Page 9 of Willow (Out on a Limb #4)

In Which a Country Inn Offers Respite to our Weary Travellers

Since neither Harry nor Willow had much in the way of appetite, the carriage was able to make good time to their destination, arriving just before the gloom of winter darkness fell.

The Blue Fox offered a few tables, several rooms, and—to Harry’s surprise—an excellent beverage. Chillendale ale had been his favoured tipple for quite some time, but it was often hard to come by.

“I hope this’ll do you and yer husband, Ma’am,” said the wife of the innkeeper, who introduced herself as Mrs Marsh. “We don’t get a lot of London visitors, o’ course. They take the other roads. But we’ll do our best to get yer comfortable. And get yer man off his feet.” She looked at Harry as he spoke with the driver just outside the inn.

“Had a tumble, did he? Limpin’ like that…”

“Yes,” answered Willow with a smile, throwing Harry to the wolves. “He fell off his horse a couple of weeks ago.”

And he would be utterly furious at the thought.

“Men,” sighed the other woman.

“Indeed,” agreed Willow.

The room to which she was shown was surprisingly well-appointed, with a couple of chairs, hooks for their clothing and a large ewer and pitcher. There were candles, barely used, and the linens were soft, clean, and smelled of lavender. In addition, there was a good fire already burning to keep the room warm overnight.

“This will be wonderful, thank you, Mrs Marsh.”

“I hope yer’ll be comfy, Ma’am. Yer let me know if yer need anything at all.”

“We will. Thank you.”

Harry arrived at the door with the bags. “This looks very nice,” he approved, winning himself a broad smile from Mrs Marsh.

“I reckon you’ll sleep well enough. But yer best come down soon. Stew’s almost ready and I can smell the bread bakin’.”

Willow sniffed. “Oh, so can I. We will be there in short order, Ma’am.”

Grinning at them both, the woman left, closing the door behind her.

“Well then.” Harry looked at the bed. “I would say that is probably quite comfortable.”

Willow cleared her throat. “Indeed.”

“Where shall I put our bags? Do you need to unpack…um…things?”

“Things?”

“Yes, you know…” he waved his hands, “female things.”

She sighed. “Harry. There is so much wrong with that statement, I scarcely know where to begin correcting you.”

He grinned, put the bags down on the bed, then sat in one of the chairs and crossed his legs. “Well, by all means, go ahead.”

“All right.” She opened her bag. “In the first place, I have stopped being a girl. I actually stopped being a girl when I discovered that I had no taste for fripperies and preferred learning to giggling.”

“Good thing you’re a Trease,” he nodded. “Some families would have gasped at your temerity. But Lady Hazel and Lord Hawthorn were always open to education, reading, and all manner of ways to broaden one’s knowledge, be you male or female.” He laughed. “I remember losing a very fierce argument with Holly over something scientific. Can’t recall what it was about now, but she certainly walked away triumphant.”

“I’m glad you said that, because now I no longer need to explain why I don’t have girl things in my bag.” She removed her nightgown. “What I do have are the necessary items of clothing for this journey.” A pair of stockings joined the nightgown. “So please refrain from describing the my belongings in such a detrimental fashion.

A hairbrush and comb joined the items on the bed.

“All right then. I’m going to put these on the other chair. You may put your man’s things on the chair you’re sitting in.”

He was still grinning at her, and once again that odd sensation within her body tingled, bringing heat to her cheeks. She looked away, hoping he hadn’t noticed.

But she should have known he was far too observant to miss it, and wasn’t too surprised when he stood up and made his way to her side. “Since my man things are few, I’ll leave ‘em in the bag.”

“Very well.” She busied herself straightening out her stockings.

“It’s a good thing this room is nice and warm, Willow, otherwise I’d almost think you’re blushing.” His finger touched her cheek gently. “I like it.”

“I’ll sleep in the chair,” she declared, trying not to lean into his hand.

“Hmm.” He was quiet for a moment. “Let’s go down and eat. I can smell the bread myself, and I’m sure you’re as hungry as I.”

Willow nodded. Indeed, she was hungry. But oddly enough, she couldn’t be sure that a hearty meal of fresh bread and stew would suffice to quell the strangely new appetites rising within her.

*~~*~~*

The bread was every bit as good as it had smelled, although Harry admitted that he’d probably have devoured it had it been half-baked and soggy.

The scent of the stew was also enticing, and he was happy to see Willow tucking in. She even sampled a sip or two of his Chillendale ale, declaring it surprisingly tasty, and asking for a glass of her own. He couldn’t deny her that pleasure, and knew that with the meal safely devoured, a small amount of ale wouldn’t do any damage.

Harry had taken great care to conceal his supply of coins around his body in various places few would think to look. So he didn’t worry about paying their shot in the morning, and told Willow so when the reality of their situation hit her as she leaned back in her chair and toyed with her mug of ale.

“I suppose I am quite the idiot,” she muttered. “I am not used to travelling alone, or in anything other than our family’s carriages. Payment for these services never crossed my mind.”

He shrugged. “Fortunately, that is where my experience and wisdom come into the business, since I will be able to pay our bill when we leave in the morning.”

They were sitting on one side of the enormous fireplace, where it was warm and very comfortable. Few other diners were abroad, so they almost had the room to themselves.

“All right,” Willow nodded. “I’ll admit to a horrid naivete when it comes to that sort of thing.” She sighed. “I just never had to use my own coins for anything like this.” She sipped her ale. “I bought ribbons, of course. Gloves, too, and a hat, I think, on one of my few trips to town.”

“You’re not in London much? I’m surprised.”

“Why?” She cocked an eyebrow at him.

“Well, you are young, beautiful, of excellent lineage, and possessed of what is probably a very comfortable dowry. That said, you fulfil all the qualifications of a woman ready to be snapped up by someone reputable. Maybe a title or something. And that, my girl, is best found in London.”

“Hah,” she snorted. “Nothing could be further from my mind.” Her chin went up. “My not-identical-twin and I feel the same way about all that nonsense. We are not horses to be viewed as breeding stock for anyone eager to sire an heir.”

“Well, yes, I seem to recall Holly being quite verbose on that topic during one of my visits, and that was when the two of you were still young.” He caught himself up. “Not that you’re old now, of course…”

She shot him a look that spoke volumes. “Thank you.”

“However, marriage must be in your future at some point.”

Willow smiled sweetly. “Why, darling, have you forgotten our wedding so soon?”

“Oh, a veritable hit.” Harry retired from the argument, mortally wounded.

After that exchange, they kept their conversation to unremarkable topics, until Willow declared herself quite replete, and finished the last of her ale.

Harry nodded, unable to stop thinking about that big comfortable bed upstairs.

She haunted him, this young woman he’d known for so long. Her laugh, her moods, her rapier-like wit, all appealed to him on a level he’d not experienced before.

He’d experienced desire, passion, arousal, and had engaged in more than his fair share of intimate encounters. But this was different. This was a want, a need, for a woman who had shown herself to be gentle and caring, but with a will of iron that matched her courage.

He’d never known anyone like her, nor could he have guessed what she would become when he’d met her in the past. Now, grown into someone who possessed just about every quality he found appealing, he was caught in a delicate dilemma.

He wanted her. There was no question in his mind that he wanted her badly; she fit in his arms, her lips… well, he could still recall their taste. And he yearned for more.

But there were so many things to consider, so many obstacles his rational brain kept raising, all of which he knew were valid and appropriate to the situation.

So he turned his mind to making a sensible plan as he pushed his chair back from the table a little and finished the last of his ale.

Somehow, he would manage to eliminate any discussion of a ‘marriage’ between them when they reached London. And he would return her to Forest Grange and her family, with nary a mention of her prevarication, but many profuse thanks for her kindness and concern for his injuries.

Nor would he say anything about kissing, or how he had been stunned by the taste of her lips, and the sensation of her body against his.

It would be simple, straightforward, and with luck, accepted as the truth. One more tale to add to those of the Trease family.

And if fortune favoured him, nobody would realise that everything he’d just decided was a complete and utter lie.