I find myself quite envious of your adventures. This is all old hat to you, but I find myself about to jump from my skin.”
She couldn’t even form a response. Not and sound sincere. What could she tell him? That she was about to crush not only his dreams, but his trust in her as well?
She dropped her head and pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingers. In all the years of her travels, she had never formed a bond with the people she had met. They were as blurry as the landscapes. Her father, Kavi and Udaya had fulfilled her need for human contact. But most of all, she had been afraid to form an attachment with someone she might never see again.
The idea of not seeing the viscount again was painful, but not nearly as painful as the idea of facing him after her treachery. Perhaps it would be best if she never saw him again once her mission was realized.
Ridge studied India. She was a perplexing woman. He could never gain an idea of what she was thinking. Right now she looked as if the weight of the world was on her shoulders. He wanted to ease the strain he saw in her.
Silence descended on them until, unable to bear it any longer, he leaned forward. “How did you come by Kavi and Udaya?” Perhaps idle conversation would draw her out.
She looked up, seemingly startled by the question.
“They seem so loyal to you, and your devotion to them is quite evident.”
She smiled. “Yes. If you ask them, they will tell you I saved them, but in fact, it is they who have saved me on numerous occasions.”
“Do go on,” he said. “I find your life fascinating.”
She chuckled. “That’s not a word I would have used to describe it.”
She uncurled her feet and stretched her legs. His eyes traveled the length of her legs, encased by the tight-fitting trousers. Her hand crept to her hair, twisting the short ends around her fingertips.
Lovely. She was extraordinarily lovely. No matter how often he looked at her, he could never quite grow used to the effect she had on him.
“Kavi was of the lowest Caste. An untouchable. Udaya was of the highest.”
She looked at him as if that were explanation enough.
“They fell in love. Indian society is not so different from the English. The nobility does not go around marrying the lower class.”
Ridge nodded his understanding.
“Udaya’s family was outraged. They disowned her. She was to be put to death outside her village. Kavi saved her. I saved them.”
She shrugged.
“Surely there is more to it than that,” he said, raising his eyebrow. “How did you save them?”
“My father and I were camped outside the village. When w
e heard the commotion, I investigated. My father didn’t want to interfere. He was a stickler for not interrupting local customs. Even if said traditions were barbaric and antiquated.”
Her lip curled as if she did not agree. Interesting. Until now, he thought her always in complete agreement with her father.
“When I realized what they were going to do, I could not stand idly by and let them kill Udaya. Kavi stepped in front of her, determined to die for her, to protect her. Noble, but needless. I wasn’t about to let either of them die.”
He leaned forward, his interest piqued.
“I rode in on horseback leading my father’s horse behind me. I stopped in front of the assembled crowd and leveled my father’s pistol at them. They all carried sticks. They planned to bludgeon her to death!” She shook her head. “All because she dared to fall in love with someone her family deemed unsuitable.”
“It was courageous of you to intervene.”
She continued on as if she hadn’t heard.
“Her father was at the front of the crowd, and he protested my interference. Her father. So I pointed the pistol at him. I told him that if that anyone stepped toward Udaya I would put a bullet through his heart. Needless to say, he was quick to instruct the others to stand down.
“While I held him at gunpoint, Kavi untied Udaya and they got on my father’s horse at my instruction. They rode out of the village with me and have been with me ever since.”
“They seem to care a great deal about you beyond mere gratitude,” Ridge said.
“They became my family. At first my father grumbled about the additions, but he grew to love them as much as I did. I think he knew how much I missed having a mother, and Udaya fit the role.”
Ridge stood up and stretched, feeling for dampness in his clothing. “It was a fascinating story, though I still feel you left much of it out for brevity’s sake.”
She smiled and looked up at him. “And perhaps my life is not as exciting as you think it.”
He bent down to collect his boots which were slightly drier than before. As he pulled them on, he directed a question at India. “Would you care to see what there is to eat downstairs before we depart?”
She reached for her own shoes and began putting them on. She nodded and said, “Yes, I am quite hungry actually.”
“Then let’s eat while we wait for the carriage.”
He offered his hand to help her up, and when she stood up, their eyes locked for the briefest of moments. A lock of her hair rested damply on her cheek, and unable to resist, he thumbed it behind her ear.
“Thank you,” she said with a smile.
His hand lingered at her cheek, and with only the slightest hesitation, he bent his head forward, pausing just before he met her lips.
She wet her lips nervously, and he brushed his mouth across hers. A warm buzz began in his ears and traveled straight down his spine to his loins.
“You’re beautiful,” he rasped as he tore his mouth from hers.
Her eyes darkened, and she leaned forward unsteadily. He slid his hand to the back of her neck to anchor her, and he met her halfway.
He groaned softly as she sucked his bottom lip between her teeth. She was a temptress, a vixen. She nibbled at his lip then ran her tongue over the surface.
Her hands slid from his abdomen up his chest and over his shoulders, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. He gathered her in his arms, crushing her as tightly to him as she could go.
God, she fit perfectly. Like she was made for him. Her soft belly cradled his aching groin, fanning the embers into full fledged flames.
He closed his eyes and pulled away, his breathing labored. She felt good. Too damn good. It wouldn’t take much for him to spend the rest of the afternoon in the bed that stood a few feet away. With her.
He could see them tangled in the covers, her legs entwined with his. Yes, he could see it clearly. Too clearly.
“We should go eat.”
“Funny. I’m not very hungry anymore,” she said softly.
“If we don’t leave now, we won’t go at all.” He said it quietly, as a warning. His entire body throbbed and ached with need.
She stood a long moment as if she were actually contemplating the alternative. Then finally, she turned and walked to the door, leaving him to follow.
And he had several hours in a carriage with her to look forward to.
He might not survive long enough to board the ship to Spain.
Chapter Seventeen
After a light meal in the tavern, Ridge and India got into the hired carriage and began the journey to Brighton. An hour into their trip, it was clear that India was battling fatigue.
Ridge watched her as she stared out the window. Dark circles ringed her eyes, and her posture screamed exhaustion. She shifted often, as if searching for just the right position on the hard bench. The squabs were threadbare and offered little comfort, and finally she pulled one from behind her back and cast it aside with a disgusted sigh.
He cleared his throat, and she looked up at him. “Why don’t you sit here and lay your head on my lap,” he said in a low voice. He patted the space beside him for emphasis.
Her eyes widened in surprise, and she looked nervously at where his hand rested on the seat. She looked back up and bit at her top lip. Finally she shrugged and moved beside him.
She shifted awkwardly, lowering then raising her head. He scooted over as far as he could then guided her down until she was lying on the seat, her head in his lap and her legs curled into the small remaining space.
He stretched his legs across the aisle and rested them on the seat she had vacated.
“Better?” he asked as they settled to stillness.
She nodded against his leg, her cheek rubbing softly against his trousers. He could feel her warmth to his bones.
Slowly, he lowered his hand to her head until it rested against her dark locks. He loved the feel of the silky strands. His fingers burrowed into her hair, twisting and turning the curls around his fingertips.
She sighed, and he felt her relax against him. He craved this closeness with her. It was so easy to pretend in these moments that she was his and that they belonged together. He had never shared such intimacy with another person.
It wasn’t proper. Such actions would raise eyebrows in his circles. No self-respecting man would ever behave thusly with an unmarried woman. But it felt right. She was right. They were right. He wouldn’t believe otherwise.
His hand tightened in her hair. She was his.
Mine.
He liked the way it sounded. But did she feel the same? Could there ever be something special between them? He didn’t want a fleeting moment of fancy. A warm memory he pulled out his mind in his waning years. She wasn’t someone he wanted to reminisce about as he watched a wife he’d married out of duty run after heirs they had produced for the same reason.
No, he wanted her. All of her. His family wouldn’t approve, but then his father had yet to approve of anything he had done.
He glanced down at his hand tangled in India’s hair and felt such a fierce wave of possessiveness wash through him, his hand trembled.
Her thin shoulders rose and fell with her deep breathing, and it took him a moment to realize she had fallen asleep. He frowned. She was going to have to start taking better care of herself. She wasn’t resting enough. Her inner demons fought too hard, and she was exhausting herself.
He was going to find out what haunted her, why she could only sleep with the dawn. It may well be the key in making her his. He stroked softly over her hair. She had hurt long enough.
###
India opened her eyes and blinked rapidly to dispel the fog surrounding her head. She was lying on Ridge’s lap. And she was loathe to move. She drew in a deep breath, inhaling his warm scent.
The interior was dim, a testament to the fall of evening. A glance at the window confirmed her assessment.
He was
incredibly still beneath her. Cautiously, she raised her head and adjusted her position so she was once again sitting. Ridge was asleep, his head lolled to the side.
She smiled at his unkempt hair. His spectacles had slid lazily down his nose, and his shirt was rumpled. But he posed the most enticing picture. She wanted to lean into his chest and wrap her arms just as tightly around him as she could. Settle under his arm and use him as a barrier against the outside world.
That thought sobered her immediately. She was already using him far too much. Reluctantly, she moved away from him, stretching her stiff muscles.
She glanced back at him as the carriage rocked over a bump. His spectacles fell farther down until they straddled his mouth. She smiled again and reached out to remove them.
As she eased them from his nose, his eyes fluttered open. He reached up and captured her hand, retrieving his spectacles from her. He transferred them to his other hand, never letting go of her fingers.
“They were falling,” she said.
He smiled crookedly. “As they always do.”
He rubbed his thumb over her palm, sending flutters of pleasure up her arm.
“Come here,” he murmured, pulling her toward him.
She came to a rest against his chest. Precisely the spot she had fantasized about on more than one occasion. He bent his head and pressed his lips to hers, softly at first until she parted her lips, then more demanding, more insistent. More possessive.
She shivered as his palm slid around her neck until his fingers were splayed at the base of her head, and his thumb rubbed softly at the pulse in her neck.
His tongue licked at the fullness of her mouth, followed by nibbles of his teeth. She returned his kiss with the full measure of her wanting. All the pent up desire, the longing flowed from her in one heated moment.
“Oh God, India.”
He gasped as he pulled away. His heavy breathing filled the interior of the carriage. He ran a hand raggedly through his hair, and then as if he lost a supreme battle for control, he reached for her, yanking her to him.
She went willingly, loving the roughness of his embrace. He hauled her up until she straddled his lap, cupped over the bulge between his legs.
