Page 13 of Road Trip With a Rogue (Her Majesty’s Rebels #3)

The Fates were vindictive little bitches, Daisy thought furiously as Vaughan reemerged from the White Horse at Doncaster. This was the fourth establishment they’d tried, and there wasn’t a bed to be had in the whole town.

According to a previous innkeeper, they’d arrived during the annual horse fair, which also coincided with a much-anticipated local boxing match, and every hostelry for miles around was packed to the rafters.

“No room at the inn?” Daisy had growled when Vaughan told her the news. “That’s a bit biblical, isn’t it?”

His lips curved. “Should I have asked if there was room in the stables? I’m sure you have fond memories of rolling around in the hay with your farm boy, but I for one refuse to sleep on a bed of straw.”

Daisy clenched her teeth at his needling, wishing she hadn’t told him quite so much about Tom. He’d probably tease her mercilessly forevermore.

Although, now she thought about it, she realized she and Tom had never actually made love in a bed. Their brief, stolen trysts had all taken place in either the hay barn, the woods, or out under the stars.

In truth, her amorous experience was nowhere near as wide as she’d suggested to Vaughan.

She and Tom had only had full congress a handful of times.

She’d refused to court pregnancy, and expecting him to withdraw from her body before he finished was a risky business.

She’d trusted that he would try, of course, but since he seemed to forget everything, even his own name, when approaching his crisis, it had seemed like an unrealistic expectation.

They’d tried using a sheath, but Tom had hated the feel of it, so most of the time they’d simply found satisfaction with hands and mouths.

“We’ve got a room.”

Vaughan’s gruff tones made her jump. He stood at the open carriage door, and Daisy hid her dismay.

“Not two?”

“I only got this one because I offered the man who’d booked it three times the original cost to give it up.” He rapped the side panel of the carriage impatiently, then held out both of his arms. “Put your coat and hat back on. I’m going to carry you inside.”

“What? No! Why?”

“I’ve told them you’re my nephew. You sprained your ankle when we pushed the carriage out of the mud.”

“Why would you say that?” she said, aghast at the thought of being in his arms. “Why couldn’t I have just walked in there and kept my head down? Or I could put my arm over your shoulder and hobble in.”

Not that the thought of putting her arm around his neck, with his arm slung around her waist, was much better.

He rolled his eyes as if she were a simpleton. “You’ll be in the public areas even longer if you hop along, and everyone would see how ridiculously small you are. They might get suspicious. If I carry you, it’ll be much quicker.”

Daisy slapped her hat on her head and turned up the collar of her coat. “Fine.”

She stood on the top step and put her arms out to catch his shoulders, but he simply swept her off her feet and started marching toward the front door of the inn before she could do more than utter a faint gasp.

Her cheeks burned in mortification. One of his arms was tucked under her knees, the other tight across her back, and her entire left side was pressed against his chest. Her cheek bounced against his lapel and her left arm was squashed uncomfortably against his stomach.

She could feel the rock-hard muscles of his abdomen flexing beneath his clothes as he strode effortlessly into the brightly lit hallway.

“This way, milord,” the harried innkeeper said. “Up the stairs and first right. I’ll send Jenny up with a poultice for the poor lad’s ankle.”

Vaughan gave a curt ducal nod, and Daisy refused to be impressed by the effortless way he ascended the stairs as if she weighed no more than a feather. The fingers of his right hand were beneath her armpit, outrageously close to the swell of her breast.

She pressed her nose to the soft wool of his jacket and allowed herself one small, illicit sniff. God, his scent made her toes curl. Perhaps she could steal something of his before they parted ways? As a memento.

He deposited her on her feet with unflattering haste as soon as the door closed behind them, and she looked around the room with a critical eye. It was small, but a fire burned cheerfully in the grate and she rushed forward and spread her hands to the flames, glad of the heat.

Vaughan removed his overcoat and jacket and hung them on the hook on the back of the door, then held his hand out for hers.

“Give me your coat and hat. I’ve arranged for a meal to be sent up, as well as a bath. With so many guests I doubt it will be more than a hip bath, but better than nothing. We’re both caked in mud.”

Daisy’s heart stuttered. “Bath?”

His eyes glittered with devilry. “Yes. You know. Hot water. Soap. General cleanliness. I’m sure you’re familiar with the concept.”

“I’m not bathing with you in the room.”

He loosened his cravat, and her pulse pounded with alarm. He seemed annoyingly relaxed. “Suit yourself.”

She pressed her lips together, but a knock on the door stalled her protest. She went to look out the window, turning her back to the door while Vaughan accepted the promised poultice for her ankle.

“Dinner will be coming right up, Your Grace,” the maid said, sounding breathless and a little flustered at the sight of Vaughan, a real, live duke. Daisy rolled her eyes.

When the girl had gone, she turned and studied the rest of the room. A small table and two chairs had been placed by the fire, and there was a washstand with a porcelain jug and bowl on one wall, next to a tall dressing mirror.

But it was the bed that captured her attention.

An ancient four-poster, its carved oak columns hung with a heavy floral brocade.

At least it looked big enough for two people to share with relative ease, although her heart still gave a dangerous little thump.

She would avoid that particular ordeal if she could.

“I don’t suppose you’re going to do the decent thing and offer to sleep on the floor?” she asked dolefully.

“You’re right.” Vaughan sounded entirely too cheerful. “I’m not. I slept on the ground plenty of times during the war, and I swore I’d never do it again. You can try it, if you like. Or take the chair, although neither will be particularly comfortable.”

She ground her teeth. Fine. He’d left her with no other option.

She was just going to have to drug him.