Juliet’s virtual prisoner, for most of the afternoon. After careful reflection on her revelations, he renewed his decision to distance himself from her. It should have been an easy enough task, even in close quarters. Their conversation touched on many topics but never returned to the personal. Fortunately, every three hours, horse changes at posting inns gave him a respite from her company.
Between these stops, however, he discovered Lady Juliet Ferrers proved adept at playing cards, esteemed herself a good watercolorist, but denied the ability to garden. When they halted for refreshments, she took her tea with plenty of sugar and milk but refused sweet cake. Her eyes were wide and warm, the golden brown color of autumn leaves, with long, thick, silky lashes.
That he had spent the better part of the past hour of their journey trying to pinpoint the exact shade appalled him. The implication made his stomach sink. His willpower to hold her at arm’s length had waned with the day.
By the time the carriage swept into the final inn of the day, a sprawling white stone building rising two stories, the sun had just begun to lower in a sky wreathed by gray thunderclouds. The spotty rain had turned the coach yard to a slimy muck.
“Oh, how wretched the ground looks, Amiable.” Juliet wrinkled her petite nose and frowned. “My pattens are in my luggage, I fear.”
With a laugh at her woebegone face, he swung out of the carriage and sank almost to his ankles in the mire. Damn. Nothing to laugh about here. It would be a tricky business to get the women into the inn without mishap. The single possible way would be to carry them. He motioned for Juliet.
She scrambled toward the open door.
Without warning, he swooped her into his arms, surprising a shriek out of her.
She grasped his neck.
“Glynis, stay in the carriage. I’ll come back for you.” He slipped and slithered through the mud, maneuvering as best he could with Juliet attached to him like a limpet. Her heartbeat hammered against his chest and his own pounded even louder because of her proximity. Spending most of the day in her company had softened him. Now, holding her close, breathing her subtle flowery fragrance, her soft body nestled close to him, his protective instincts warred with his unmistakable lust. He tightened his arms around her and she sent him a tentative smile then laid her head back on his shoulder. He concentrated on his footing.
At last, they arrived at the inn’s doorway. She slid down his front onto her feet, sending sudden heat coursing through him. Did she do that on purpose? Minx.
She clung to him for just a moment, her body pressed against his.
Sublime torture. “Stay right here, my dear, while I rescue yet another damsel in distress.” He slogged back toward the carriage and breathed easier.
Once there, he attempted to put his arms around the maid, but she proved more skittish than Juliet. When he finally coaxed her out of the carriage, Glynis lay straight and stiff in his arms. She kept her arms crossed over her chest so he had a much less secure grip, carrying her as he would a platter overburdened with a roast pig.
About midway to the inn door, a coach and six thundered into the yard, horses snorting, their hooves splashing mud.
The conveyance was nowhere near them, but Glynis let out a yelp of fright and tried to rise straight out of his arms.
He wobbled, tried to find his balance as she twisted in his arms. His feet skidded in the treacherous mud. Damnation. If he could compensate a little more.
Glynis threw her arms around his neck.
Too little too late. The next thing he knew, he lay flat on his back, Glynis sprawled on top of him, both of them plastered with mud. The maid had, of course, fared better, having used her rescuer as a cushion against both the fall and most of the sticky muck. Her clothes might be salvageable.
“Damn it to hell.” He wanted to curse the maid, horses, rain, mud, everything he could think of
Between these stops, however, he discovered Lady Juliet Ferrers proved adept at playing cards, esteemed herself a good watercolorist, but denied the ability to garden. When they halted for refreshments, she took her tea with plenty of sugar and milk but refused sweet cake. Her eyes were wide and warm, the golden brown color of autumn leaves, with long, thick, silky lashes.
That he had spent the better part of the past hour of their journey trying to pinpoint the exact shade appalled him. The implication made his stomach sink. His willpower to hold her at arm’s length had waned with the day.
By the time the carriage swept into the final inn of the day, a sprawling white stone building rising two stories, the sun had just begun to lower in a sky wreathed by gray thunderclouds. The spotty rain had turned the coach yard to a slimy muck.
“Oh, how wretched the ground looks, Amiable.” Juliet wrinkled her petite nose and frowned. “My pattens are in my luggage, I fear.”
With a laugh at her woebegone face, he swung out of the carriage and sank almost to his ankles in the mire. Damn. Nothing to laugh about here. It would be a tricky business to get the women into the inn without mishap. The single possible way would be to carry them. He motioned for Juliet.
She scrambled toward the open door.
Without warning, he swooped her into his arms, surprising a shriek out of her.
She grasped his neck.
“Glynis, stay in the carriage. I’ll come back for you.” He slipped and slithered through the mud, maneuvering as best he could with Juliet attached to him like a limpet. Her heartbeat hammered against his chest and his own pounded even louder because of her proximity. Spending most of the day in her company had softened him. Now, holding her close, breathing her subtle flowery fragrance, her soft body nestled close to him, his protective instincts warred with his unmistakable lust. He tightened his arms around her and she sent him a tentative smile then laid her head back on his shoulder. He concentrated on his footing.
At last, they arrived at the inn’s doorway. She slid down his front onto her feet, sending sudden heat coursing through him. Did she do that on purpose? Minx.
She clung to him for just a moment, her body pressed against his.
Sublime torture. “Stay right here, my dear, while I rescue yet another damsel in distress.” He slogged back toward the carriage and breathed easier.
Once there, he attempted to put his arms around the maid, but she proved more skittish than Juliet. When he finally coaxed her out of the carriage, Glynis lay straight and stiff in his arms. She kept her arms crossed over her chest so he had a much less secure grip, carrying her as he would a platter overburdened with a roast pig.
About midway to the inn door, a coach and six thundered into the yard, horses snorting, their hooves splashing mud.
The conveyance was nowhere near them, but Glynis let out a yelp of fright and tried to rise straight out of his arms.
He wobbled, tried to find his balance as she twisted in his arms. His feet skidded in the treacherous mud. Damnation. If he could compensate a little more.
Glynis threw her arms around his neck.
Too little too late. The next thing he knew, he lay flat on his back, Glynis sprawled on top of him, both of them plastered with mud. The maid had, of course, fared better, having used her rescuer as a cushion against both the fall and most of the sticky muck. Her clothes might be salvageable.
“Damn it to hell.” He wanted to curse the maid, horses, rain, mud, everything he could think of
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