by Candace Camp
He turned Erebos into the shallow stream, traveling downstream for some distance before crossing to the other side and continuing east. As the afternoon settled into dusk, they wound through the trees and emerged on a track, taking it along the edge of a low stone wall until they ran into a lane. Still there was no sign of a village with an inn where they could take refuge for the night.
Alec had no more familiarity with the area than Damaris, having in the past done no more than pass through it on the main toll road. They had seen a small cottage in the distance when they first set out, but they had stayed away from it, wanting to put more distance between them and the men who had attacked them. As darkness fell, Damaris began to worry that they might be caught outdoors for the night. Clouds had begun drifting in late in the afternoon, heavy and dark, contributing to the encroaching gloom, and it seemed likely that it might soon start to rain.
It would be exceedingly uncomfortable to spend the night outdoors, Damaris thought, much less in the rain. Worse, she was worried about Alec. He was not at his normal strength, and more than once as they rode, she had felt his body relax against hers until he was leaning against her, his head on hers, and his hands had gone slack on the reins—obviously slipping into unconsciousness until she said his name sharply, snapping him back awake.
The last time he began to drift, she took the reins from his hands, fearful that he would drop them altogether. It was somewhat awkward to guide the horse this way, without her feet in the stirrups and sitting so far forward, and she was afraid that Erebos would recognize the unfamiliar hand on the reins and balk, but he kept moving forward, though once or twice he shook his head as if disturbed. As she felt Alec’s body grow limp behind her once more, she began to fear that he might fall off the horse altogether. She tried not to think of stories she had heard of people striking their heads, then slipping into a slumber from which they never wakened.
Damaris reached down and took Alec’s arm, wrapping her own arm around his and pressing it against her stomach in an effort to keep him steady. He shifted in his sleep, his head slipping to her shoulder, and he wrapped his other arm around her waist as well. Damaris tried to ignore the intimacy of their position. It was, after all, more secure this way. But the practicality of it was not what her body was responding to; it was the sheer physical pleasure of his close embrace, the touch of his breath upon the sensitive skin of her neck.
Damaris wished more than ever that they would come to a village. Or even a farmhouse. Anywhere they might be able to get off and rest. A hot meal would be wonderful, too. She still had her reticule, and she had enough money in it to pay for a room—though, annoyingly, she had stuck the bulk of the money she had gotten from Mr. Portland into the valise for safekeeping, so it was now resting uselessly in the longgone post chaise.
Thunder rumbled in the heavy clouds, confirming Damaris’s fears of a storm, and within minutes, drops began to fall. Erebos skittered to the side at the sudden noise, and Damaris struggled to control the animal. Alec awoke behind her.
“Good God, did I go to sleep?”
“A little.” Damaris was relieved to have Alec take charge of Erebos, and he nudged the horse to a faster pace.
The rain increased as they rode, turning the road slick with mud and soaking them to the skin. The storm had brought a wind with it, chilling them further. With relief, Damaris spotted a glimpse of light through the trees, and shortly thereafter, they came upon another lane. At the end of it stood a sturdy farmhouse.
Alec dug in his heels and clicked to his horse, but Erebos needed no urging to run toward shelter. As they drew closer, they saw a man, swathed in a cloak and carrying a lantern, cross the farmyard to the house. He stopped on the porch and turned to watch them approach.
Alec pulled Erebos to a stop at the bottom of the steps. “Good day to you.”
“And to you, sir. Best come inside and get warm,” the man responded cheerfully. “Looks like the storm caught you out.”
“Indeed.” Alec swung down off the horse and started toward the stranger. Suddenly he faltered, then collapsed onto the ground.
Ten
Alec!” Damaris slid off the horse and ran to him, but the man on the porch reached Rawdon first, leaning over him and setting the lantern on the ground so that it shone over Alec’s face.
“Looks like a nasty wound there.” The rain had soaked Alec’s bandage, and the diluted blood had stained the entire pad, making it appear even worse than it was. Alec’s pallor did nothing to contradict the man’s assessment. “Best to get him in out of the wet,” the man went on placidly. “Mayhap I can carry him.”
Damaris doubted that, given Alec’s size, but the man, though not nearly as tall as Alec, was strong, and between the two of them, they wrestled Alec to his feet. He regained a groggy consciousness as they pulled and tugged at him, and he was able to make it into the house with the stranger and Damaris on either side of him, supporting him.
“Emmet!” A woman hurried toward them. “What’s happened? Here, put him by the fire.”
She brought a sturdy wooden chair from the table and put it down in front of the large fireplace. Emmet and Damaris steered Alec toward it and tried to ease him down into it, but he sat down with a thud.
“I’ll put his horse away in the barn,” the man offered, “whilst you get them warm and dry, Babs.”
The woman went to work, nodding toward the cluster of children gazing at them in wide-eyed fascination. “Here, now, Maud, set the kettle to boil for tea. Henry, fetch the bottle of Madeira your pa keeps in the cabinet. Josie, get me a blanket off our bed.”
The children all hurried to do their assigned tasks while the efficient Babs began to remove Alec’s sodden jacket. Damaris hurried to help her. As they pulled Alec forward, his eyes fluttered closed again and he slumped against Damaris, shivering with cold. She held him steady while the other woman peeled off his coat.
“I’m Babs Putnam,” their hostess told Damaris as they worked.
“Damaris Howard,” Damaris responded. She started to introduce Alec, but hesitated. Not only did it sound very odd for an earl to be running about the countryside like this, but she had a suspicion that Alec would prefer not to have his name given out freely. She finished somewhat lamely, “And this is Alec. I’m sorry. It isn’t the best way to meet, but we are very grateful to you for letting us in.”
“’Tis a terrible storm out there,” the woman said as she cast a quick encompassing glance over Damaris.
Damaris realized with dismay how disreputable she and Alec must appear. They had both lost their hats in the struggle, and Damaris’s dress was thoroughly bedraggled—wet, muddy, and sporting a large tear across the front. Her hair had come undone and hung dankly down over her shoulders, clinging to her face and neck. To make it worse, they were dripping all over the woman’s spotless plank floor.
“I’m so sorry. We are making a terrible mess.” A shiver ran through Damaris despite the warmth of the fire. Alec had not stopped shivering since they came in. “I know you must think us utter vagabonds.”
The woman waved away her concern. “Now, never you mind. As if I couldn’t tell quality the minute I see it. Alan, get them some towels, now, step to it. First thing, we need to get you two warm.” She started on the buttons of Alec’s waistcoat, saying, “Looks like you had a mite of trouble besides the storm.”
“Yes, we were, um, attacked on the road.” Damaris wondered exactly what she ought to tell the woman. Some explanation was necessary, obviously, but it seemed best to keep it as simple as possible. “We fought them off, but our post chaise ran off, and we had only Alec’s horse.”
“Thieves!” The woman tsk-tsked, shaking her head. “Are you hurt?”
“No. One of them hit Alec with a rock. It bled terribly. I think it’s weakened him. And he kept nodding off as we rode.”
“I’ve seen it before.” The woman shook her head sagely. “Ethan’s cousin fell out of his hayloft last summer and struck his head.
Took him some time to come to, and then he passed out again and never woke up. Died two days later.” Seeing Damaris’s panic-struck face, she waved away her comments, saying, “There, now, I’ve let my tongue run away with me again. Not likely to happen to your man. Anyone can see he’s strong as an ox.”
One of the boys, a freckle-faced adolescent, brought his mother a cup and a bottle, and she poured a healthy amount of wine into the cup. “Here, see if you can get him to drink this. That’ll warm him up a mite.”
While Babs struggled to tug off Alec’s boots, Damaris shook him awake. “Alec. Wake up. You need to drink this.”
He opened his eyes blearily. “Damaris.”
“Yes, I’m here. I want you to drink this, now. It will make you feel better.”
He murmured something she couldn’t understand and put his hand on the cup, but he was still shivering with cold, so she helped him bring the vessel to his lips and drink. A great shudder ran through him, but he grasped the cup more firmly and continued to sip. By the time he was finished, Babs had managed to wrestle him out of his neckcloth and boots.
“We just need to finish getting your husband out of these wet things,” Babs told Damaris.
Damaris started to correct Mrs. Putnam’s assumption that she and Alec were married, but she caught herself just in time. Given the state of their appearance and the holes in her story if she tried to explain exactly who they were and why the men were after them, Damaris decided it would be better to take the path of respectability and let her believe she and Alec were lawfully married. This woman might have been able to tell from their clothes and speech that Damaris and Alec were gentry, but the assumption of a high station in life would not compensate for a lack of morals. As Babs turned away to take the towels and blanket from her children, Damaris surreptitiously slipped one of her rings from her right hand onto the third finger of her left.
“You just take your gentleman into our bedroom there,” Babs told Damaris, gesturing at an open doorway down a short hallway. “You can get him out of the rest of his things and wrap this blanket around him.”
Color rose in Damaris’s cheeks as it sank in that the woman expected her to undress Alec. She was well and truly caught by the fact that she had not corrected Babs’s misconception earlier. In her moment of indecision, Alec, despite his grogginess, spoke up, relieving her of making a decision. “Can do it myself.”
He started to rise, and Damaris quickly moved to support him, slipping one arm around his waist. He curled his arm over her shoulders, leaning subtly against her. Damaris looked up into his face, and even though it was still quite pale and his eyes a trifle glassy, she thought she detected a wisp of a smile on his mouth.
“Dear wife,” he murmured, bending to press his lips to the top of her hair.
Damaris tightened her arm sharply. “I can see you are feeling better,” she told him with a touch of asperity.
Fortunately, Babs did not seem to notice her tone, for she was already bustling toward the open door with her pile of cloths. Damaris had little choice but to follow with Alec. Their benefactress laid the towels and blanket down on the bed as one of the boys popped in to light the fire.
“There, it’ll be warm as toast soon,” Babs told them cheerfully. “I’ll just dish up a bit of stew for you, if you don’t mind humble fare.”
“That would be wonderful,” Damaris responded honestly. Her stomach felt as if she had not eaten for a week. “If it’s not too much trouble,” she managed to add politely.
Babs beamed. “No trouble at all. Got a nice loaf of bread as well. You just get the gentleman out of those wet things and into the bed. He’ll warm up real well like that.”
“Oh, you must not give up your bed,” Damaris protested.
“I’ll sit by the fire,” Alec added.
“Nonsense. After what you’ve been through? You hop into that bed now,” Mrs. Putnam told Rawdon in the same tone she had used with her sons. “The mister and I’ll do fine with the youngsters. Don’t you worry about it.”
She was gone in an instant, shutting the door behind her, and Damaris was alone with Alec. The bed loomed up only a few feet away, dominating the room. Damaris knew she was blushing again. She cleared her throat.
“Well.” This was no time for delicacy, she told herself. She turned around to face him. Alec was leaning against the wall beside the fireplace, his eyes closed. His face was stamped with lines of pain and weariness, and Damaris’s heart went out to him.
She crossed over to him and began to undo his shirt. She noticed that her hands trembled a little on the buttons as she tugged them open. His eyes opened a slit, and she caught a gleam in them. “You make an excellent valet, wife of mine.”
Damaris’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “If you are only pretending, Alec, I shall throttle you.”
“How unkind.” The corner of his mouth quirked up. “Not a proper wife’s statement of affection.” He paused, then added with a devilish delight, “Or obedience.”
“Do be quiet. I didn’t know what else to say to her. She assumed you were my husband, and I—well, it seemed a good idea at the time.” Damaris shrugged. “Bend over a little so I can pull this off you.”
She tugged the ends of his shirt from his breeches and yanked it up over his head. He bent obligingly so that she could draw it the rest of the way off, but he swayed as he did so and let out a low curse, grabbing at the fireplace wall to steady himself.
“I’m bloody muzzy-headed,” he murmured.
“Not surprising. I wonder if that cup of Madeira was really the best idea.” Damaris kept her words as calm and brisk as she could, given that she was facing the broad expanse of his bare chest. Her eyes roved over his flesh, taking in the hard lines of bone and muscle, and she was aware of a most inappropriate urge to run her hands over his wet skin.
Somewhat unnerved, she reached out to the top button of his breeches. Her heart was pounding, and her hands felt clumsy and slow. Her nails brushed against the bare skin of his stomach, and she jerked them back. She looked up into his eyes. There was definitely a gleam there now and tension crept into his posture, as if something was coiled and waiting inside him. Damaris imagined sliding her fingers down beneath his waistband.
Swallowing hard, she clasped her hands together behind her back, like a guilty child standing before a tin of sweets, and whirled away. “I think you can manage the rest.”
Damaris picked up the folded blanket Babs had laid on the bed and shook it out. Holding it up as high as she could, so that her vision of Alec was blocked, she walked back to him.
“Such modesty,” he drawled, amusement mingling with something darker and fierier. “You are a widow, after all. Surely you have seen a man’s body. Even touched it.”
Damaris’s throat went tight and dry, and her voice came out hoarsely as she snapped back, “Not yours.”
At the smack of his wet clothes hitting the floor, Damaris wrapped the blanket around him, and Alec took it from her hands, pulling it closed. He gave a violent shudder, as though the warmth wrapping around him had released him from his control.
“Here, get in bed,” Damaris ordered, going to the bed and turning down its covers. “You’ll get warmer faster.”
He did not argue, but sat on the bed and let her prop the pillows behind him, then pull up the covers to his waist. “You should get out of your wet things as well.”
Damaris shot him a sharp glance as she picked up a towel and began to wrap it around her wet hair. “I haven’t anything to put on.”
His grin flashed. “I don’t mind.”
“I do.”
He reached his hand out to tug back the covers beside him. “I’ll share.”
At that moment, there was a knock at the door, and Babs peeped in. She had brought a tray of food, which she carried inside once she saw that Alec was decently covered. “Well, you’re looking better, sir. Mayhap this will pick you up more. There’s a bowl for you as well, missus, and hot tea.”
&
nbsp; “Thank you.” Damaris gratefully took one of the cups.
“You’ll need something to wear as well,” Babs went on, bustling over to the dresser and opening one of the drawers. She pulled out a flannel nightgown and handed it to Damaris. “Now, you slip out of those wet things and hand them out to me. I’ll see what I can do about getting them dry for you whilst you sleep.”
Damaris hoped she managed to conceal the alarm that had run through her at the woman’s words. It had just struck her that not only would she have to undress right here in front of Alec, but she would also be expected to share his bed. It should have been obvious to her earlier, she knew, since she was pretending to be his wife; but somehow in her worry over Alec and her desire to seem proper in front of their hosts, she had managed to overlook this fact.
She cast a quick glance at Alec. He was sitting with the tray on his lap, digging into his bowl of stew with eagerness. But he cut his eyes toward her; they flashed almost silver in the dim light, and she knew that he was fully aware of her quandary.
As soon as their hostess left the room, he said casually, “Best hurry, now; you won’t want to risk catching cold. I am sure you’ll look quite fetching in your new nightrail.”
“I think I preferred you when you were unconscious.”
He hid his smile by taking a sip of tea. “Honestly, Damaris… you’ve nothing to fear from me. I’m weak as a kitten; I couldn’t do anything to sully you even if I were cad enough to try it. Look: I’ll even close my eyes while you undress.”
Ostentatiously he closed his eyes and covered them with one hand. Damaris was too cold and wet not to accept his offer. She turned away and peeled off her clothes, toweling off as quickly as she could. She stacked the damp things just outside the door, after dropping the nightgown over her head. It was far too large for her, as Mrs. Putnam possessed a wider girth than she, but it was a trifle short despite that, for the woman was also several inches shorter. Well, she thought, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror above the washstand, at least she would not have to worry about appearing seductive. The high-necked, long-sleeved, plain gray flannel gown did little to enhance her looks.