Page 5 of Nobody’s Angel (World of de Wolfe Pack #5)

His stomach growled again.

This time it was his hunger for Lettie that stirred his craving.

He watched with ravenous interest as she arched her shoulders and removed her gray woolen cloak to reveal the gentle curves of her body hidden beneath a forest green gown.

Her gloves and the small feather in her hat were the same forest green.

But he wasn’t looking at her gloves or hat.

He was looking at her body and the graceful way it moved beneath that woolen gown.

She was the only thing he wanted.

And the one thing he could never have.

He shook off the discouraging thought. This was precisely why he had to leave England, to get as far away from Lettie as possible.

He shrugged out of his wet cloak and then set his cloak and hers on hooks beside the hearth to dry.

Mr. Fenwick had stoked the fire to a roar so that the room was now warm and the dampness gone from it.

Lettie came up beside him and held her small hands close to the fire to ease their chill.

She’d removed her hat and gloves and left them on a nearby chair.

The top of her head barely came up to his shoulder.

She was so slight and slender, and yet he felt himself yielding to her. Unbidden, his body leaned toward hers so that her shoulder almost grazed his arm. He caught the scent of lavender soap on her skin, light and fragrant, not at all overpowering.

But then she didn’t need to use force or fists or feminine wiles to conquer him. She had defeated him long ago with no weapon other than her gentle smile. He glanced at her and saw that her lips were pursed again. “What’s on your mind, Lettie?”

She stared into the fire’s glow, the reds and golds of her neatly bound hair shining as they captured the fiery light. “I saw a bloody battle. What do you think it means?”

He shrugged. “Nothing.”

“It must mean something. A terrible fight took place.”

“Very well, it’s a premonition of me kicking Jeremiah’s ass.

” He didn’t believe in angels, but Lettie certainly believed in them.

He also knew she wasn’t daft, although he’d teased her about it earlier.

Perhaps she did have the sight . That seemed to be the most logical explanation, if visions and conversations with unearthly beings could ever be considered logical.

“Don’t tease me. I saw men sprawled across a blood-slicked field. Some dead and some wounded. I know it is somehow connected to you.” She edged closer and looked up at him, her expression revealing everything that was in her heart.

He felt his resolution waning. One caress. One kiss. No one would be harmed. “Lettie, I–”

Mr. Fenwick and Meg, the serving maid, marched in with platters of stew, hot bread, mulled wine for him, and coffee for his wife .

“Will ye be needin’ anything else, my lord?”

“No, Mr. Fenwick.” He hadn’t bothered to correct the man about his proper title either. They would receive better service as long as the man thought he was someone of importance. “You’ve taken quite good care of us.”

Brynne escorted Lettie to her chair and took the one opposite hers, relieved that the width of the small table now separated them.

The innkeeper and Meg finished setting out their plates and pouring Lettie’s coffee. “Then I’ll leave ye to yer privacy.”

They were about to shut the door behind them when Brynne called after them. “Keep the door open.”

The pair appeared surprised. “As ye wish,” Mr. Fenwick said with a shrug and shook his head, his thoughts obvious. No man in his right mind would give up a chance for privacy with a young woman as beautiful as Lettie.

“You could have let him shut it,” Lettie said, frowning at Brynne when they were once more alone.

He eased back in his chair that felt too small to accommodate his big body. “No, I couldn’t.”

She rolled her eyes. “I wasn’t going to ravish you the moment the door closed behind us. I’ve been brought up as a lady, you know.”

“I know.” He took a bite of his stew and found it quite delicious. He took another, but he wasn’t looking at his plate. His gaze, assessing as a hawk’s, was trained on Lettie.

“You do?” She opened her sweet lips and took a bite of stew.

“It isn’t you I’m worried about.”

Lettie coughed, swallowed hard, and swallowed again. Her eyes grew wide and she grabbed Brynne’s cup of mulled wine and gulped it down. Mercy! He was referring to himself, afraid of what he might do if left alone with her!

So, Brynne had a heart after all.

And he was afraid of losing it to her!

She considered leaping out of her chair and twirling about their cozy, private dining room while she bellowed a victory chant. But she was a lady, after all, and it wouldn’t be seemly for her to put on such a display.

Nonetheless, she felt a warm, conquering pride steal into her heart. In truth, she felt warm all over because she’d drained that cup of wine much too fast and she’d never done anything like that before. “We were together for hours in the carriage. You didn’t appear concerned then.”

His dark eyes gleamed as hot as embers. “It was different.”

She tried not to melt under the smoldering heat of his gaze. “How?”

“No one was referring to you as my wife.”

“I see.” She heard the ache in his voice, the same helpless ache she’d felt for years. “It sounded nice, didn’t it? As though we were destined to be together.” She wanted to reach out and take his hand, but knew by the tense shift of his body that his control was about to snap.

She wanted the stubborn man to lose control, but not here and not now. He’d never forgive himself if he kissed her here.

He’d be too angry and disgusted with himself by the time they reached Wrexham. She knew him well enough to understand what would happen then. He’d drop her at Aunt Frances’ door and ride off without ever looking back.

So, as eager as she was to be in his arms, to feel the heat of his lips on hers, she backed away.

Indeed, she physically pulled away, scraping the floor with the chair legs in her haste to rise. “Jeremiah says they make an excellent plum pudding here. I’ll catch Meg’s eye and ask her to bring us some.”

She had taken no more than a step before Meg herself rushed in carrying the very dessert she had just commented on.

“I set aside some of this pudding for you before the wolves in the common room devoured it all. Mrs. Fenwick made it for the inn’s better guests.

” She turned toward a cluster of noisy men seated on benches beside several large kegs of ale, and frowned when one of them burst into loud song. “Drunken louts.”

“Is Mrs. Fenwick the cook here? She’s very good,” Lettie said. “The stew was heavenly. Both of us thought so.”

As she engaged the maid in idle talk, Brynne rose from his seat and now stood by the window with his arms crossed over his chest while he glanced out of the fogged panes. “Has the rain stopped?” she asked.

He didn’t immediately answer.

She continued to look at him, awaiting a response, and took the opportunity to study him while he stared out the window.

For the first time, she noticed that his clothes were well made, but surprisingly simple.

Brynne never wore bright colors or added frills to his collar and sleeves.

His jacket was a dark, coal gray and his trousers were a lighter gray.

His cravat was a dark forest green, almost the same color as her gown.

They unwittingly matched in their grays and greens. Had he noticed? She knew that it would rankle him. “Shall we be on our way as soon as we finish this divine pudding?”

She much preferred to be trapped here for a night of scandalous ecstasy, their clothes tossed aside in a gray and green heap while they behaved quite wickedly. But Brynne had walled off his heart once again and there would be no scandal and no ecstasy for either of them this evening.

Too bad. She was curious to find out precisely what that word– ecstasy– meant.

It sounded special, the sort of thing that she could share with Brynne alone and no other man.

Certainly not that toad of a marquis, Cuthbert Rampling, who’d tried to explain it to her last Christmas.

He’d been in his cups at the Beresford Christmas gathering and trapped her in the butler’s pantry.

She’d had to crack a tureen over his head to escape his unwanted advances.

Brynne uncrossed his arms and strode toward her. “It’s stopped. Yes, finish your pudding, Lettie, and let’s go. We only have three hours of daylight left.”

And then he’d be gone from her life forever.

Jeremiah! Do something!