Good God, what was wrong with the woman? She’d been ready enough to do more than just touch that milksop Harold. Surely her husband deserved some warmth after offering assistance. With damned little encouragement too, he might add.
The mare curvetted under the double weight, but Kinvarra settled her with a word. He never had trouble with horses. It was his wife he couldn’t control.
“What about my belongings?” she asked, calm as you please. The lady should demonstrate proper shame at being caught with a lover. But, of course, that wasn’t Alicia. She held her head high whatever destiny threw at her.
It was one of the things he loved about her.
He quashed the unwelcome insight. “There’s an inn a few miles ahead. I’ll get them to send someone for any baggage.”
He clicked his tongue to the horse and cantered in the opposite direction to the one Harold had taken. Which was lucky for the weasel. If Kinvarra caught up with Harold now, he’d be inclined to drag out his horsewhip. What right had he to interfere with other men’s wives then scuttle away to leave them stranded?
Alicia settled herself more comfortably, pressing her lovely, lush body into his back. She hadn’t been as close to him in years. He was scoundrel enough to enjoy the contact, however reluctantly she granted it.
Maybe after all, he should be grateful to old Harold. He might even send the bastard a case of port and a thank you note.
Well, that might be going too far.
“Is that where we’re going?” She tightened her arms. He wished it was because she wanted to touch him and not just because she sought a firmer seat. He also wished that when she said “we”, his belly didn’t cramp with longing for the word to be true.
Damn Alicia. She’d always held magic for him and she always would. Ten long years without her had taught him that grim lesson.
The reminder of the dance she’d led him made him respond in a clipped tone. “No, we’re headed for Heseltine Hall near Whitby.”
“But you can leave me at the inn, can’t you?”
“It’s a poor place. I couldn’t abandon a woman there without protection.” He tried, he really did, to keep the satisfaction from his voice, but he must have failed. He felt her tense against his back, although she couldn’t pull too far away without risking a fall.
“But who’s going to protect me from you?” she muttered, almost as if to herself.
“I mean you no harm.” In all their difficult interactions, he’d never wished her anything but well. “You didn’t come all the way from London in that spindly carriage, did you?”
“It’s inappropriate to discuss the details of my arrangement with Lord Harold,” she said coldly.
He laughed again. “Humour me.”
She sighed. “We travelled up separately to York.” Her voice softened into sincerity and he tried not to respond to the husky sweetness. “I truly didn’t set out to cause a scandal. You and I parted in rancour, but I have no wish to do you or your pride damage.”
“Whatever your discretion, you still meant to give yourself to that puppy,” Kinvarra said, all amusement suddenly fled.
Alicia didn’t answer.
The weather had worsened by the time they reached the inn. Alicia realized as they came up to the building that it was indeed the rough place Kinvarra had described. But just the promise of shelter and a chance to rest her tired, sore body was welcome. Surely Kinvarra couldn’t intend to ride on to his mysterious manor tonight when snow fell thicker with every minute and their horse was blowing with exhaustion.
The earl dismounted and lifted her from the saddle. The flickering torches that lit the inn yard revealed that he looked tired and strangely, for a man who always seemed so indomitable, unhappy.
As he set her upon the ground, his hands didn’t linger at her waist. She tried not to note that she’d touched Kinvarra more in the last few hours than she had in the entire preceding ten years.
“Let’s get you into the warmth.” He gestured for her to precede him inside as a groom rushed to take their horse.
Alicia had expected him to spend the journey haranguing her on her wantonness — or at the very least her stupidity for setting out for the wilds of Yorkshire so ill prepared for disaster. But he’d remained quiet.
How she wished he had berated her. She’d spent ten years convinced she’d been right to leave him. A moment’s kindness shouldn’t change that.
But when his back offered her a warm anchor and his adept hands unerringly guided their horse to safety, her resentment proved fiendishly difficult to cling to. And when she wasn’t constantly sniping at him, it was harder to ignore his physical presence. He’d been a handsome boy. He was a splendid man, with his clean, male scent — horses, leather, soap, fresh air — and the lean strength of his body. The muscles under her hands were hard, even through his thick clothing.
She’d forgotten how powerfully he affected her. And the pity of it was that it would take her too long to forget again. He made every other man she’d met pale into insignificance.
It was vilely irritating.
The landlord greeted them at the door, clearly overwhelmed to have the quality staying. The tap room was crowded to the rafters with people bundled up for an uncomfortable night on chairs and benches. A few hardy souls hunched near the fire drinking and smoking. Alicia drew her hood around her face before she moved closer to the blaze. The sudden warmth penetrated her frozen extremities with painful force. Even holding tight to the radiating heat of Kinvarra’s big, strong body, the ride had been frozen purgatory.
For all that she remained standing, she’d drifted into a half-doze when she became aware of Kinvarra at her side. He spoke in a low voice to save them from eavesdroppers. “My Lady, there’s a difficulty.”
Blinking, trying to return to alertness, she slowly turned to face him. “I’m happy to accept any accommodation. Surely you don’t intend to go on tonight.”
He shook his head. He’d taken off his hat and light sheened across his thick dark hair. “The weather will get worse before it gets better. And my horse needs the stable. There isn’t another village for miles.”
“Then of course we’ll stay.”
“There’s only one room.”
She drew away in dismay. “Surely … surely you could sleep in the tap room.”
She felt like the world’s most ungrateful creature the moment she made the suggestion. Her husband had rescued her in extremely good spirit, given the compromising circumstances. He was as tired and cold and hungry as she. It wasn’t fair to consign him to a hard floor and the company of a parcel of rustics, not to mention the vermin that flourished on their persons.
His lips twisted in a wry smile. “As you can see, there’s no space in the tap room. Even if there was, I won’t leave you on your own with the place full of God knows what ruffians.”
Aghast, she looked at him fully. She’d suspect him of some design, if she didn’t know he too must recall the wretchedness of their lives together. He must be as eager as she for this unexpected meeting to end so they could both return to their separate lives. “But we can’t share a room.”
His eyes glinted with sardonic amusement. “I don’t see why not. You’re my wife. It’s too late to play Miss Propriety. After all, you were about to hop into bed with Herbert.”
“Harold,” she said automatically, a blush rising in her cheeks.
“I hope to hell he hasn’t sampled your favours already or I’ll think even less of his stalwart behaviour.”
“We hadn’t … we hadn’t …” She stopped and glared at him. “That is none of your concern, My Lord.”
She didn’t imagine the sudden smugness in Kinvarra’s expression. Curse her for admitting that she was still to all intents faithful to him.