by Ava Stone
Robert would probably be angry if she was to interfere, but she could tell that the odds weren’t in his favor. The other patrons, who didn’t look too far off from highwaymen, stared at her husband with obvious distaste. She was well familiar with his arrogance. He’d probably already said something that had insulted the entire room. She didn’t have a choice.
Tentatively, she crossed the threshold of the taproom and started for her husband’s side. Her entrance caused several men to look in her direction. Sly grins crossed a few of their faces. Lydia chose to ignore them, but she did clutch her shawl a bit more tightly around her shoulders in response.
Robert hadn’t noticed her. He continued to glare furiously at the innkeeper. “Well, that’s not acceptable,” he muttered through clenched teeth.
Obviously exasperated with the earl, the innkeeper shook his head wearily. “Milord, don’t you think that if I had it, I’d give it to you?”
Lydia reached Robert’s side and she tugged lightly on his arm. Though she was afraid to ask what the trouble was, she hoped her presence could help alleviate it. Her husband’s eyes were ablaze as he stared down the man before him. She’d seen that look before, and she was impressed that the innkeeper could withstand the heat.
With the pressure of her on his arm, Robert glanced down and saw Lydia’s frightened expression. Almost immediately, his face softened. “You’re awake? I’m sorry, my dear, but this man tells me there are no rooms to be had.”
“Oh.” Lydia smiled kindly at the elderly innkeeper. If he had no rooms, there was nothing he could do about it. He certainly couldn’t build onto his establishment in the next few minutes to accommodate them.
The innkeeper stammered apologetically and seemed to appreciate her understanding smile. “I—I am sorry, Lady Masten. Our rooms are all taken. There’s a hunt in town, you see.”
“Well, you certainly can’t give us something you don’t have,” she offered softly.
The innkeeper smiled appreciatively. Robert watched the interaction with his brow raised in interest.
Lydia continued, “We completely understand, Mr…?”
“Cass.” The innkeeper nearly blushed.
Lydia smiled sweetly. “We do understand, Mr. Cass, but if you were us, sir, what would you do? We do need a place to stay for the night.”
One of the inebriated men at the bar called to her, “You can always stay with me tonight, sweeting. I’ll keep ye nice an’ warm.”
There were several other drunken seconds to that motion, until Robert shot the chorus of men a look that could kill. “Watch your tongues in front of my wife!” he snapped.
Lydia tightened her grip on her husband’s arm, willing him to keep his temper. If they made a scene, any help the innkeeper could offer would be non-existent. But it was the second time in as many days he’d come to her defense and she smiled gratefully up at him.
“Mind yer manners. Don’t speak to her ladyship like that, or ye’ll all be out!” the innkeeper barked to the man at the bar and then frowned, looking to the ceiling as if waiting for holy intervention. It was apparent he didn’t wish to disappoint the countess, and then his face brightened. “My wife’s sister has a house in the village. Her daughter got herself married last weekend. I could see if she’d let you have her extra room for the night.”
Lydia smiled. “Oh, sir, that would be lovely. We would be most appreciative. Wouldn’t we, my lord?”
The innkeeper puffed out his chest and grinned at her.
Robert continued to frown at the innkeeper, until Lydia pinched his arm. “Yes, most appreciative,” he said, echoing her sentiments.
Mr. Cass nodded obligingly. “Very well. Why don’t you have a seat while I sort out the details for this evening with Mrs. Thompson? We’ve got some meat pie this evening. Mrs. Cass makes the best in Bedfordshire. And when you’re finished, I’ll be back to take you to my sister-in-law’s.” Then he glanced with irritation at Robert. “You’re welcome to have some too, milord. And, no, I don’t have a private parlor available either.”
Robert grimaced back, but then straightened up when Lydia’s pleading look begged him to behave.
With the situation settled, the patrons went back about their business, grumbling a little with disappointment that there hadn’t been a brawl to entertain them. A few eyed Lydia from top to bottom, but as they’d all witnessed Robert’s temper with the innkeeper, none made the mistake of addressing her again.
Mr. Cass made his way from the room and Robert possessively slid his arm around Lydia’s shoulder. When she met his eyes, she was surprised to see amazement and a slight grin on his face.
“I think our innkeeper is smitten with you, as are all these other ruffians.”
“Robert!” She blushed as if she could read his mind. She certainly hadn’t flirted with the innkeeper. The man was old enough to be her grandfather. And she hadn’t encouraged any of the other men in the establishment either. Would he always think the worst of her?
“Not that I can blame any of them, my dear.” Robert’s grin widened. “I doubt that ladies as lovely as you find their way to The Fox and The Hare on a regular basis.”
Lydia gulped. He now seemed to be looking at her with admiration. No one would ever believe that. She was having a hard time believing it herself. Robert Beckford of all people!
Watch yourself, Lydia. He may not despise you, but he could certainly never love you. You know exactly who this man is. Don’t be a fool. But despite herself, she enjoyed the warm glow in his brown eyes anyway.
Soon a short, plump woman wearing an apron entered the room carrying two mincemeat pies. “Hugh said you two looked hungry.” She put the pies on an empty table and added some tankards from the bar.
“Thank you.” Lydia smiled gratefully and the woman returned her look with a warm wink.
The innkeeper was right. Nothing had ever tasted as wonderful as the pie Mrs. Cass had placed before them. Of course, Lydia was particularly famished. She had left without breakfast that morning, and lunch had been light. She didn’t look up at Robert the entire time at the table, too afraid of what his eyes would say to her.
When the innkeeper returned and dinner was finished, they followed him down a small path to his sister-in-law’s home. It wasn’t far away and the light in the window looked inviting, especially after spending the day in a cramped traveling coach. After short introductions to Mrs. Thompson, Lydia smiled back at the elderly innkeeper. “Thank you so much, sir. But if I may trouble you for one more thing tonight…”
“Certainly, milady, if it’s in my power.” A light blush settled on the innkeeper’s cheeks.
“Is there a doctor in the area?”
Mrs. Thompson looked concerned and nodded her head. “Doc Fisher is just down the road. Is something the matter, dearie?”
“We had a slight accident today, and I’d like someone who knew what they were doing to take a look at my husband’s arm.”
“Lydia,” Robert grumbled, “I’m perfectly fine.”
The innkeeper shot Robert a look of annoyance, but Lydia pressed on. “I think the pain’s made him rather grumpy. Please forgive him.”
With an obliging look, the innkeeper nodded and started down the road. “Of course, milady. I’ll find ‘im for ye.”
Mrs. Thompson led Lydia and Robert to a small room on the top floor of her quaint home and left them with a reassuring smile. “I’m sure Doc Fisher will be right over, dear.”
Their hostess closed the door and Lydia turned around to see Robert frowning at her. “That really wasn’t necessary, Lydia.”
“As I’m the one who found us a place to stay for the night, you’ll just have to humor me,” she cooed back. Satisfied with her small victory, she plopped down on the feather bed. Almost instantly, she looked around the room and then realized, with a touch of anxiety, that she would be sharing this bed with her husband the entire night. Not in five years of marriage had they shared a bedchamber.
Robert smirked
at her, and she was certain he could read her thoughts. “No, not a big room is it? I could always offer to sleep on the floor, Lydia, but my arm…”
She threw a pillow at him. “I thought you were ‘perfectly fine.’”
With a charming laugh, he teased her. “Now that you mention it, my arm is very tender. The floor would only make it worse. You’ve developed quite a habit of throwing pillows at me, my dear.”
“Be glad I don’t have rocks.”
He sat on the other side of the bed and grinned. “I’ll count my blessings. Anyway, we’ll be sharing a bed soon enough as it is. And, unlike my brother, I can control myself. You’ll be safe enough tonight.”
Safe enough? What did he mean by that?
There was a sharp knock at the door and Robert opened it, letting Doctor Fisher into the room. Lydia had no expectations about what the doctor would look like, but apparently Robert did. She noticed that her husband frowned at the handsome, young, black-haired man with wire-rimmed spectacles carrying a doctor’s bag. Did Robert think the man too young to be a doctor? With a pensive look, Robert met his wife’s eyes.
“You’re Doctor Fisher?” Robert asked with a disbelieving tone.
The young doctor smiled a handsome grin. “Aye. Mr. Cass said you’ve had some sort of an accident?”
“My wife won’t let me have any peace until someone takes a look at it.” When Robert started removing his jacket and blood-stained shirt, Lydia found herself staring at his magnificently sculpted chest. She blushed profusely and went to the window to look outside—anywhere but at her gloriously half-naked husband.
“What happened here?” she heard the doctor say in surprise and she turned around, worried that the injury was worse than Robert had let on.
Her husband was sitting on the bed and the doctor began removing the strip of petticoat she had wound around Robert’s arm.
Robert winked at her and grinned mischievously. “My wife stabbed me with a knitting needle. Can you believe that? I’ve married a shrew.”
“Masten!” She was appalled that he would say such a thing. “I assure you, Doctor Fisher, it was an accident. Though at the moment I’m wishing it had plunged a little deeper.”
The handsome doctor chuckled. “Well, from what Hugh said, he probably deserved it, my lady.” He opened his bag, took out a little brown bottle, dabbed its contents onto some gauze, and then cleaned the area on his patient’s shoulder. When Robert winced in pain, Lydia cringed right along with him.
Doctor Fisher smiled at Lydia’s empathy and he tried to soothe her. He talked about his studies in Edinburgh and how he’d come back to the district so that his father, the previous doctor, could retire. “The hours, as you can see, are a bit unpredictable. You never know when you’ll be needed and have to rush off at a moment’s notice.”
“Your wife must be very patient, Doctor,” Lydia remarked as the young man massaged a salve over Robert’s wound.
The doctor shrugged with a grin. “I’m not married, Lady Masten—much to the chagrin of my mother, Mrs. Thompson, and all of the other village matrons. They all think I need a wife to organize my life.”
Robert frowned at the doctor. “They don’t all bring organization. Good luck in finding one who does.” Then he avoided Lydia’s scowl from that remark.
Doctor Fisher wrapped Robert’s wound with clean gauze, then gave Lydia instructions to make sure his lordship kept it dry for the next several days. He smiled, bowed slightly, and then took his leave.
She breathed a sigh of relief that it wasn’t a serious injury and began pulling the pins from her hair. “Thank heavens you’ll be all right.” Like a cascade, Lydia’s soft light red hair fell neatly past her shoulders and half way down her back. She was oblivious to the affect the sight had on Robert, who stared in awe.
“Thank heavens?” Robert repeated with a lilt in his voice as he gazed admiringly at her, suddenly in a much better mood now that the doctor was gone. “Aren’t you the same girl who wished me to the devil?”
Of course he would remember that! After their vows, when he had ruthlessly disparaged her and sent her off to Blackstone, she had wished him to the devil, but it had been under her breath. She didn’t know that he’d heard her.
She narrowed her eyes on him, glad that he’d reminded her again why she hated him. “Yes, that was right after you were perfectly ghastly to me.”
She ran a brush through her hair, and Robert rolled onto his side and watched her with anticipation. “Was I ghastly?”
“You know very well that you were.” She braided her hair feverishly and turned her back to him.
He waited until she was done with the chore and then tugged at the hem of her dress until she sat on the bed and looked at him. “I was just being practical, Lydia.” He took one of her hands and pressed a kiss to the inside of her wrist. His lips were warm and the gentleness of his touch surprised her. Tendrils of sensual anticipation raced up her arm and settled deep in her belly.
That would never do.
She sighed and reclaimed her hand from his grasp. “It was five years ago, Robert. I don’t want to argue about it now.”
Robert looked at her genuinely. “Neither do I.” He swung his legs over the side of the bed and undid his boots and then his socks. “I’m sure you’ll feel more comfortable if I leave my breeches on.”
“Is Henderson not bringing our bags?”
He didn’t look at her as he flung back the coverlet. “No. I didn’t want him to come all this way and back. He’s at the stables at The Fox and The Hare with the coach.”
“Oh.” She looked down at the dress she’d worn all day. Not the best for sleeping in, but he wasn’t giving her much of a choice. “Well, do you mind if I wear my chemise to bed then?”
She thought she could detect a grin cross his face, but it was quickly gone. “Whatever will make you comfortable, my dear.”
Yes, she should be comfortable. Lydia undid the lacing on her traveling dress, slipped it over her head and removed her petticoat, leaving only her sheer chemise. Then she quickly dashed under the sheets and pulled them tightly around her.
Robert watched the entire display with a playful grin. “Modest are we, Lady Masten?”
She glared at him and then gave him her back as she turned away.
He rolled onto his side and stroked her arm gently. “Actually, I think I prefer this—” he fingered the ribbon strap of her chemise— “to that stuffy nightrail from this morning.”
Shocked by his intimate touch, she kept her back to him. “Do you? And here you’d told me you were stodgy, Robert.”
He chuckled and nuzzled her neck. “That doesn’t mean I’m dead. Now, my dear wife, did I notice that you looked away when I took my shirt off?”
His hand felt so good on her arm, and his lips against her neck were like heaven. She closed her eyes and wished him away. She didn’t want to feel that way about him, which she now realized would be very easy to do. “Contrary to what you think, Robert, I haven’t seen all that many hairy chests in my days.”
“You haven’t?” he whispered in her ear. Her heart fluttered.
“Only your brother’s.” That should make him leave her alone.
His hold loosened on her arm and then after a moment it tightened again. “I don’t want to think about that right now, Lydia.”
She rolled over to face him. They were just inches away from each other. He brought his hand to her chin and caressed her lips with the pad of his thumb. “You are very beautiful.”
He was closing in to kiss her, but she put her finger to his lips. “Robert Beckford, you told me you could control yourself. If your arm hurts too badly, I could always move to the floor.”
He looked dejected. “You are my wife, you know?”
Lydia hated to see that look in his eye and she tapped his chin gently, hoping it would go away. “Only in name, Robert. Where we go from here has not yet been decided.”
***
He had decided, bu
t he’d give her time to come to the same conclusion. “Very well,” he gave in. “I said I’d behave and I will.” He kissed her forehead and then turned his back to her.
Robert couldn’t close his eyes. He lay perfectly still until Lydia’s breathing became rhythmic and he was certain she was sleeping. He turned back toward her. When he did, the mattress dipped and she rolled closer to him. Some of Lydia’s magnolia-scented hair slipped from her braid and fell over her face. He gently smoothed it away and was left staring at the face of his beautiful wife. She had perfectly arched eyebrows, an adorable, pert little nose, and those lips, full and begging for him to kiss them.
Her arm wrapped around him, and she snuggled into him as if he were a pillow. Robert sighed heavily, and knew he was in trouble as he held her against him. He had first suspected it when he’d seen her at his sister’s ball. He was more certain of it when he’d agreed to take in her little pick-pockets. But now there was no doubt in his mind. Robert Beckford—the staid, ruthless, horse-mad, beastly, boorish, stodgy Earl of Masten—wanted to bed his wife.
Lydia’s head rested against his chest, and he sighed. Perhaps she hadn’t yet decided where they went from here, but Robert had never been more certain of anything in his life. He needed her. His whole body ached for her. And now, holding her, he was finally able to close his eyes and rest.
***
When Lydia awoke, it was still dark outside and she found herself in Robert’s embrace. It was the second time since they’d started this journey that she’d awoken in his arms. If she was to be honest, the sensation was one she quite enjoyed—but she could never admit that, not to him. Then his hand moved on her uncovered skin, and her eyes grew round. She hadn’t realized that her chemise had worked its way up around her waist or that her husband held her hip in his grasp.
