Page 27

Scowling, he slunk deeper into the cushions. In fairness to himself, all she needed to do was give him her real name.

Gloriana Masters Bolton.

Damn it. Much as it galled him, he couldn’t pin the blame on her. She’d told him repeatedly to leave her alone. Stubborn, arrogant ass that he was, he hadn’t listened. Not until it was far too late—for him at any rate.

How had she got so far under his skin in the span of a few days?

She hadn’ t. The girl he knew had. The girl she once was. The one that got away, who he never forgot, whose mischievous smile ruined him for all others.

Except…why did looking at her turn his blood to fire? Why did the thought of kissing her consume him, and the actual press of his mouth to hers destroy him? He’d never experienced anything like it in his life.

The woman owned him from the moment he opened his eyes and saw her hovering above him lakeside. Thank God she didn’t know as she could clearly care less.

Except…when the latest Harrison-debacle happened, she’d come running. Why? She nearly had him convinced she gave a damn.

Then she’d kissed him. God, if he hadn’t pulled away to make one last ditch effort to win her trust, what might have happened?

They would have made love, that’s what.

God help him, everything in him wished he could go back and restrain his instinct to do the right thing. What did that say about him? Nothing good. Exactly like the caustic words he’d hurled upon learning of her marital status said nothing good.

Not that he could repair the damage he’d done. She was married. To Baron-bloody-Bolton.

Damn her eyes for misleading him. She’d stated unequivocally she was widowed.

But then, she’d thought Bolton was dead, and, oh yes, he mustn’t forget her heart felt Thank God when she learned he wasn’t. Two small words that cut deep.

She loved the man. He couldn’t wrap his mind around it.

He took another dram of whisky.

He needed to get the infernal woman out of his head, and focus on getting home to his grandfather—which would prove a much easier feat if his mind would stop playing tricks. He could still smell her tantalizing scent. Cedar and tuberose and an elegant intangible something he couldn’t name.

He slammed a halt on his cogitations about Anna and turned his thoughts to the earl’s unknown malady. After all, that was why he careened down this isolated road into a brewing storm in the middle of the night.

According to Harrison, the messenger Zeke sent hadn’t conveyed any specifics about the earl’s decline in health. The runner relayed only that the earl’s condition was serious, and that Caden should return home immediately.

He drank more whiskey. At least Harrison’s coach was comfortable, and his horses fresh. He should reach Derbyshire by daybreak—unless the weather worsened. By the sound of this wind, that was a distinct possibility.

***

A sound akin to a woman’s sharp cry dragged Caden from a fitful sleep.

He sat bolt upright and peeled open gritty eyes. He could see nothing in the jostling, dark carriage. He rubbed at his neck, stiff from the awkward posture he’d assumed in slumber. What had awoken him?

Outside, the wind howled in violent fury. That answered that.

He pushed the curtain aside to peer, bleary-eyed, through the rain-spattered pane. The moon had managed to sneak from behind the clouds, enough so he could make out sheeting rain and downed branches.

A monumental gust of wind slammed into the carriage, causing it to lurch up onto one side. In less than a blink, the wheels slammed back down. Caden heard an alarming crack, but the carriage barreled on. Enough .

He thumped the trap door above his head. It opened a sliver, and rain sluiced inside.

“Aye, sir?”

“We haven’t passed an inn?”

“The lord and lady ordered me t’ make haste and t’ stop for naught.”

“What utter nonsense. Stop at the very next inn you see. We’ll wait out the storm and recommence our journey come morning.”

“Aye, sir,” he said, his relief evident.

A quarter of an hour later, Caden felt the carriage slow and turn off of the main road.

Several flashes of lightning revealed a two-story inn, and what looked to be a working stable and barn. The windows of the establishment glowed, offering a cheerful welcome and respite from the inclement weather.

He could well imagine sitting before a hardy fire eating a hot meal, washed down with a frothy ale. His stomach growled in anticipation.

The driver halted his team beneath a hanging sign announcing the establishment The Jolly Pumpkin.

After directing the groomsman to the stables, Caden vaulted to the graveled courtyard, eschewing the carriage stoop for expediency sake.

He would gather whatever luggage he needed for himself later should there be a vacancy.

If not, he’d bunk down with the horses. Whatever the case, they were through traveling for the night.

A round faced, rosy cheeked proprietress greeted him just inside the door. She wore a beaming smile missing only one or two teeth, and barely blinked at the lump over his right eye.In swift order, he procured a room, pocketed his key, and headed back out .

He stood on the porch a moment, filling his lungs with the cool, damp night air, then hiked up the collar of his great coat and crossed the courtyard toward the stables.

He took his time, allowing the icy rain to revive his senses and dispel some of the effects of the whiskey.

The liquor might have dulled the pain from his latest injury and slowed his obsessive thoughts about a particular woman, but neither result lifted his mood in the slightest. He gave a self-derisive snort.

Apparently he preferred to suffer with a clear head.

Inside the stable, a lone lamp burned. He quickly discovered the stowed coach.

The groom was nowhere in sight. From the loft area, muted voices and a slit of light beneath a closed door, likely the stable master’s private room, told him Harrison’s diver had found a billet for the night.

Now to see to his own needs.

He opened the coach door, hoisted himself up and leaned inside—then froze for a full second while his brain caught up with what his eyes were seeing.

The luggage compartment stood open, and Anna, wearing the same gown from earlier, hovered over the bench, one leg in, one leg out of said compartment.

He dove the rest of the way into the carriage, yanking the door closed behind him. Darkness enfolded them. Cursing under his breath, he pulled a box of sulfur tipped matches out from beneath the bench and relit one oil lamp.

As though turned to stone, Anna stood frozen, skirts fisted in her hands. She stared at him, skin ghostly pale, eyes wide as saucers.

“I can see you. You might as well complete your exodus from the luggage well. And while you’re at it, would you mind telling me what the devil you’re doing here?”

** *

Anna teetered, one leg in the hold, one knee pressed onto the bench cushion.

“Oh, um, hello.” She started to hoist up her skirts to pull her other leg over the trunks and through the opening, then paused, her cheeks flushing with heat. “Would you mind averting your gaze?”

After first rolling his eyes in an unnecessarily dramatic fashion, he complied, gesticulating with his hand for her to get on with the thing.

She did, sparing a moment to close the cupboard behind her, before perching atop the bench opposite Caden. She cleared her throat.

He turned to face her, fixing her with a stony stare.

She licked her lips. “I didn’t know it was your coach I got into.”

He arched a brow. “No, indeed? Whose did you think it was? This is your usual means of transportation?”

She tamped down her irritation deciding she owed him a degree of patience. After all, she had stowed away in his vehicle.

“I didn’t ask whose vehicle it was. Lady…er…rather, the advice given me suggested climbing aboard your conveyance was the most expeditious—perhaps only option available to me.”

He tapped his lips with one finger, brows furrowed.

She blinked rapidly. “I had no reason to think I might be riding with you. Not until I heard you speak to the driver, at any rate. You certainly shared no plans to leave tonight when last we spoke.”

“When last we spoke,” he said, his tone deceptively neutral. “No, don’t s’pose I did.”

She lowered her eyes and plucked at her skirts. “Is it because of what happened between us you left?’

His derisive snort drew her gaze back to him. She thought she detected a ruddy stain on his cheeks, although in the yellow light of the lamp she couldn’t be certain.

“As it happens a family emergency called me away. I’m heading for Derby. I hadn’t intended to stop tonight, but the weather had other plans. And here I am answering your questions, while you feed me your usual vagaries. What is going on, Anna? The truth for once.”

She did owe him the truth. But did it have to be now? Bedraggled, muscles cramped from hours crammed into the pitch-black hold, rattling along with the trunks, half afraid the coach would overturn in the maelstrom, starved, and to make matters worse, in need of the facilities.

She studied his hard expression and knew better than to suggest a delay.

She opened her mouth, but before she could utter the first syllable, Caden bounded across the narrow divide and mashed his large, warm palm over her mouth. He smelled good. Like the soap he favored and warm male skin.

She glared at him and resisted the urge to bite.

Then she heard masculine voices. The scrape of a cabinet opening and closing. Clinking glass.

She nodded her understanding, and Caden withdrew his hand, albeit with evident reluctance.

After a moment the voices receded in time with the thump of heavy footfalls climbing stairs.

To her surprise, rather than renew his demand for answers, Caden gave her a resigned look. “This is not the best venue to hold a private conversation.”

“What do you propose?”

He smiled sardonically. “Let us get you a room…sister. ”