For the Love of Lila

by Jennifer Malin

  “I know.” She cringed as she tried to stand.

  “Do you?” He grabbed her arm and pulled her back down. Her elbows thudded into the mattress, warm with his body heat. She could feel his torso against one of her arms, his fingers clutching the other. Through a tight jaw, he asked, “Do you see where you have positioned yourself?”

  Yes, she thought, her breath quickening. She stared at him, concentrating to keep her gaze from dropping from his eyes to his mouth. Her pain washed away in a flood of adrenaline.

  “Do you see?” He pulled her closer, till their faces were inches apart and the faint scent of sandalwood teased her nose. “I am trying to show you where a little indiscretion can place you. I don’t suppose you need me to make my point clearer?”

  His gaze fell to her mouth, and she gasped. She tried to answer him, but the word no wouldn’t come. Yes, make everything clear, a reckless vein in her willed. If she didn’t answer him, would he take his point further? Would he kiss her?

  She closed her eyes and...he let go of her. Her arms slid from the bunk, and she landed sitting on the cold floor, hugging herself. She had never been so humiliated in her life. One moment of fantasy had gotten her this. Dream had blurred with reality, and she had actually hoped he would kiss her—from his bed! How stupid she had been to indulge her fancy.

  “Go to bed.” His tone had softened. “Please.”

  Without meeting his gaze, she rose and limped across the room. She climbed under the counterpane, pulling it up to her nose and staring at the ceiling. Lord, she wished she had traveled alone, even if she’d had to wait years to afford the journey. How was she to withstand a week in his company after this?

  His bedclothes rustled, and the room went dark as he blew out the candle. A few minutes passed, in which she relived the whole shameful scene she had instigated. Never again would she allow herself such weakness. She simply had not known how deep waters she had entered were.

  “Miss Covington?”

  She closed her eyes and lay still.

  “Miss Covington, I know you cannot be asleep.”

  “Please pretend I am,” she said, gravel in her throat.

  “I did not mean to frighten you. Well, I did, but only as much as you need to be frightened. I don’t want you to think I would ever truly...harm you.”

  “You needn’t worry,” she croaked, the tremor in her voice embarrassing her. “I am very frightened—but more of my own lack of prudence than your lack of scruples.”

  “Good.”

  Had he known the full extent of her imprudence, he would not have felt so positive.

  There was a long silence, so awkward that she began to wish the storm would return. Finally, she heard him shift in the trundle and settle. She took her cue to roll onto her stomach, pulling the pillow over her head. If only she could pull it inside her head and smother her racing thoughts. Her treacherous mind mortified her with guilt, and—worse yet—teased her with flashbacks of wild sensations. Even with all her shame, she had to keep catching herself from tripping back into fantasy.

  She had no idea how long she lay tormented before once again hearing soft snores from across the room. His sleeping should have eased her, but she continued to toss, overwhelmed by his presence. The proximity of his body bombarded her mind. She had to get away from him.

  When at last she detected the faint glow of dawn, she slipped out of bed and redonned her boy’s costume in near darkness. She tiptoed out the door to the hall and closed it softly, relieved that he had not woken.

  On the way downstairs, she met no one, though she could hear pots clanging in the back of the inn. As she passed the kitchen, the door swung open, and the innkeeper’s wife emerged, arms full of folded linens.

  Lila greeted her with a silent tug on her cap, quickly turning to make for the front entrance.

  “Oi!” the woman called. “Stay a minute, love.”

  Reluctantly, she turned around to face the woman. “Yes?”

  “Do ye need anything?” she asked, her blond brows drawing together. “If yer runnin’ away from him, I can spare some food fer ye to take wit’ ye.”

  She started. The woman had deduced something, though Lila was not about to ask what. For one desperate moment, the thought of running actually tempted her, but her lapse into weakness appalled her. Had she not always determined to make her life an example of female self-reliance? If she fled now, where would she end up? She shook her head. “I am not running away. I’ll be back. I shan’t be long.”

  “If yer...yer master asks, shall I tell him as much? Or would you rather I said nothing?”

  “It doesn’t matter. No—on second thought, I would like you to tell him. Please have someone wake him shortly and inform him that I’ve gone for a walk. I shall be back in half-an-hour.”

  She looked surprised. “If that is what ye wish.”

  Lila fished in her pocket and held out a coin. “Thank you for your trouble.”

  She waved off the money. “No, ‘tis no trouble to me. You keep that in case you need it.”

  Before Lila could press her to accept the money, she vanished into a back room. Lila watched the door close behind her, wondering how much the woman suspected. But she had too much on her mind to worry about this, too. She straightened her cap and stepped outside.

  The early morning air smelled fresh and felt cool on her face. She drew in a long breath and strode out of the yard, listening to the chirping birds. The cheer of these creatures never faltered under the sort of cares that humans had. A brisk walk, accompanied by their song, was exactly what she needed to restore her spirits.

  As soon as she started up the lane, she began to think more optimistically about the situation with Tristan (after an endless night of intimate thoughts about him, she could hardly think of him as Mr. Wyndam). He didn’t know that she had been staring at him before she woke him in the middle of the night. He knew she had behaved like a goose, but he would never be aware of her thoughts and fantasies. If she focused on that and vowed to conduct herself properly in the future, she would be able to bear the rest of the journey.

  She quickened her pace, refreshed by her resolution. Yes, all she had to do was keep her thoughts from lapsing into those dangerous areas again. She had known she could not have a man, but she hadn’t realized she could not have the thoughts, either. Now she knew. All she had to do was steer her mind in another direction. The best course would be to retrieve her manuscript from her luggage and return to her work. Her writing had always absorbed her.

  Lack of rest prevented her from keeping up her stride for long, so she slowed and studied the countryside, noting species of trees, clucking to a family of ducks...anything to help clear her mind. By the time she returned to the inn, she must have walked two miles. But the strategy had worked. Now she could face Tristan—Mr. Wyndam.

  He met her at the door, apparently having watched for her. The barouche stood out front, the horses already harnessed and awaiting departure.

  “Good morning,” he said, his gaze skimming hers before he looked toward the barouche. “The gig is repaired, and I have already packed our belongings, including a hamper well stocked with food. You can take your breakfast from that. We should leave as soon as possible. We’re already off to a late start.”

  The door to the inn burst open, and the landlady bustled toward them. “Stay a minute! I want a word with ye.”

  Lila didn’t dare look at Tristan, studying her boots instead. The last thing she needed was more trouble, when she had just managed to compose herself. And her feet hurt from walking.

  “Miss, are ye sure ye want to go wit’ him?”

  She looked up. Yes, exactly as she feared, the landlady was addressing her...as Miss.

  “Don’t look so shocked,” the woman said. “It’s as plain as day to anyone wit’ two good eyes.

  Lila stole a peek at Tristan, whose eyes had gone big. She felt a stab of guilt. This was her fault. She had insisted on this foolish costume. And he had h
is future at stake.

  “Bein’ that she’s disguised,” the landlady said to him, “I take it she’s got a family she’s hiding from. I know a runaway when I see one. Was one once meself, only I lucked out and got meself a husband. If you’d half a heart in ye, ye’d do what’s right by her and make her an honest woman.”

  “I’ll do what’s right by her,” he said, his tone low.

  She looked to Lila. “Is he treatin’ ye decent, miss? If he isn’t, ye can stay right here wit’ me. I reckon we can find some way fer ye to keep yerself.”

  “He treats me very well indeed, ma’am,” she said, too guilt-ridden to be distressed by what the woman must take her for. “Please, ma’am, it’s important that no one know my secret. Very important. Does your husband know—”

  “Yer secret’s safe, missy, as long as that’s what ye want. Me husband doesn’t have the best of eyesight.” She looked at Tristan and frowned. “He jus’ took ye fer one of them what likes boys. Ye know what I mean.”

  He clenched his teeth, stealing a searing glance at Lila. “Indeed.”

  “We have to go,” she said quickly. She climbed up on the box. Tristan glared up at her for a moment before following her aboard. When he had settled next to her, he gave her another scowl.

  She looked away from him, turning to give the landlady a smile of reassurance. “Thank you, ma’am.”

  “Mind you treat that gel right, sirrah,” the woman said to Tristan.

  He grimaced and urged the horses into a trot.

  Once they had pulled out onto the road, Lila waited for him to meet her gaze again, but he stared straight ahead.

  “You were right about this disguise,” she said. “I apologize for insisting on it. As soon as we reach the open country, stop the carriage and I will change inside.”

  He peered at her, lip curled, and looked back to the lane.

  The space between them prickled with tension. She took a deep breath and expelled it slowly. “I suppose I can endure a few days of feigned enslavement. You won’t lord it over me too much, will you?”

  He let out a snort. “If anyone could have any amount of command over you, Miss Covington, I don’t know who. But I am not about to overestimate my capabilities.”

  No, you underestimate them, she thought. She sat back in her seat, satisfied with his answer, satisfied that he had answered at all. His silence would have been far worse.

  “I can command myself,” she said. “Perhaps I haven’t demonstrated that, but only because I didn’t realize I needed to. There are some matters that I never...” She let out a nervous laugh. “Well, let us say that I have done what I could to prepare myself for the world, but it would seem that my education hasn’t quite taught me everything.”

  Again, he snorted. “I daresay it has not. Unfortunately, one never knows what one isn’t prepared for until one faces it.”

  His observation made her think of Paris and how different her life would be there. How different would it be? She didn’t even know what to expect from her cousin, let alone the rest of the city. Suddenly, she wished quite fervently that she’d had a response from Felicity before departing. She put her hand up to her chin. “What a disturbing thought.”

  He gave her a wry smile. “N’est-ce pas?”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Tristan swept back his wind-whipped hair and gazed out at the Channel. Far beyond the dapples of reflected sunlight on the water, he could just discern a sliver of land...France. He drew the salty breeze into his lungs and sighed. They had survived the worst of the journey.

  Wakes lapped against the side of the ship, joining the flutter of the sails to beat out a soothing percussion. The Channel had granted what the captain deemed “the calmest sailing of the year,” and Tristan, too, felt the calmest he had in some time. In France, he and Miss Covington would be less likely to arouse suspicion, especially now that she had taken on a more credible disguise. She had taken on a more serious attitude as well. For two days, she had been the embodiment of discretion, a

  demure “wife” in public and a detached intellectual in private. She had kept to herself for most of the crossing, below deck, translating Italian poetry. He even found himself missing the playful chit he had traveled with the first day—but, no, he didn’t want that Lila Covington back. Did he?

  “Tristan!”

  He turned around to see her walking across the deck toward him, radiant in a simple rose-sprigged white muslin gown. She had taken to calling him by his given name, presumably to foster the appearance of their being married. Many wives addressed their husbands as “Mr. ,” but he didn’t object to her adopting the less formal manner. Employing each other’s first names left less room for them to slip than if they had addressed one another by the false surname on their passports.

  “Lila.” He smiled as she joined him, taking both her hands in his own and squeezing them in the moderate show of affection they had established for their “married” greeting. “How are you faring with Alfieri?”

  “Quite well. I have even untangled my way through that difficult canto I told you about.” She gave him the widest smile he had seen on her face in days, a grin that reminded him of the carefree woman who had shared the picnic with him.

  He released her hands. “You must be pleased.”

  “More pleased than I can tell you—and I understand we have an even greater cause for celebration. I heard that we’ve come within sight of land.” She looked out at the water, adjusting her chipstraw hat to shield her eyes from the sun. “Which way is Normandy?”

  He took her by the shoulders and aimed her in the right direction. The gesture seemed intimate, but they were supposed to be married...and he had wanted to touch her. He always wanted to touch her now—ever since the other night when he’d woke to find her at his bedside. Lord, he had been tempted to pull her into the trundle with him.

  Her arms felt delicate and warm as he let his hands slide from them. “Look directly out at the horizon. Do you see the strip of land?”

  “Where—through the mist? Wait—yes! Yes, I do.” She supported herself on the rail, leaning out over the water. “Oh, how exciting! I have never set foot on any soil but England’s.”

  “Do be careful, Lila.” He moved up behind her and held her waist to steady her. Her hair smelled faintly of rosewater, and he wanted to slip his arms all the way around her. She likely didn’t need his hold, but she did not protest—indeed, did not react. He wondered if she were even aware of how her bottom brushed his thigh when she bent forward. Acutely conscious of the contact himself, he stood still, careful not to press closer...nor to step apart from her.

  “We’ve made it.” She looked up at him over her shoulder. “I believe we ought to congratulate ourselves.”

  “Congratulations.” His voice came out husky. If she were truly his wife, he would have kissed her. He gazed down into her luminous eyes and felt a flash of temptation. They were “married,” were they not? But not even real married couples kissed in public. And, no, they were not married. They never would be. Marriage was against her principles—and a deuced preposterous thought to enter his head.

  “Why on earth are you frowning?” she asked, laughing. “I hope you’re not thinking about your business concerns now. We should be festive. What can we do to celebrate?”

  “What, indeed.”

  “I know. We will have a full-course French dinner tonight, accompanied by a native wine. Or do you think extravagant dining would be unwise?” Her expression sobered, the smooth skin between her brows crinkling. “Indeed, I don’t suppose it will do. The lesser known inns we must patronize don’t often have a private dining parlor, and we would not want to eat a drawn-out meal in public. I suppose we will have to settle for a simple supper, won’t we?”

  She awaited his answer with an attentive air, perhaps not quite persuaded and expecting him to sway her. If so, she had made a mistake. At the moment, he was fresh out of prudence.

  “I daresay taking one public meal a
t a remote inn in a foreign country presents little enough risk,” he said. “Besides, tonight’s dinner may well be our last together. We should have a special meal.”

  “Truly?” Her brow cleared again, and she flashed him a smile that made him want to agree to all her whims. “Are you quite certain you feel comfortable with the idea?”

  “So far, you have been a convincing wife. Unless you stand up in the middle of the dining room and expound about the evils of marriage, I believe I shall be entirely comfortable.”

  She laughed. “I daresay I can forgo expounding in honor of the occasion. I will be such a docile little creature you will believe we truly are married.”

  Not likely, he thought, watching her eyes sparkle. Had he been married to her, he would not have agreed to waste the evening gorging in a public dining hall. There would have been far more preferable ways to celebrate.

  Her gaze latched onto his, so intent that he fancied she could see straight through into his mind. As they continued staring at one another, her smile waned, yielding to a serious, almost grave expression. An instant later, she broke out of the trance and turned back to view the water.

  “I can scarcely credit that our voyage is nearly over. I have barely felt a wave.” Her tone was still light, but he thought he detected a stilted quality. “Can you believe I was afraid I would be seasick?”

  “You have had a singularly mild introduction to sea travel. Not all of my past crossings have been so calm.”

  “Nonetheless, I shall boast to everyone of my iron stomach.” She gave a low chuckle that made him want to tease more such laughs from her throat. He nearly suggested turning their dinner into another picnic, but he caught himself. Did he want to regress to the intimate footing that had led them to the brink of fiasco their first night?

  He transferred his stare from the curve of her neck out to the shores of Normandy.