by Gill, Tamara
He was so overwhelming that if they did not stop soon, she would be tempted to rub up against him like a cat seeking a satisfying pet.
A carriage rumbled past them, and Evie glanced ahead to see the beginnings of a substantial village. Relief poured through her that she’d been soon on her feet. For all the delightful reactions that the duke brought forth within her, she would be thankful to stand.
Within a short amount of time, the duke pulled up his horse before the Crown Inn, a redbrick building with a stable yard to one side. He reached around, holding out his arm. “Here, let me help you down,” he said, meeting her gaze.
Evie diverted her attention to his hand and clasped it tightly. Why did he have to be so consuming? So generous and charming?
So unavailable.
Well, at least in his opinion, he was. He was right at this moment, chasing after her sister to beg her to marry him still, even though she was in love with someone else.
The thought of him doing all that he had set out to achieve filled her with despair, and she slipped from the horse. She had expected her legs to hold her upright, but instead, her knees gave way, and she continued her downward spiral until her bottom hit the dirt and rocky courtyard.
“Miss Milton,” the duke shouted, jumping from his mount and bending down to assist her. He clasped her hands and helped her to stand.
“Thank you, Your Grace,” she said, reaching behind her and trying to massage her bottom without being apparent to those around them. “I seem to have sat too long today.”
The duke frowned down at her, all seriousness. “I should have asked if you were accustomed to such lengthy rides. I apologize for the lapse in care, Miss Milton.”
“Evie, please. Miss Milton makes me sound like a spinster.”
He threw her a small smile, before handing his horse to a waiting stable lad and leading her indoors. “You may call me Finn then in return. Especially since we’re to be brother and sister for a time.”
“That is true,” she said, returning his smile before taking his arm.
They headed inside the inn and stopped in the taproom. It, too, was similar to the one they had luncheoned at earlier today in Hungerford.
“Two of your best rooms, if you please. For one night.”
The publican rubbed his hands down his grimy apron and studied them both. “I only have one room left. ’Tis the best I have.” The publican’s eyes narrowed on Evie, and she stepped closer to the duke, hiding a little behind his arm.
“My sister and I need separate rooms. I will pay handsomely.”
The man shrugged, crossing his arms across his broad chest. “Canna help ye, I’m sorry. I ave one room. Take it or leave it.”
Evie glanced at the duke and didn’t miss the pained expression that crossed his features. She supposed it wasn’t her he wanted to be alone with but her sister. No matter what Lucy thought of the duke, Evie had no idea if his feelings were genuine. Everything that she’d seen of him when around her sibling told her they were.
Perhaps he was heartbroken that her sister had run off with another man.
“We’ll take the room,” he said, his voice bored. “Have a maid bring up a hip bath for my sister, and we’ll be looking for a substantial dinner, with wine. Also, extra bedding as I’ll be sleeping on the floor.”
The publican’s eyes brightened, sensing the man before him was of some means. “I canna bring up a mattress that we have spare if ye would like. Ye may place it before the fire to keep warm.”
“That will do very well. Thank you.”
The man bellowed out for a Masie, and a young, disheveled woman ran into the taproom, her cheeks ruddy from exhaustion, a small line of sweat across her brow.
“Take the gentleman and his sister up to our best room and then come back to me for further instruction.”
The young woman bobbed a curtsy and gestured for them to follow. “Of course, Papa.” She took in their appearance and then gestured for them to follow. “This way, if you please.”
They climbed a short flight of stairs and walked along a narrow passageway before Maisie unlocked a door and pushed it wide, showing off their best bedchamber for their guests. The room had a stoked fire set and ready for the next guests to occupy the space. The maid quickly went over to it, and using a tinder box lit the kindling.
Two chairs sat before the hearth. A large, wooden bed lay in the middle of the room and beyond that a small antechamber with a door. Evie walked over to inspect where the door led and found a water closet and small hip bath inside. Evie supposed they at least could bathe and take care of their personal needs without the other hearing and seeing anything.
A small mercy since they had to share the same chamber.
Evie waited at the end of the bed until the maid left. The moment the door closed behind the servant, she went over and pulled the bedding back, checking the sheets for lice. The bedding was clean and smelled of lemon and was thankfully free of bugs.
“You may have the bed. I’ll sleep before the fire on the mattress they’re bringing up.”
She strolled about the room, looking out the bank of windows that overlooked the main thoroughfare of the town, the bustling carriages, and people. Had her sister even traveled through here on her way to London? Did they go to London first, or did they travel north by some other means? Their journey north may be a waste of everyone’s time, especially if Lucy was already married to her Mr. Brown. Or worse, was hiding somewhere like Bath.
Movement out the corner of her eye caught her attention, and she turned to see the duke pulling his shirt up over his head, throwing it haphazardly on top of the wingback chair before the now-crackling fire. His cravat, waistcoat, and coat already discarded.
Her mouth dried at the sight of his chiseled body. Never before had she seen a man in such a near-naked state. Her fingers itched to run down the center of his chest, the slight decline that pointed toward his breeches a road she’d certainly like to travel. She bit her lip, all delicious, wicked thoughts entering her head. What would his skin taste like if her tongue was to poke out and lick it? Was the modicum of chest hair coarse? Would it tickle her face if she were to lay her head against him?
Evie turned to look out the window. Wherever did that thought come from? She shut her eyes a moment, disgusted at herself for the wayward contemplation. If he caught her ogling him, the spinster sister of his betrothed, it would not be borne. No matter how much she may wish to be of interest to him, she could not be. He was meant for another, and she would have to remember that until she saw her sister was indeed married and happy with her choice.
The realization struck her mute, and she stared out the window, wondering what she would do about the truth. Her sister had asked her to help break off the understanding, but to do so without him knowing that Lucy was in favor of this plan made her look like an evil, villainous sister.
But then, he was aware that her sister had run off with another man, so he must at least have had the thought that Lucy did not want him as he’d hoped. Not that Evie dreamed of marrying the duke herself, but she certainly wouldn’t mind a stolen kiss or two from the handsome beast. And if that kiss led to more, or they found that they suited better than he did with her sister, there was nothing wrong with that. Indeed, never before had her stomach fluttered, or her heart raced as much as it did when she was around His Grace.
The very sight of him without his shirt had made her ache in places she hadn’t known could and made her long for things she’d thought lost to her. Maybe her sister running off and breaking her betrothal was a sign, a possibility that Evie may have a chance at happiness after all.
She stole a glimpse of the duke, who was now hunting through his traveling bag, looking perhaps for a change of clothes. All of this, however, depended on whether he saw her in a romantic light, which at present, she did not think he did.
“I’m going to go wash up,” he said, striding past her as if walking about half-naked in a room with a woman who wa
s not his wife was a natural occurrence.
The rogue…
A knock sounded at the door, and Evie bade the maid enter. Two burly men brought in hot buckets of water that they placed near the entrance to the water closet, along with a hearty meal and wine that they set up on a small table before the fire.
“We’ll be back in an hour to clean away the dishes and to make up the second bed,” the maid said, bobbing a quick curtsy before leaving.
Evie sat before the fire and poured two glasses of wine, the smell of lamb and vegetables making her stomach rumble. The duke joined her, dressed appropriately once more, but still as handsome as sin.
A self-satisfied growl left his lips at the sight of the food, and she fought not to react to the sound. She was not herself with him. Never before had she reacted in such a way to a man, so why was she doing so with the duke? When in London she hadn’t crooned like a besotted debutante when dancing with him, but then in London they had not been alone, and she had been only too busy trying to remember the steps of their dance than worrying about what he thought of her. If at all.
“I’m ravenous,” he said, smiling at her as he took a sip of his wine.
Evie knew the feeling well and not always for the food that was before her. She nodded, smiling. “The stew and bread do smell delicious. Thank you for all of this, Finn. I shall repay you my fare to London when I’m able. I apologize that my father was unable to before we departed.”
“I understand your father’s predicament. This is not a mammoth expense. I think I can withstand a few days on the road with my sister,” he said, his mouth twisting into a wicked grin.
Evie chuckled at his remark against their lie to the landlord of the inn that they were related. She picked up her fork, stabbing at a potato. The stew burst a kaleidoscope of flavor onto her tongue, the meat tender and flavorsome, the vegetables cooked to perfection, and not overdone. The bread hot and spiced. The red wine complemented the lamb and left Evie’s tired muscles soothed and relaxed as if she’d soaked in a deep, hot bath.
“I’ve never traveled to Scotland before. I just hope the carriage arrives by tomorrow, so I don’t have to ride behind you again on your horse. I do not believe my body is capable of that many hours again on the back of your mount.”
He smiled. “I do apologize again, Evie. I should have asked you if you were able to ride for such a distance. I will not make that mistake again.”
She shrugged. One of the main reasons behind her discomfort was the fact that she’d had to hold on to him for so many hours. Even now, her fingers could feel the contours of his body, the heat from his skin, the smell of sandalwood, and clean, pressed linen. Now that she’d seen him without a shirt, well, that image was imprinted into her mind and didn’t help her body recover from being pressed up hard against him for hours on end.
“Please do not feel as if you have to sleep on the floor on my account. The bed is large enough for both of us, and as you know, no one knows you or I here, even if caught together.” Evie snapped her mouth shut, unsure where the scandalous thought came from. Or perhaps she did know. From years of wishing to find a husband like her friends had, who would love her as passionately and devotedly as they were. Her body, at times, physically ached with the need to have what they did. To be as happy as they were.
Even so, she and the duke could not share the same bed. The floor would have to do for him.
He shook his head, sipping his wine. “I cannot do that. You’re an unmarried maid and my betrothed’s sister. It would not be right.”
Evie thought about his response. He needed to know that his chances of marrying Lucy were nil now that her sister had run away with another man. Surely, he could see that. “Lucy is probably married by now, and even if she isn’t, surely you do not wish to marry a woman who is in love with someone else.” The duke deserved happiness, like everyone else. There was no reason why he could not take his time in courting another and then marrying them. He was only young and had plenty of time to choose a bride.
“You do not know that she’s married.”
“No,” she agreed, understanding too well that Lucy did not want to marry the duke even if there wasn’t a Mr. Brown involved in her sister’s elopement.
“Of course, I do not want to marry a woman who had thrown herself at someone else, but there are other things at play.”
“What things?” Evie asked, studying him as he sat forward, adjusting his seat.
“Many things. Money has been changed hands between your father and myself. Marriage contracts have been signed.”
All true, unfortunately, but even so, until the vows were spoken, no one was obligated to follow through on the agreement. “Lucy and Mr. Brown are a day ahead of us with travel. For all we know, they could have gone on horseback instead of a carriage, making them faster than we are in a carriage. He may have secured a special license, and they plan on marrying in London. You may be too late.”
“I may be too late, but I have to try.”
“Why?” Evie asked, curious now. He went to adjust his cravat that wasn’t there, not after the stripping of his shirt earlier. Instead, his action brought her gaze to his neck and the shirt that was only partially buttoned. He had a lovely throat. She looked down at her meal, needing to distract her view of him.
“We had an agreement. I’m a duke. Who turns down being a duchess for heaven’s sake?”
“Finn,” she said, her tone a little chiding. “I feel I should warn you that should my sister still be unmarried by the time we meet with her, she may not wish to marry you, and I shall not force her. Nor will I allow you to do so.” Especially when she knew that Lucy did not want to marry the duke at all. What a terrible mess this all was.
He stared at her a moment, his eyes narrowing. “I will not force her either, but I think I am owed an explanation and or at least an apology. I do not like scandal and strife. I’ve had enough of that to last me two lifetimes, and I will not see my name dragged down and gossiped about London as the latest on dit, all because of your sister’s actions.” He paused, wiping his mouth roughly with his napkin. “If she does not wish to marry me, I will ensure she is married, and therefore, my name cannot and will not be associated with her again.”
Evie placed down her fork and leaned back in her chair, exhaustion swamping her all of a sudden. “I fear you may have no choice in that.”
“I fear you are wrong,” he said, digging back into his meal with gusto.
Evie stood, starting toward the private water closet they had. “I’m going to pour the buckets of hot water into the hip bath and freshen up.”
“Oh, let me help you with those,” he said, standing and striding toward the buckets before she had a chance of telling him she was more than capable. Evie stood back and watched as he poured the four buckets into the tub, the muscles on his back flexing whenever he bent over and tempting her yet again.
“Thank you.” Evie stood aside as he passed.
“You’re very welcome.” He stopped beside her, and she looked up, meeting his deep-blue orbs that were heavy-lidded and made her skin prickle in awareness. “Enjoy your bath, Evie.” His voice was deep and husky.
Evie forced her legs to move toward the room, but stopped at the threshold, throwing him a glance over her shoulder. “I shall…Finn.”
Chapter 7
Finn was in hell. Literally. The sound of the hip bath water splashing in the adjacent room, the moans and sighs from Evie whenever she relaxed in the small tub was torture. His mind filled with images of her naked, sweet form, of her breasts turning into a rosy-pink hue from the warm water. Her skin supple and fragrant from the soap.
She would taste delicious, and he wanted to kiss every part of her. Fill himself with her flavor and gorge himself until he could not sustain any more.
He leaned forward on his chair, clasping his head in his hands. He was betrothed, damn it. He was supposed to marry Evie’s sister.
The thought gave him pause. He was r
unning out of time to court and marry anyone else from his home county. Not that he had many to choose from. Lucy Milton was the only one who suited his needs and his father’s decree in his will. Young to bear children and born from a gentleman’s family.
The elder Miss Milton could substitute for her younger sister, he supposed, but she was much older. Less likely to give him sons. She was a spinster well on her way to sitting with the matrons of the ton each Season, watching over their young charges instead of being a new wife.
He sighed, hating the thought of Evie being shelved in such a way. She may not be suitable for him, a duke who needed healthy sons and soon, but she would be suitable for a rich gentleman, or even a lord.
In truth, he needed to think about what he would do should Lucy be married. Why she agreed to marry him in the first place if she was in love with someone else was beyond him, but that didn’t matter now. If he could convince Miss Lucy to relent on her current course, return to Wiltshire and marry him instead, all would be well. Before his sixty days were up and he was left penniless. Not that the idea of marrying the chit filled him with any sense of expectation now. She’d made her choice, as absurd as it was, and she should live with it. No, he would ensure she was married so he could ask another to be his bride, return home and find one posthaste.
The door to the water closet opened, and Evie moved into the room. With each footstep, her shift swayed against her legs and gave him a delightful view of her ankles. She had donned a long dressing gown, giving her discretion, and yet, still, his blood heated at the sight of her.
Her hair was no longer pinned up but lay against her shoulders in dark, loose curls. Her lips pinkened from the bath, and her skin was glowing. He tore his gaze to the fire. He didn’t need to look at her any more than he obliged to. She was too tempting, too sweet and innocent for him to be having such thoughts about her. Of what he’d like to do with her.
