No. She’d not allowed herself the comfort of a man because she didn’t dare risk bringing harm to Ethan. Now that she was so close to gaining back what she’d been forced to surrender all those years ago, so close that she could almost touch it, the very last thing she would do was risk it all for one night of intimacy.
No matter how wonderful it would be.
“I’ve already agreed to help you travel to London.” She removed his hand from her hip. “So you needn’t attempt to seduce me.”
He stiffened against her back. “That wasn’t what I was doing.”
She sniffed in disbelief. “Then seduction has become such second nature to you, Spalding, that you don’t even realize when you’re doing it.”
“Spalding, is it?” He hadn’t shifted away, but she felt a chasm slowly widening between them. Good. Because as large and hard as his body was as he pressed against her, the masculine scent of him filling her senses, it was becoming harder and harder to deny herself the pleasures she knew he was capable of giving.
She’d touched a nerve and was glad for it, if it kept him on his side of this poor excuse for a bed. “That is your title now.”
“It is,” he said guardedly, “but only women who want something from me use it when they’re in bed with me.”
“And only a man who wants something from me would pretend that this night rail is anything but frumpy.”
He laughed and nuzzled his cheek against her shoulder, mumbling with amusement, “Touché.”
“Good. Then we both know that we each shamelessly want something from the other.”
“And aren’t above blackmail to get it,” he added, a teasing edge to his voice.
“Or seduction,” she shot back.
Another laugh rumbled into her back. Despite the tightening of his arms around her, she gave a silent sigh of relief. The battle was over. For now.
His laughter died away, and silence filled the darkness. Around them, the inn was still wide-awake, the travelers and hostlers continuing to drink and carry on downstairs. But cocooned inside the tiny room with Ross, she felt warm and protected. Safe. For the first time in a decade.
“It’s a long way to London,” he said quietly. “If something should happen to me along the way, if I’m caught by the men chasing me, you need to claim that I forced you to help me. Understand?”
It was her turn to laugh. “Anyone seeing us together like this would never believe that.”
“I’m serious, Grace.” So was the grim tone of his voice. “The closer we travel to London, the more dangerous it becomes.”
Her heartbeat faltered. “But I thought…I thought whoever was chasing you would be looking for you along the coast.”
“It’s not them we worry about now.”
She stared into the darkness, her belly pinching with dread. “You have more than one group of men chasing after you?”
Not answering that, he tightened his arms around her. “You have to claim that I forced you to help me. Promise me that.” When she didn’t answer, he pressed, “If not for me, then for my father’s memory.”
With a soft sigh, she reluctantly nodded against the pillow.
“And no matter what happens, those papers I’m carrying have to be given to my brother in London. You can reach him through any of the clubs on St James’s Street.”
Another nod. Then a hesitation—“What are they?”
“Christopher will know what to do with them,” he dodged. “He has to get them, understand?”
“Yes.” Christopher. He was using his brother’s name as an alias. Clever. And yet…“You should have picked a different name. Something random.”
“Is that how you picked your alias? A random name?” he prompted gently. “Or was there a real Grace?”
She hesitated. They’d been pressing each other all day for details, yet never giving ground…“Grace was my mother’s middle name.” She tamped down the faint uneasiness at revealing this secret, when she’d never told anyone else. Not even Alice. “Alden was my nanny’s name.”
He nuzzled her neck in silent gratitude for trusting him this little bit. Yet it didn’t stop him from pressing for more. “What’s your true name?”
Not daring to answer, she closed her eyes and whispered, “Good night, Ross.”
“Good night,” he murmured against her nape, “whoever you are.”
Chapter 10
“Ross?” a soft voice called to him. A hand pushed at his shoulder—“Ross, wake up!”
The fog of sleep ensconced him, made even deeper by the first chance in days to sleep well. In a warm bed, no less. Next to a soft woman.
With a heavy sigh, not opening his eyes, he tightened his arms around her and rolled onto his back, to nestle her into the hollow between his arm and chest and fall back to sleep.
A hand slapped his cheek.
That woke him.
His eyes flew open and blinked to bring into focus a beautiful face peering down at him through the blue light of pre-dawn. Grace. He was in her bed. And this time he wasn’t tied down.
He reached to stroke her cheek. “What are you—”
“Shh!” Her hand covered his mouth. “Listen.”
A commotion resonated through the inn. Loud knocking and shouts, heavy footsteps on the hallways and stairs—
“They’re searching the rooms,” she whispered. Panic flashed in her eyes.
He came instantly alert and reached up to remove her hand from his mouth. “It’s all right,” he assured her in a soft murmur, placing a kiss to her trembling fingers.
He cocked his head and listened. Down the hall, someone banged a fist against one of the doors and demanded to search the room. Angry shouts answered, followed by the opening of doors, hard steps, then the slamming shut of the door. A brief pause, only for the noise to be repeated at the next door. Two men were moving down the hall room by room, coming closer.
The alarm in her eyes shined brighter as the pounding of fists on doors and shouts to open grew louder. “What do we do?”
“Let them in.” And be arrested. He prayed she’d keep her promise and claim he’d kidnapped her.
A fist banged on their door, and she jumped with a soft gasp. The door shook on its hinges beneath the fierce pounding. “Open up!”
Ross moved to ease her aside and slip out of bed to open the door.
Without warning, she grabbed onto his shoulders and slid over on top of him, straddling him to hold him in place beneath her slight weight. Well, that certainly captured his attention…in all kinds of delicious ways.
She called out before he could stop her, “What is it? Who’s there?”
She didn’t have to fake the surprise in her startled voice. Or the determination in her eyes when she touched a finger to his lips in a plea to keep silent.
Ross narrowed his eyes. What the devil was she was doing?
“Constable’s men,” a man shouted back.
“It’s the middle of the night, for heaven’s sake!” She turned her head to yell at the door but kept her eyes locked with Ross’s. Bewildered anger rose in her voice. “I was sound asleep. What do you want?”
“We’re searching the rooms. Open your door.”
“I will do no such thing!” Indignant outrage now overtook any lingering panic or surprise.
His chest tightened with trepidation. She certainly had spine. But she’d get both of them hanged if she wasn’t careful.
“Sir, I am a lady!” she shouted, loud enough for the drunken hostlers all the way down in the yard to hear. “You expect me to open my door to a stranger when I’m dishabille?”
He mockingly mouthed, Dishabille? Then arched an eyebrow as he raked his gaze over her, taking in the tent of a night rail and how her hair hung in a riot of toffee-colored curls across her slender shoulders. Oh, he could think of lots of adjectives to describe the way she looked at that moment, all right, deliciously sleep-rumpled and warm, with her thighs straddling his waist, but dishabille wasn’t one o
f them.
Her shout took the men in the hall by surprise, as well, based upon their momentary silence. Then one of them called out, “We’re searching the entire inn. There’s a dangerous criminal on the loose.”
She stiffened instantly. Wariness flashed in her eyes.
He knew exactly what she was thinking, how she was doubting everything he’d told her. She practically pulsed with distrust. Damnation! He couldn’t even plead his innocence to her, with those men within earshot at the door. All he could do was hope she didn’t give him up.
Not moving her suspicious gaze from his, she asked, “What did he do?”
“Broke out of the gaol at Chilworth last night.”
Her shoulders eased in a silent sigh of relief, yet her fleeting doubt of him pricked more than he wanted to admit.
When she began to slide off him to open the door to let the men search the room, he stopped her with a hand to her hip and a warning shake of his head. Those men might not be actively looking for him, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t recognize him. So far, she’d managed to keep them outside in the hall. He prayed that’s where they stayed.
“Well, he’s not in here with me!” she shouted back, once more seizing upon anger as a way to fight against opening the door. “The only man I’m concerned with is my worthless husband who’s spending the night downstairs in his cups.” She couldn’t stop the smile playing at her lips as she looked down at him and added, “And most likely between the thighs of whatever pox-ridden wench will have him. Woe to her for her pains. Believe me, I know!”
That stunned the men into silence.
Ross studied her closely. Sweet Lucifer, she was good at deception. Too good. What on earth had she been through to make spinning pretense like this second nature?
“That damnable nodcock hasn’t been in any jail, although if you feel so inclined, do me a favor and take him away,” she ordered with all the imperial haughtiness of a gentleman’s wife in a long-suffering marriage. “And leave me to my sleep! The coach leaves in a few hours, and if my eyes are puffy because of this—oh, the magistrates will certainly hear of how you’ve treated a lady! Forcing yourselves into her room in the middle of the night!” She paused, then added in a calculating voice, “You men report to the Justice of the Peace in Chilworth, do you not?”
At her subtle threat, muffled conversation rose in hushed tones behind the door. Then one of the men called out, “Apologies, ma’am.”
They moved on, heavy footsteps pounding up the backstairs and across the slanted ceiling of the tiny room.
She let out a heavy sigh, and the tension drained out of her. A relieved smile pulled at her lips, and she moved her hand down to the middle of his bare chest to give him a gentle pat.
“Quite a performance.” He didn’t know whether to admire her talents or be terrified.
She laughed softly. “It worked, didn’t it?”
When she moved to slide away, he slipped his hand behind her neck and tugged her down across his chest.
She tensed with a sharp inhalation as she landed on top of him. Both of them were suddenly aware of the way she was straddling him in the narrow bed, how her full breasts pressed against his chest through the thin cotton of her gown and her thighs hugged his hips. He could see the fierce pounding of her pulse in the hollow at the base of her neck as he placed his mouth close to her ear.
“That was an unnecessary risk,” he murmured, slipping his hand up to shove his fingers into her silky hair. Despite the pinch in his side from his sore ribs, his discomfort already heightened by the way she straddled him, the siren song of her was simply too tempting to resist.
She closed her eyes against the brush of his hand through her curls and whispered, “There was nothing to lose…everything to be gained.”
When he massaged his thumb in hard, slow circles against the base of her skull, she shivered. He drank in deeply the spicy-sweet jasmine scent of her, reveling in her softness and warmth as she still sat perched over him.
“You shouldn’t have done that.” The harshness of his chastisement was lost as he brushed his mouth over her cheek.
“Had to protect you.” She lifted her chin, just enough to keep his lips frustratingly away from hers, yet her fingers curled into the hard muscle of his chest. She wanted him to kiss her; he could tell from her quickening breaths and racing pulse. But the damnable woman was too stubborn to let herself claim the pleasures he eagerly wanted to give. “You’re no good to me in gaol.”
He grinned at that blatant lie and slid his hands over her, from her shoulders down to the small of her back. Her thighs clenched against his hips and jolted a throbbing pain both into his ribs and down the length of his hardening cock.
He smiled at her obstinacy. So determined to deny herself, even as her body ached for his. And he certainly wanted her. If she simply writhed her hips against him, she’d discover for herself exactly how much.
Unable to resist, he rose up to kiss her.
But she shifted away and sat up, keeping her mouth just out of his reach. So he took what little taste of her he could with an open-mouth kiss to her throat, eliciting a soft whimper of longing from her. He smiled against her neck. That kiss almost had her surrendering in his arms. How many more could she withstand before she surrendered?
“You make it damnably difficult for a man to properly thank you,” he drawled, frustration audible in his voice. His hands on her hips slid lower—
Cold water splashed over him.
He let out a curse of surprise as she poured the water from the basin pitcher over his head, instantly cooling his ardor and ending all thoughts of thanking her further.
He narrowed his eyes. The damned woman still sat perched on top of him, holding the pitcher between them like a trophy. Or a weapon.
She gave him a wide, saccharine smile. “You’re welcome.”
Then she slid off him and returned the pitcher to the washbasin beside the bed.
“I think we should dress and see what kind of transportation we can hire this morning, don’t you?” she asked casually as she reached for her clothes, as if dousing a man in her bed was a common occurrence. For this hellion, it might very well have been. “It’s still a long way to London.”
Flicking the water off his face and chest, he blew out a hard sigh and bit back a second, far less complimentary curse. Damnable woman. With a hand pressing against his ribcage—which wasn’t the only part of his body that now irritated him—he stood and turned toward her to fling a cutting reply.
At that moment, the first bright rays of sunlight fell through the tiny window high in the wall. Bright enough to stream through the thin cotton of her night rail and silhouette the curves beneath. Every tantalizing inch of her was revealed, from the dusky rose of her nipples to the soft patch of feminine curls between her thighs.
Dear God, she was beautiful. And that, along with her sharp mind and the challenge she posed every time they sparred—
He fought down a groan of longing and turned away.
The road to London had just become insufferably long.
Chapter 11
“Andover Pike!” The driver slapped his hand on the roof of the mail coach as he stopped the team.
While the men on top of the coach tossed down the mail to the post boy waiting at the crossroads, the eight passengers inside the compartment shuffled positions on the bench seats as two of them disembarked. The compartment was still cramped, but Grace was no longer squeezed against the wall. Not the most comfortable travel arrangements, but at least they were moving.
“Where are you two headed?” the vicar traveling with them asked with a friendly smile.
“Basingstoke.” Ross threw a glance at Grace as he settled onto the seat facing hers. His long legs brushed against hers as he stretched them across the small compartment, sparking a prickle at the backs of her knees. He knew it, too, based on the knowing curl to his lips.
With a peeved sniff, she tucked her legs back against the
bench beneath her so that she wouldn’t accidentally touch him.
Accidentally touch him? Good heavens, she’d straddled the man that morning! Starting innocently enough, just to keep him quiet while the men were at the door, the encounter had grown into so much more. And quickly. So quickly, in fact, that she almost couldn’t find the will to stop it.
She’d wanted him to kiss her. God help her, she’d wanted him to do so much more to her than that.
It simply could not happen again.
Ross sent her a private smile, as if the aggravating devil knew what she was thinking. Or worse, as if he were remembering that pre-dawn encounter and what it was like to have his hands on her. And wanted to do it again.
With a flush heating her cheeks, she turned toward the rain-drizzled window. If he didn’t stop looking at her like that, she’d have no choice but to kick him.
“Ah, lovely town! Should be there in less than two hours,” the vicar informed them. As if in challenge, the coach lurched as one of its wheels stuck momentarily in the mud before breaking free. He amended grimly, “Perhaps.”
Tonight, they’d have separate rooms. Sharing a bed again was unthinkable. She couldn’t risk that Ross might attempt to kiss her again, or the even greater risk that she’d let him.
“Where are you traveling from?” the vicar pressed politely.
“Weymouth,” Ross answered, the lie coming easily.
“Traveling on business or pleasure?”
“Business of a sort. I have a bit of land in this area.” Ross fell into easy conversation. “Rocky sheep pasture mostly, with an old hovel I’ve been meaning to tear down.”
She arched a brow at that whopper of a lie, only to earn a conspiratorial wink from him. The Spalding fortune was one of the largest in England, and the bit of land was most likely thousands of acres, the hovel a grand manor. But the vicar believed him, and their ongoing conversation made the otherwise mind-numbing travel bearable.
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