She showed Gray and Charlie to their room first—a blessing, for it meant that he would soon be rid of his wet clothes. Once he entered the small room, equipped only with a bed, a chair and writing desk, a bedside table, and a dressing screen in the corner, he recalled that he was sharing this room. Without looking at Charlie, he shut the door and offered her one of the satchels he carried.
“You should remove your wet clothes before you catch a chill.”
She nodded and accepted the pack, peeking inside. The firelight from the hearth gave off a warm glow that lit across her cheekbones. Even with her hair limp and bedraggled, she looked beautiful. She toed off her slippers, keeping them by the door, before she tiptoed to the bed and set the satchel on the floor next to it. She extracted a long white nightgown. Despite the light pouring from the fire, she carried the candle from downstairs to the dressing screen. When she began to disrobe, the shadow of her figure showed through the screen.
Lud! He turned his back and bent to remove his boots, setting them next to her slippers. Despite his attempts to keep his thoughts on the fire, their mission, or what he intended to wear to bed—certainly more than his smallclothes, given that they now shared a room—he couldn’t banish the image of her removing her dress.
When she stepped from behind the screen, the reality was no better. Her wet hair rendered the white fabric sheer in places near her shoulders and upper chest. The firelight seemed to make her eyes bluer and her cheeks rosier. Hastily, he plucked his clothes and retreated behind the screen. There was a small basin there with a bar of soap and a damp cloth. He used it to wash himself quickly before he donned new clothes and stepped out from behind the screen. When he did, he found Charlie seated at the writing desk, brushing her hair. The only place for him to sit was the narrow bed. He perched on the edge.
After a tense moment, he asked, “How is your ankle?” He tried valiantly not to look at her bare foot as he did.
She wagged the brush at him. “I’m in perfect health, Anthony. I’ve already said as much multiple times.”
He hadn’t noticed a limp while she walked, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t concerned. She must be as saddle-sore as he was, but he couldn’t possibly ask after the state of her bottom. The ankle would have to do.
His gaze plummeted to the hem of her nightgown. Her bare feet poked out the bottom. As he watched, she curled her toes in and tried to tuck them beneath the nightgown. A swatch of her ankle came into view as she rearranged the gown, including a faint purplish bruise. She had been hurt during the walk but appeared much too stubborn to admit it.
As he opened his mouth to push the topic further, a knock at the door interrupted them. Although he was clad in no more than his shirtsleeves and breeches, he crossed to the door and opened it. He tried to bar the view of Charlie.
The proprietress was there with two plates of the hash she’d promised, along with a steaming pot of tea. He accepted the tray and thanked her, promising to put the dishes outside the room when he’d finished.
When he turned, Charlie stepped away from the writing desk to give him room to set down the tray. She slipped past him toward her satchel to put away her hairbrush. “That smells divine. I know we ate in the last town, but I’m famished.”
He smiled and poured her a cup of tea. When she settled on the edge of the bed, he passed it and the plate to her. “Traveling so much tends to work up an appetite.”
He contemplated sitting next to her. He wouldn’t be as tempted to ogle her neckline, but they would be far too close. He took the seat in front of the writing desk instead. He started to eat the hash, cubed chunks of meat cooked alongside cubed root vegetables, but he scarcely took two bites.
Now that they had stopped for the night, the day—and the week—caught up with him. His mother’s life was in danger, and here he sat, idle with a hot plate of hash. If he’d been alone, he wouldn’t have stopped. Perhaps he would have tried to trade in his horse for a fresh one and catch an hour’s nap, but then he would be back in the saddle, pressing on to Tenwick Abbey and praying to find his mother there safe and sound. Instead, he had to think of Charlie’s health. Even if she hadn’t complained, he couldn’t push them to exhaustion the way he might do himself.
He rubbed his forehead as he stared at his food, no longer hungry. What if he didn’t make it in time?
Charlie’s delicate touch to his knee returned him to the present. Her eyes glimmered with concern when he raised his gaze. “We’ll do everything we can. We will save her. Neither you nor I will settle for anything less.”
Her voice held such a note of conviction that he suspected if he asked her to push on after an hour’s rest she would willingly do so. He clasped her hand, taking what comfort she offered. Mother had touched her, as well. Perhaps she didn’t love his mother in precisely the same way she loved her own, but she loved Mother all the same. He hadn’t known how much he’d needed an ally in his worry before now. If he’d been alone… it wouldn’t have been the same.
“Thank you.” His voice was hoarse. He offered no other words. He had none to offer.
It was enough. Even after they returned to their meals and she retracted her hand, her presence in the room reminded him that he was not alone in this.
Despite his lack of appetite, he ate every scrap on his plate, wanting to keep his strength up. Charlie didn’t quite finish hers, for all her pronouncement of hunger, but he didn’t push her. Instead, he collected their plates and cups and set them outside the door, as instructed. Down the short corridor, another tray rested outside another room, presumably Stills’s. Gray shut and locked the door.
When he turned, he found Charlie standing as well, wringing her hands, and she nibbled on her lower lip. Her hair had started to dry, fluffing out from her head and lightening in color. When she stopped nibbling on her lip, the rosy hue of her mouth beckoned to him. He swallowed hard as he relived their last kiss, and the one before. His reasons not to kiss her again were growing thinner by the day. “Which side would you like?”
Lawks! She thought he meant to sleep in bed next to her? A bed that size meant that he would be pressed intimately against her. The thought fired his blood. He crossed the room, and until he reached her, he didn’t know what decision he would make. Kissing her could lead to… irrevocable things. He wanted her, unable to deny that fact any longer. But he still had his honor, his word.
He reached past her to take one of the two pillows. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”
Her blond eyelashes fluttered in front of her eyes as she blinked a few times in a row. “You aren’t going to sleep in the bed?” She licked her lips, enticing him further.
He bit back a groan. She stood close enough for him to feel the heat of her body. Swallowing hard, he thrust the pillow between them as a shield against the temptation. “It wouldn’t be proper.”
She frowned. “Proper? Anthony, I trust you.”
Therein lay the problem. She’d already shown him once that if he wanted to kiss her, she wouldn’t stop him. Where was the line? Better he not risk crossing it.
“Perhaps you shouldn’t.” He leaned forward to kiss her soft cheek. “Good night, Charlie.”
Tucking the pillow under his arm, he marched to the fire and stretched out in front of it. A moment later, the floorboards creaked, and Charlie draped the bed’s thin coverlet over his body. When he twisted to thank her, his mouth dried at how near she was. She curled her toes.
“The bed has a sheet as well. I don’t need it. Good night, Anthony.”
As she climbed into bed, he faced the fire once more and tried to will himself asleep.
17
With summer in full bloom, Charlie shouldn’t have woken cold. But the drizzle splattering against the wall of the inn seemed to have seeped into her very bones. Now that the fire had gone out, the room seemed still and gray. The threadbare sheet wasn’t quite enough to keep her from shivering.
A moment later, the coverlet, still warm from Anthony’s body hea
t, landed across her legs. Anthony straightened next, his posture rigid. He looked away, his expression hard as he stretched. “If you were cold, you should have kept the blanket.”
Charlie gathered it to her chest, soaking up his residual body heat. “Perhaps you should have slept next to me and we both would have been warm.”
He exhaled sharply as he looked at her, then away again. Charlie held her breath. The invitation rippled in the air between them, much as it had last night.
Last night, she’d been all but certain that he would kiss her. She’d nearly asked him to. When she’d confessed to trusting him, she’d hoped that would be all the invitation he needed. Unfortunately, he’d chosen to be proper.
Her body hummed at the notion of sleeping alongside him, in his arms. When they’d arrived, he’d lied to the innkeeper and claimed that Charlie was his wife. A man slept next to his wife. He took other liberties while in bed, too. Liberties which, given Anthony’s reluctance to sleep next to her, he was clearly afraid he might take.
Charlie wasn’t afraid. One benefit to having a friend like Lucy, who was detailed in expressing her experiences, was that she always got a lengthy answer to her inquiries—including what it had felt like for Lucy to give herself, body and soul, to her husband.
Charlie might be virginal in body, not wanting to lose her freedom to any man, but she knew what awaited her that inevitable day she decided she’d had enough adventure.
The way her blood sang when Anthony stepped near felt eerily similar to the way she’d felt upon embarking on this adventure to find her father. Kissing Anthony felt as much a victory as bringing Papa aboard the ship. Somehow, Charlie knew that the day Anthony decided to damn what was proper, he could take her to places she’d never been before.
However, the closest she’d been able to come to uttering an invitation of that magnitude had been to suggest that she trusted him. Trust that he did not place in himself. Because you’re an animal? She’d almost parroted his words back at him, but she hadn’t wanted to frighten him away. Unfortunately, she’d seemed to do that simply by existing.
And he seemed in a surly mood this morning because of it. Perhaps he was simply being a pigheaded dolt, due to lack of sleep from lying on the cold, hard floor. Or perhaps her snoring had kept him awake. The bed was so uncomfortable that she’d even snored loud enough to wake herself once. As she felt her cheeks heat, she snuggled deeper under the blankets.
He stared at her a moment more before opting to ignore the fact that she’d offered for him to sleep next to her in the next inn. “If you don’t mind, I’ll wash up first, then see about getting us some breakfast.”
Charlie twisted to look out the window and gauge the time. Not long past dawn at her guess. If they’d slept more than four hours, she would be surprised.
Nevertheless, she nodded. “I don’t mind.” She huddled beneath the blanket as he retreated behind the screen. As the warmth seeped into her, she struggled not to fall asleep. At home, she usually lay abed until noon. Her jaw cracked as she yawned, daydreaming of her soft bed in London or the one at Tenwick Abbey. When at home, she always slept through the night. What a blessing that would be, with Anthony mere feet away.
He took mere minutes to complete his washing and dressing. As he buttoned his jacket and tossed the oiled cloak around his shoulders, he crossed to the door. “I’ll be in the common room below when you’re finished. Please don’t tarry.”
He didn’t look at her before he shut the door.
Had she imagined the longing and desire in his eyes last night? They’d only shared two kisses, and both times, he had been the one to end them. Now he refused to look in her direction. Perhaps she’d made a fool of herself by inviting him to share her bed.
“Forget him,” she mumbled under her breath as she rose.
Unfortunately, that was much easier said than done, especially when she had to share a horse with him. When she emerged downstairs ten minutes later, she found Anthony pacing in front of two bowls of porridge.
Despite her lack of appetite, she tried to eat as quickly as he did while Lieutenant Stills informed them both of the fact that he had procured directions toward Tenwick Abbey from the inn, and the state of Charlie’s horse. Without a farrier near the inn and with no mounts to spare, Charlie had no choice but to sit with Anthony as she had the day before. Her horse would be left behind to save them time.
Anthony said little, not a word of it to her. Even after they finished and settled their account, and he lifted her atop the rump of his gelding, he scarcely looked at her, let alone spoke. As he set a punishing pace for both horse and rider, she had no breath left to speak, in any case.
The horse danced beneath Gray, restless, as he consulted his compass. He glanced at the sky, then back at his device, then swore. The obscenity made Charlie, seated behind him with her arms around his waist, jump and clutch him tighter. Her body pressed tight along his back, as it had for most of the day. He couldn’t purge her from his thoughts for a minute before she dominated them again.
He’d spent most of the night awake, listening to her fitful snore as he agonized over the future. He had to keep his focus on saving his mother, yet Charlie was always nearby, a temptation and a dangerous distraction.
“What’s wrong?” she whispered, her voice low and intimate.
It pinched him in the gut. He swallowed before he announced, “Our directions were poor.”
Mere feet away, Stills straightened atop his mount. “I followed the innkeeper’s instructions to the letter—”
Gray held up a hand to silence further excuses. “I’m not blaming you, Stills. I should have known when the innkeeper didn’t recognize my family name that she likely wouldn’t know where Tenwick Abbey was located.”
Charlie pressed her cheek into his shoulder. “So… we’re lost?”
Yes. He feigned bravado. “Of course not. We’re delayed, that’s all. By my estimate, we’ve veered too far north, but if we turn around and take the track running east-west, we should be able to find an oft-traveled road that leads in the right direction.”
To him, the confidence in his tone rang comically false. However, Charlie must have believed him because after a moment’s hesitation, she suggested, “Then why are we dallying? Let’s not waste time.”
Lieutenant Stills didn’t seem as convinced, but Gray didn’t leave him room to argue. Turning his horse around, he prepared to dig in his heels. “You heard the woman. Let’s not tarry.”
His mother’s life hung in the balance, after all. This delay was only one in a long line, none of which they could afford. No matter the cost, they had to reach Tenwick Abbey in all possible haste, even if they had to do so with Charlie sitting near enough behind him to rouse his thoughts and his ardor. Even if they reached their destination as soon as tomorrow—which now seemed impossible—this was going to be a very long trip.
18
The small stables at the rear of the ramshackle inn might have been able to comfortably hold six horses, if two of the stalls hadn’t been filled to the brim with hay. Fortunately, this inn had even fewer patrons arriving by horse than the last, judging by the sparseness of the stables.
Or perhaps Gray should call the inn a tavern. The moment he, Charlie, and Lieutenant Stills stepped into the two-story building, they found the common room filled to capacity with local farmers and their progeny. The second story housed the owner’s personal quarters, they were informed, and there was only a single room to be let. Gray suspected that had he not been the son of a duke, he wouldn’t have been offered that room.
Putting his arm around Charlie’s shoulders, he smiled tightly. “My wife and I will take that room, then.”
The stodgy innkeeper inclined his head and hunched his shoulders, the closest it seemed he would come to a bow. “Of course, my lord.”
Gray bit the inside of his cheek to keep from flinching. As the son of a duke, he had always been addressed as Lord Graylocke or Master Anthony, if one of his
brothers was present. However, that had been an accident of his birth; his title as captain had been earned, and he much preferred it. Nevertheless, if it earned them shelter for the night, he would have to hold his tongue on the matter.
At least until the innkeeper added, “And what of your man, sir? I can offer him the common room if he’d like to stretch out in front of the hearth once the rabble has left.”
Gray gritted his teeth. “As I’ve said, my companion is Lieutenant Stills of the Royal Navy—”
Stills raised his hand, stalling Gray’s correction. “The common room will do,” he said stiffly.
The slosh of some liquid onto a floor that must be sticky with the leavings of the patrons made Gray wince. If Stills wanted to sleep on that, it was his decision to make. At least Gray could trust the floor of his room to be relatively clean. It had better be, or this son of a duke would raise a complaint to the innkeeper. After a day’s hard riding in the vain attempt to get back on track, he was irritable and ready for sleep. He only hoped it would come easier than it had the night before.
“Might we inquire about supper?” he asked, his voice curt. “A private room, if you have one available.”
The innkeeper wrung his hands as he confessed that they didn’t typically offer a back room to patrons. At Gray’s glare, he offered the family’s personal dining room, which Gray accepted.
Since Stills was destined to remain in the common room all night, Gray insisted he take the night’s meal with him and Charlie. She didn’t complain. When he asked if she’d like to go up to their room and freshen up before the meal, she raised her eyebrows at him as though he’d offered her one of the horse’s stalls instead. Every other woman of his acquaintance would have wanted to wash up before dinner—in fact, he would have as well if he’d had his usual change of clothing on hand. However, Charlie was not like other women. For instance, other women would not have held onto him without complaint as he’d pushed them so hard today.
Captivating the Captain (Scandals and Spies Book 6) Page 11
