“Do you want anything else before we go?” Gideon inquired as they made their way out of the woods.
Home. My own bed in the gardener’s cottage. She bit back the words, hopeful the acute longing for the safe and familiar would pass with the lingering illness. “No. I’m feeling much improved, thank you.”
Her confidence wavered as they reached the clearing on the side of the road. Just looking at the carriage made her feel woozy. She hesitated and reached for Gideon’s arm without thinking. “I . . . I don’t know if I can—”
“You won’t have to,” he said gently. “You’ll ride up top.”
Before she had a chance to respond, Lilly flew from the carriage in blur of blue skirts.
Gideon allowed Lilly to fuss over the state of her friend a little before assisting Winnefred to the top of the carriage. Rather than return to his horse, he settled in the seat beside her. Purely for reasons of safety, he assured himself. Winnefred was better off supported between himself and Peter—a bit of logic reinforced when Winnefred’s head nodded and slid onto his shoulder within the first ten minutes.
But no matter how he justified his decision, a small part of him knew the truth. He wanted to be near her. He wanted to watch her sleep. He wanted the reassurance of her warm body next to his.
His world had stopped when he had found her on the ground next to the stream. When she’d whimpered in distress, it had started again with a slow, painful roll of his heart. He would have given anything in that moment to make her well again, anything she wanted. If she’d asked to return to Murdoch House, he would have turned the carriage around, and Lilly and his brother be damned.
And it hadn’t been humor at her illness that had prompted him to laugh when she’d begun to eat. It had been relief, pure and simple.
The extent of his affection for her was unnerving, but he couldn’t find a way around it, couldn’t find a way to lessen the desire just to be near her. He’d tried. Over the last three weeks he’d tried nearly every distraction known to man . . . to the men in Enscrum and the surrounding countryside, at any rate. He’d even thought of finding a pretty, willing woman in Langholm, but he’d not been able to gather any enthusiasm for the idea. That revelation had been particularly disturbing. He had no intention of taking Winnefred Blythe to bed, but he’d be damned if he spent the rest of his life celibate.
Winnefred moaned softly and shifted against him. The blanket he had wrapped around her slipped to her waist. He replaced it carefully, tucking it gently around her shoulders and under her chin. Her skin, he noticed, was slowly losing the color it had regained during their picnic.
He spoke quietly over her head at Peter. “I seem to recall an inn not far from here.”
“Aye, my lord. Not a mile down the road.”
“We’ll rest there for the night.”
Gideon let Winnefred sleep until the inn came into view, then rubbed her shoulder softly and whispered in her ear, just once.
“Winnefred.”
That was all it took. She woke with a start, bolting upright as if she’d been prodded with a hot iron. “What? What is it?”
He couldn’t help but chuckle at her wide-eyed dishevelment. “You wake . . . quickly.”
She looked at him and blinked eyes foggy with sleep. It was a few seconds before her brain seemed to process his words.
“Habit,” was all she said.
His amusement vanished. Two women, alone for years on an isolated farm. Yes, he imagined it was a habit learned quickly and well. The muscles in his jaw clenched until he thought his teeth might crack.
Winnefred appeared unaware of his sudden change of mood. She shifted in her seat to look around her. “Why did you wake me?”
He cleared his throat and wiggled his jaw to relieve the pressure. “To keep you from becoming ill again. A bit of sleep is good for you, but keeping your eyes off the road for too long will bring the nausea back.”
“Oh.” She rubbed her stomach, as if testing his theory, and looked around again when they slowed in front of the inn. “We’re stopping. Are we changing the horses?”
“No. We’re stopping for the day.”
“For the day?” She squinted at the sun. “But we’ve hours of daylight yet. Is something the matter?”
“Nothing a leisurely meal and a good night’s rest won’t remedy.”
“But it’s so early. Why . . . ?” She turned and frowned at him. “I don’t need to be coddled, Gideon.”
On the contrary, he’d never met a woman more in need of coddling in his life, but he doubted she would appreciate the sentiment.
“You may not require a rest, but I do.” He tapped a finger against his leg. “Extended periods of inactivity cause uncomfortable stiffness.”
This was a complete and, in his opinion, entirely justified fabrication. It was also remarkably effective.
“Oh.” She went from mulish to apologetic in the space of a heartbeat. “Yes, of course. I’m sorry. Why didn’t you say something earlier?”
“It wasn’t troubling me earlier.” Or now, he added silently.
“But in the future . . .” she pressed.
“I will voice my dissatisfaction when necessary,” he promised her, and in this, he was being honest. He intended to speak up every time she lost her color, or looked tired, or in any way distressed.
He intended to voice his dissatisfaction quite a bit.
Chapter 18
Winnefred spent the few hours before dinner finding ways to occupy her mind and keep her body awake. She could have slept. If she had crawled on top of the mattress and closed her eyes, she would have been dead to the world in under a minute. And because there was nothing worse than sleeping through daylight and being awake at night, she chose to read instead, and pester Lilly, and walk about the room until it was finally time to go downstairs for dinner.
The inn and tavern was a modest establishment, without a private dining room. As she took a seat with Gideon and Lilly at a table, Winnefred studied the scene around her. There were fifteen or so patrons scattered about in groups of twos and threes. Soft laughter sounded over the crackling of the fireplace and a pair of barmaids in gowns cut low about the neckline wove expertly around tables and guests. The air smelled lightly of wood smoke and heavily of meat roasting in the kitchen.
She blew out a sigh of relief when her mouth watered and her stomach tightened with hunger instead of nausea. “I am famished.”
“I wish I could say the same,” Lilly said meekly.
Winnefred looked at her friend and grimaced. Lilly was hardly a hothouse flower, but there was something about the heavy scent of roasting meat that sometimes put her stomach off.
“Shall we take our meals in our rooms, instead?” She willed Lilly to say no. After spending a couple of hours pacing the floor of the room she shared with Lilly, Winnefred found the notion of returning so soon distinctly unappealing.
Lilly shook her head. “I will take my meal upstairs. You may stay here with Gideon, if you like.”
“Can I do that?”
Lilly nodded toward an elderly woman seated by the fire a few feet from the table. “The innkeeper’s wife will make an acceptable chaperone. I’ll speak with her.”
To Winnefred’s delight, the innkeeper’s wife agreed to the arrangement. Better yet, she chose to perform her chaperoning duties from the continued comfort of her chair, allowing Winnefred and Gideon to carry on a conversation in relative privacy.
“Did you nap?” Gideon inquired from across the table.
She shook her head. “I slept in the carriage, and on the carriage. If I slept a minute longer, I’d be awake all night. It will be difficult enough, being in a strange place for the night.”
“You’ve stayed at an inn before.”
“Yes, on my trip to Scotland,” she replied. “I had a dreadful time of it, trying to rest. I had a touch of the ague.”
His lips curved into a knowing smile. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, of .
. .” She trailed off, remembering the headaches and mild bouts of nausea, and how quickly she had recovered when they reached Murdoch House. “Oh. I hadn’t considered it might be something else. I don’t recall being nearly so ill as I was today.”
“It was twelve years ago. There are things that affect us more strongly as adults than as children. And vice versa, of course.” He gave her a wink. “You’ve grown more delicate over the years.”
She laughed but was distracted from commenting when a steaming bowl of stew and several slices of warm bread were set before her. The savory aroma wafted to her nose and set her mouth to watering again. She couldn’t remember ever being so hungry.
For the next quarter hour, conversation all but ceased while she steadily made her way through the meal. When she finally looked up from the table, it was to find Gideon finished and staring at something behind her with his lips curved up at the corners.
She glanced over her shoulder but saw nothing out of the ordinary. “What are you smiling at?”
“Hmm?” Gideon looked at her. “Ah. Not what, who. I’m playing guess-the-secret.”
“Guess-the-secret? Is it a game?” She set her spoon down, intrigued, and not the least surprised to find he was a grown man who still indulged in games.
“Of sorts. One of the young officers on my ship devised it during a particularly long voyage.”
She stifled a yawn, sleepy now that her belly was full and the threat of further illness had been averted for at least a few more hours. “How does it work?”
“You pick people at random and guess their darkest secret, or which of their dark secrets they’re most troubled about today. The second version worked best on the ship as one looks at the same people every day.”
“Didn’t you give your men enough to do?”
“They had free time now and then. Look there,” he said quietly and jerked his chin at a portly middle-aged man in a worn coat. “He has pawned his deceased father-in-law’s watch and chain to pay for his ale. He’s frugal about it, though, and keeps the money hidden. He uses the funds to buy only one drink a week. See how he’s nursing it? He wants to make it last.”
“Could be he used an honest day’s wage.”
“Could be, if we weren’t playing guess-the-secret. What about her?” He nodded toward one of the well-endowed barmaids. “What’s her secret, do you suppose?”
Winnefred scowled thoughtfully at the maid. “She has an entire closet full of adequately fitting gowns that she neglects in the hopes of earning a larger wage.”
“I’m not certain about the entire closet full of gowns part, but the rest is common knowledge. You’ll have to do better. What’s her secret?”
She pursed her lips, warming to the challenge. “The earrings she is wearing are from a lover. A very well-to-do lover. They’re not something a woman employed at a tavern could afford. You see, how she fiddles with them and smiles? But she doesn’t look at the door. She’s not waiting for him to come in. Because he’s already in the room.”
“Well done,” he commented as she finally gave in to the urge to yawn. “You learn quickly.”
“Some things,” she murmured. “Now you. Which of these fine gentleman purchased the earrings?”
Gideon scanned the room. “The young man two tables over on your left. He’s peeking glances and blushing and—”
“Married,” she finished for him. “I wager he’s married.”
“That would be his dark secret. His wedding bed hasn’t yet cooled and already he’s warming another. He can’t help himself. Her charms, her—” He broke off suddenly and cleared his throat. “Perhaps this isn’t the most appropriate of games to be playing with you.”
She rolled her eyes at him. “I’ve some idea what goes on between a man and a woman behind closed doors, Gideon.” A very narrow idea, but it counted. “Giddy is bred every year, you’ll recall.”
“Nevertheless, it would be best if we moved on to other people. What about that man?”
Caught between annoyed and amused, she didn’t even bother to look where he pointed. “He’s not married, but he has two mistresses. In the same house.”
He scowled at her. “The man in the blue wool coat by the fire.”
“He likes his sheep for more than their wool.”
“For pity’s sake.”
She laughed, she couldn’t help it. But there was a dark edge to her humor, and a heaviness of heart she couldn’t shake.
It had been only a week since she’d sat in his chambers at Murdoch House, worried he might think less of her for teaching a thief to read. It had seemed important to her then that he believed she could be taught to behave like a proper lady. But she found that wasn’t what she wanted from him now. She wasn’t interested in his approval of what she might become, or pretend to be for the short time she was in London. She wasn’t sure she wanted to become a lady. There was very good reason to believe she might not even be capable of such a transformation.
In that moment, all she wanted from him from him was to accept her as she was now. And it chafed that he had to be reminded of who that was.
“Did you think a fine dress and some distance from my land would make me someone else entirely, Gideon?” she asked softly. “Have you forgotten how you found me? Who I am?”
He looked at her, his dark gaze searching her face for a long, long moment before answering. “I could never forget you, Winnefred.”
She shrugged and traced her finger down the handle of her spoon. “Pity your family didn’t feel the same.”
“Yes, it is. A great pity.”
She snatched her hand back from the table and winced. He’d been so thoughtful today, so wonderfully considerate, and she repaid him now by being disagreeable and petty.
“I apologize,” she mumbled. “That was uncalled for. I don’t know why I said it.”
“Aside from the fact it is true,” he replied with more kindness than she felt she deserved, “you said it because you are more tired than you are willing to admit.”
She couldn’t seem to lift her gaze above her empty bowl. “That is not an excuse—”
“And,” he cut in. “You are taking this more to heart than you should for the same reason. Winnefred, look at me.” He waited for her to comply. “You are a breath away from falling into your soup bowl. Go upstairs, go to bed. Things will look different in the morning.”
Under other circumstances, she might have taken some offense at the insinuation she had difficulty seeing things as they really were. In fact, she wanted to take offense, which only went to prove his point.
She was exhausted. Her body felt leaded and her thoughts raced without getting anywhere. She knew she was angry still, but she couldn’t decide if it was with him for thinking she ought to be a lady or with herself for not meeting his expectations. Probably, it was a bit of both, which made very little sense.
“Winnefred,” Gideon said again. “Go to bed.”
Giving up, she nodded and rose from the table to seek out her bed.
Chapter 19
The next morning, Winnefred stood at the front of the inn and watched as Gideon oversaw the harnessing of the horses to the carriage. She took a deep breath of the cool morning air and smiled. She felt herself again . . . Only better. Remarkably better. In fact, she felt very nearly exuberant.
It was the oddest thing. She’d gone to sleep worrying over her disagreement with Gideon and had woken in such a fine mood, she’d had no trouble at all addressing her troubles as she so often did . . . by pushing them away.
Gideon hadn’t been angry when she had left. She wasn’t angry now. And the rest could be worked through in time.
It all seemed so simple. Which, quite frankly, seemed a little strange.
How was it her body could still be battling a lingering weakness while her spirits practically soared? She contemplated this as Gideon walked across the yard to meet her. Then she contemplated how much she enjoyed watching Gideon walk across a yard to meet her.
He ought to seem ungainly, she mused, or less virile somehow because of his injury. But he didn’t. He moved with an unexpected grace, and the unmistakable command of a man confident in his physical prowess. She watched the sculpted muscles of his thighs bulge beneath the snug fabric of his trousers, then let her eyes wander up to the broad expanse of his chest and the quick bunch and release of his powerful shoulders when he leaned on his cane.
Oh, yes, everything about the man spoke of an uncommon physical strength. And everything about that had an uncommon effect on her.
“Feeling better this morning?” Gideon inquired when he reached her.
“Very much, thank you.” Amused by the tenor of her thoughts—less so by the heat in her cheeks—she caught her hands behind her back and rocked on her toes. “You were right, you know. Things do look different in the morning. Dramatically so. I feel euphoric. It’s the most bizarre thing.”
He tilted his head at her. “You’ve not been ill before, have you?”
“I had a head cold once and the mild illness on the way to Scotland. Why?” She stopped rocking, a grim thought occurring to her. “Is euphoria a symptom of something more serious—?”
“No,” he replied on a laugh. “Just a benefit of recovery.”
“Oh.” How very nice. “Does it last long?”
He looked at the carriage, then looked at her. “I’m afraid not.”
“I’ll take pleasure in it while I can, then,” she decided. “Are we ready to leave?”
He chuckled and nodded. “I’ll fetch Lilly.”
An hour later, Winnefred noted with some disappointment that Gideon was also right about the life span of her euphoria. With every sway of the carriage a little more of her good mood slipped away.
She rode atop again, and though she found the movements of the carriage unpleasant, she also found plenty to distract her from her discomfort, and she wondered why anyone would ever choose to ride inside. There was so much to see, and the narrow view of the countryside to be had through a carriage window and around an outrider could not compare to the grand vista offered by an elevated seat. Better yet, Gideon had chosen to keep her company again, and he entertained her with tales of his travels and his youth. All of which he admitted to embellishing generously for the sake of good drama. She was delighted he did. She was delighted with him. Never before had she met someone capable of making her laugh and dream, wonder and want in the space of an hour, and then make her laugh and dream, wonder and want all over again in the next.
Nearly a Lady (Haverston Family Trilogy #1) Page 17
