by Julia Kelly
Nicholas was a man stuck between lust and honor, and honor was slowly losing out.
Silently, he boosted her up onto her sidesaddle as the stable boy held both horses’ reins. Nicholas would’ve liked to give the animals a longer rest, but there was no helping it now. If Jane thought this marchioness might recognize her, they had to leave.
When she was settled on the saddle, he handed her the reins the boy had passed to him. Her fingers grazed his, and all at once time seemed to slow. The rich blue of her eyes seemed to deepen as his heart beat wildly in his chest.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
Get on your horse and ride. Stop wasting time. You’re putting her in jeopardy.
Without another hesitation, Nicholas swung onto his saddle. He traded the reins for another coin he probably shouldn’t be spending and, with a nod to Jane, asked, “Are you ready?”
She pursed her lips but returned the nod. He could see the nerves that had settled in the little crease in her forehead. His hand itched to reach over and smooth them away, but instead, he gripped the reins tighter and urged his horse forward.
The stable boy had been right. The path through the fields was worse for wear thanks to the rain. It was slow going, with the mud squishing up through the dead grass and slurping with the horses’ every step.
Nicholas had to jump down to open the little gate at the edge of the first field. When he remounted, he found Jane still sitting straight up in her saddle, her shoulders around her ears.
“We’re clear of the inn,” he said.
Her gaze fixed on him, and all he could think was that he’d give up the world to have those eyes looking up at him after kissing her once again.
“I just keep thinking how close I was to being caught,” she said.
“How close we were.”
He’d intended to reassure her, but all it did was make her look down at her pommel. “I’m sorry.”
“Jane—”
“I understand the predicament I’ve put you in. I think I’ve always known it, I just didn’t think it would ever matter.”
His heart started pounding a little faster. “What do you mean?”
She didn’t look at him, only lifted her gaze enough so that she could stare out over the fallow fields to the tree-lined horizon. “If we were caught traveling together, there’d be a scandal.”
He frowned. “I know.”
“It would make everything more difficult. I’d be ruined.”
Something about the way she said it, infusing the word “ruined” with such sadness, sent all of the disparate thoughts he’d had over the last three days clicking into place. If she was ruined, he’d be forced to make a choice. Do the gentlemanly thing and marry her or play the scoundrel and leave her on her own.
Jane. A wife. Married. To him.
It had been so long since he’d thought of anything but the estate’s future and his sisters’ happiness. He’d always assumed that once they were settled, he’d find a good woman, someone he could see himself sitting by the fire and reading with long into the winter nights at Madeley. She’d have to be a tolerant woman with a taste for risk, for he wasn’t certain he’d be able to offer her anything close to the life that a baroness ought to enjoy—at least not until he was certain that this horse-breeding scheme of his would take root.
He shook his head. He was so far away from that day that he couldn’t even begin to think about it, no matter how tempting it was with this woman by his side. His responsibility was to ensure that his sisters were happily settled. He wouldn’t bring another woman into the mess that was his family’s situation until he was certain he wouldn’t be condemning her to a life of poverty, no matter how genteel it may be.
All he could offer Jane was a promise. “I won’t let that happen to you.”
It must’ve been enough, because she said in a low voice he could barely hear over the horses’ progress, “I trust you. I don’t know why, but I do.”
Chapter Seven
They rode well into the evening, giving Jane time to sort out the jumble of thoughts fighting for position in her mind.
She hadn’t been exaggerating when she finally spoke the words that had been plaguing her since they’d started this mad chase. She would be ruined if anyone found out about this trip, and the longer she and Nicholas rode together, the more likely that seemed. In the innyard when she’d first realized that Lady Margaret was gone, she’d somehow imagined that she’d be able to retrieve her charge in just a few hours and force her back on the road to Holmesfield Hall. It had been delusional, she knew that, but all she had was hope.
Now, however, with several days of riding behind them and nothing but a scrap of information here and there, Jane’s confidence was beginning to falter. Lord and Lady Harlewood showing up at the inn in Sutton-on-the-Hill only served as a reminder of how dangerous her task was.
And then there was the not so little matter of Nicholas. She’d seen the way his hands flexed around the reins when she spoke of what would happen if they were caught together. She hadn’t expected him to leap off his horse and drop to one knee in a proposal—far from it—but that didn’t mean there wasn’t a little sadness when all he did was promise to protect her as best he could.
Of course he couldn’t marry her. She knew that. She was a governess. In the rankings of the down-on-their-luck gentry, she was above a servant but below even the poorest of poor relations who’d managed to stave off the need to work. Her position, in one word, was pitiable.
She slid her eyes over to examine him as he rode a few feet from her, proud and tall in the saddle no matter the number of joint-rattling hours they spent on the road. It wasn’t just the seemingly vast chasm between their social positions that burst the bubble of hope in her chest. Nicholas was an honorable man, yet honor was a tricky thing. It best served men who had one cause—whose allegiances wouldn’t threaten to tear them in two. Jane knew without having to ask that his loyalty was to his sisters, and he’d never do anything to jeopardize their future.
Effie and Helen had to marry, and they’d have but one chance. He’d made that clear. With little dowry to offer, Nicholas would have to do everything he could to ensure that the family reputation stayed pristine while the girls made the rounds in London. Even the whiff of a rumor that their brother was consorting with a governess would make the gossips titter. But marrying one? That was unthinkable. If word got out that they’d ridden together unchaperoned—that they’d slept in the same room—he’d be forced to propose to her, and the full force of the ton’s scorn would crash down on them all. She’d bear the brunt of any mudslinging, but his sisters wouldn’t escape without being smattered.
“We should look for somewhere to stay for the night,” said Nicholas, breaking into her turmoil.
Jane looked around and realized that while she’d been lost in her thoughts, darkness had fallen over the rich green hills and the air had taken on a chill that threatened rain. Again.
Still, she wasn’t entirely comfortable with the idea of walking into an inn only to discover Lord and Lady Harlewood in the corridor.
“We could press on a little longer,” she suggested, pulling her cloak tighter.
He shot her a look. “You’re half frozen, and I’m starving. We should find somewhere to sleep.”
“But—”
“I wasn’t thinking of an inn.”
Her brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
“If memory serves, there isn’t much from here to Matlock. I think tonight we’ll have to rely on the generosity of farmers.”
Finding a farmhouse, it turned out, wasn’t a problem. It was finding a farmer willing to take them in. For half an hour they rode, with Nicholas stopping to knock on doors and ask for room and board for the night. Most of the farmers peered out at them, shook their heads, and closed their doors solidly in their faces. Twice i
t was the lady of the house who shut them out.
“Whatever happened to hospitality?” Nicholas muttered as they rode up to yet another farmhouse. This one was small and squat, but here were trellises nailed on either side of the doorway and the skeletons of climbing roses that would burst into color and perfume in the spring.
“Are we English known for our hospitality?” she asked.
“Apparently not.”
“Odysseus fared better than us,” she said with a smile. “But at least there’s no Polyphemus waiting for us.”
“I would rather a man-eating Cyclops than any more rain.”
She laughed. “At least we haven’t run across any goddesses.”
“How is that?”
“Don’t you remember your Homer?” she teased. “Calypso, Circe. The goddesses always tempted Odysseus to stay with them, and it was only with great strength that he resisted their charms and made his way home.”
He reined in his horse as they stopped at the head of the path leading up to the door, but when he looked at her, his eyes were shadowed with a promise that made her shiver.
“And who’s to say that I haven’t met a goddess on this trip?”
His words knocked her back, but before she could respond, he’d jumped down from his horse and was jogging up the path to rap on the farmer’s door.
A goddess? Goodness, that was a first for her, but then again this had been a trip of firsts. Never before had she traveled alone with a gentleman. Never before had a man called her his wife. Never before had a man kissed her. Never before had a man made her want to be touched, caressed, tempted, pushed, shocked, and seduced like he did.
It was becoming harder and harder to tell herself that he didn’t want those things too. That she didn’t feel the jolt of awareness that jumped between them whenever—something he did far more often than was probably necessary. She didn’t want him to stop. Far from it. She looked forward to the moment that he’d help her down from the saddle at each inn, his hands on her waist and his body close to hers. If she let her eyes flutter closed, she could almost imagine that they were two different people who’d met some other way. That at the end of their journey, this all might amount to something.
“Lady Hollings!” Nicholas’s voice broke through the dark as raindrops began to hit her square on her cheeks.
She looked up to him sprinting down the path, his body illuminated against the golden glow of a warm interior. Another man ran behind him, his gait heavier as he moved more slowly.
“Good news, my dear,” he said, beaming up at her with a smile that could have slayed a thousand women if he’d only thought to deploy it in the right drawing rooms. “Mr. Pritcher has kindly offered us room and board for the night.”
“Oh,” she said, her mood lightening considerably. “Thank you so much, Mr. Pritcher.”
“We never say no to weary travelers in this house,” said the farmer as he caught the reins of Nicholas’s horse. “We don’t have much to offer, but we’ll gladly share what we can.”
“It’s much appreciated,” said Nicholas.
“Well, I hope you like Lancashire hot pot, because that’s what Mrs. Pritcher’s been cooking up all day.”
The mention of the hot lamb and potato dish made her stomach growl. “That sounds like just the thing.”
Nicholas grasped her horse’s bridle, which was fortunate because as soon as rest was in sight, exhaustion crept up on her. He led her horse as he followed Mr. Pritcher to a modest barn.
The sweet smell of hay filled her nose as Nicholas tied off her horse and held out his hand for her. She thought about holding back and insisting that he lead her to a mounting block, as she’d tried before, so that she could slide down without having to touch him and save them both the difficulty of desire. But then she looked down into his handsome face, so warm and open despite the exhaustion that he too must feel, and she couldn’t help herself. After a lifetime of feeling set apart, she craved the connection a mere touch gave her.
She placed her hand in his and let him sweep her up off her feet. The moment she touched the ground, her legs gave under her. She stumbled into his chest, her hands bracing against the wet cloth of his coat.
“I seem to recall that we’ve been in this situation before,” he said, his grasp tightening around her.
“My apologies.”
Her cheeks burned, although why, she wasn’t entirely sure. It wasn’t as though she hadn’t touched Nicholas before. Perhaps it was that this time they had an audience.
He lifted her chin with one finger. “I’m more than happy to be of service.”
Behind them, Mr. Pritcher chuckled. “What I wouldn’t do to be a newlywed again. Always sneaking little moments here and there.”
Nicholas cracked a grin and glanced over her shoulder. “You can hardly blame a man when he has a wife as pretty as mine.”
False words. She knew that’s what they were, and yet she reached for his hand to keep up this little charade all the same. She didn’t let go all the way to the farmhouse. Not for one moment.
Being only tired as opposed to tired and hungry can do a great deal to change a woman’s outlook. After their meal and a tankard of ale Mr. Pritcher insisted she take, Jane was floating on a cheery haze of tipsiness and exhaustion. Her back still hurt from jostling in the saddle all day, but she was dry and fed, and she knew that Nicholas had arranged a place for her to rest that night. That was enough for now.
They’d sleep in the barn—or above it, rather, in the hayloft. Mr. and Mrs. Pritcher had tried several times to convince them that they’d happily give up their bed to accommodate Jane and Nicholas, but both flatly refused to force the kind farmer and his wife from their bed or, for that matter, confront the awkward truth that they weren’t actually married. Nicholas made a great show of saying how much he looked forward to sleeping rough, as he once had when he was a boy, but it wasn’t until Jane insisted that she was so tired she would doze off in her chair that the Pritchers finally agreed to stay in their home. Mrs. Pritcher sent them out to the barn with a mountain of knit blankets and patchwork quilts so they wouldn’t be cold.
There was no chance of that, Jane thought as she climbed the stairs to the hayloft. The natural warmth from the animals was enough to keep the enclosed loft warm. Fortunately for them, Mr. Pritcher and a local boy had mucked out the stalls that very afternoon and spread fresh hay. With the pitter-patter of rain on the roof, it felt almost homey in the barn.
“I’ll sleep over here,” said Nicholas, pointing to the far end of the hayloft.
She nodded and carried her blankets a respectable distance away.
As she began to make up a bed for herself, he got the cord out of his bag and looked for a hook to string up a divider. She folded a blanket over and over again to make a pillow and tucked it at the end of a thick quilt that would protect her from the sharp ends of hay she’d lie on. They lacked the privacy of a room, and so she’d sleep in her corset that night—an uncomfortable prospect—but there was little she could do about it. At least she’d be able to slide off some of her petticoats and undo the ties of her crinoline behind one of the hay bales.
“Damn,” Nicholas muttered from the far end of the loft.
She looked up and saw him standing with the cord in one hand and the other end hooked to a beam. He was scowling at it as though it were the devil itself.
“What’s the matter?”
“It’s too short.” He held up the cord and shook it. “By about ten feet.”
“Oh.”
He scrubbed a hand over his day-old beard and rocked back on his heels. “I’ll think of something. Maybe there’s another rope I can use.”
“Nicholas,” she called, stopping him as he was about to step foot on the top rung of the ladder. “Perhaps for this one night we can dispense with the battlements.”
“Ja
ne—”
“I trust you,” she said.
He scrutinized her as though doubting the wisdom of that statement. “I know it seems we’ve known each other for an age, but it’s only been three days.”
Three days or three decades. It didn’t matter. She knew he was a gentleman to his core and he’d never compromise her. No. The only thing she had to fear in this barn was her own lust.
“I trust you,” she repeated. “Now, shouldn’t you make up your bed before the oil runs low on the lamp?”
He gave her a look that she couldn’t quite read, but he backed away from the ladder nonetheless. “All right, then.”
“Good,” she said, putting every ounce of her governess practicality into her tone. She’d always been able to fall back on the authority of it, and now she needed it more than ever.
They hardly looked at one another as they prepared for bed. She knew because she couldn’t stop her gaze from flicking over to him. When she was finally settled down, he bade her a cursory good night and then dimmed the lamp until they were cast into darkness.
But Jane couldn’t sleep. For all of her tiredness, her entire body was alight with the knowledge that he slept so close. Even worse, she couldn’t stop reliving their kiss—his body over hers, the concern in his voice that transformed into relief when he realized she wasn’t broken, the skim of his lips against her forehead, her cheek, her lips just to make sure. She ached for the solid strength of his hands against her waist, tempting her to push her body against his because he hadn’t touched the swell of her breasts and eased the need that tightened inside her like a coiled spring.
It wasn’t fair. He lay just a few feet away, his breath already steady and regular, while she pressed her legs together to try to dull the throbs of her body for him. She didn’t dare touch herself to find relief—not when there wasn’t a curtain to shield her movements in the dark. Even if she could get up the courage to slide her hand between her legs with him so close by again, it wouldn’t be enough.
Courage. The thought sat on her chest like a weight. She’d never thought of herself as a courageous woman—being bold wasn’t wise when it came to governessing—but Nicholas had called her that, hadn’t he?
