Francis waited for her to finish. “Better than a snowy-white, fashionable queued wig,” he commented, regarding the shreds on the floor. “Perhaps I’ll be less recognizable in that.”
She would know him anywhere. Her laughter died. “I suppose you are right.” Though she doubted anything could still the traitorous desire that had only increased over the last few days.
She would fight it. The firm resolve that had got her this far in her life would aid her now.
He got to his feet. “Well, at least I can show my face downstairs now.” Plucking the wig from her hands, he examined it critically. “It’s lighter than my usual style, too. And it will help to disguise me. I never wear these.” He dropped the wig on his head, letting it settle over the thick scab that now covered his wound. “How do I look?”
Even the ugly wig wouldn’t conceal his sheer male beauty. If that didn’t, nothing would. “I would abandon the wig altogether, but for this thing.” He touched the site of the wound very lightly.
“I’ll go downstairs and find out what I can,” he said. “I’m Mr. Durham, is that not so?”
The Strathearn siblings had faded away as if they’d never existed.
She nodded. “Come back upstairs when you’re done.” Tempting though it was, she couldn’t let him stay in the taproom. She wanted, no needed, to keep him under observation.
She meant it for him, but he took it another way. “I wouldn’t leave you alone for long, my sweet. I’ll be back in less than an hour.” Giving her time for herself. “Should I ask for more hot water?”
“Yes, yes please.” Finally she could have her strip wash.
Perhaps detecting her discomfiture, he said nothing, but left the room.
Finding a clean cloth, Virginia bundled the remains of the wig into it and folded it over, securing the bundle in a knot. That could go over a hedge tomorrow. For the rest, she would have to cope. Somehow.
Chapter 13
As always, Francis awoke all at once, awareness snapping into place.
Last night he’d come upstairs to find Virginia taking up as small a space in the bed as she could. She was enveloped in a voluminous night rail evidently meant for someone much larger, since she’d had to roll the sleeves up, and fabric was wrapped around her. She was sound asleep.
He’d hurried into the nightshirt left for him and climbed in next to her, taking care to rock the bed as little as possible. Since this was the kind of bed that had ropes slung under it to hold the mattress in place, it creaked alarmingly, but he had not woken her, and he’d been asleep in five minutes.
This morning she had somehow ended up in his arms, and he wasn’t about to question how or when.
He lay very still, savoring the fulfillment of a dream. Naturally, he’d have preferred it to come true after a night’s lovemaking, but a man couldn’t have everything, and he was not about to cavil at that.
Her head rested on his shoulder. Virginia felt exactly as he’d imagined, but more so. Warmer, softer, more alive.
Her breath breezed over his throat, bathing it in pure Virginia. Her delectable breasts moved rhythmically under the linen of her night rail. The material was maddeningly thick, but even so he detected the flush of skin beneath the creamy ecru linen.
The tapes at the top that kept the night rail tightly fastened had come undone, giving him a tantalizing glimpse of her unfettered cleavage. No boned stays lay between his chest and her upper body, no hoops prevented him from feeling her thighs pressed against his. She’d lifted one leg and draped it across his upper thigh, perilously close to where his erection was showing distinct and inappropriate interest. If she moved, she’d touch him there.
If she did that, God knew where they would end up.
And her hair flowed loose. He would try to ensure that nobody found ribbons to fasten her hair into braids at night. They would be a sin. Dark and silky waves of it lay across her shoulders, straying onto his chest. He wanted so badly to feel them stroking his bare skin, teasing him while he caressed and persuaded her body to blossom.
For the first time he was seeing the true Virginia, the twenty-nine-year-old widow who had shunned him for so long.
He’d met her when she was a new bride, a month before he’d left for his Grand Tour. Even then an air of gravity had distinguished her. And her beauty had astonished him.
When he’d returned three years later, she had adopted her persona of dignified, haughty viscountess, and her husband forbade her to befriend him. Still he’d felt that pull, wanting her close and yet despising her for her treatment of his mother.
Except, from what she had told him, she’d been obeying her husband, not following her own inclinations. On the occasions they had met, she’d shown him her icy side, frozen him, so he’d moved away.
He’d been a fool. He was not staying away this time. Circumstance had brought them together, but it felt right, as if they would have always come to this, sooner or later. If not like this, then another way.
As he watched her, her eyes flickered, and she opened them, meeting his gaze. For a full five seconds she stared at him, then she jerked away, dragging the sheet and blanket, bundling it around her. “Why did you do that?”
“I woke up, and there you were.” He smiled, reaching for her. “Come back.”
“No!” She scrambled out of bed, looking more unconsciously seductive than any woman had the right to be, especially one who’d had a day like yesterday. Her skin was pearly, an inner glow giving it life. He already knew how warm she felt.
Grabbing the sheet, she dragged it out and wrapped it around herself, before turning her attention back to him.
Francis lay on his back, not bothering to disguise his state of arousal. The nightshirt covered him from shoulders to knees, but that was all he wore. His condition was no secret now.
Fascinated, he watched a blush creep from her throat to her forehead. “You can hardly expect me to remain immune to you,” he said mildly. “You’re far too lovely for that.”
“I—I…”
He found her confusion adorable. Sitting up, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Her eyes widened, and she inhaled sharply as she stepped back.
“You know I will never force myself on you,” he said, making no move to stand, because that might unnerve her even more.
Her husband had been a straightforward, blunt soldier, a high-ranking officer who’d communicated well with his troops. Francis could not imagine Ralph being less than straightforward with the woman he had married. His desire for her had been reported far and wide. Theirs had been a love match, or so people said. Like the one between his parents. His father had set eyes on his mother and instantly fallen in love.
Just as Francis had when he’d seen Virginia. He’d mistrusted his response to her, but nothing had dimmed it. He loved her still. He’d nearly lost her back at her house, when she’d told him her secret and immediately rejected him. This time he’d take much more care.
What he did on this journey could seal his fate for good. Holding his passion in check would nearly kill him, but he’d do it. He had to, because her safety was paramount. He’d waited four years, so he could wait longer.
Not that she fully realized how much he wanted her yet. If she’d been married, she’d known the phenomenon of the morning erection. She could put his state down to that, although in fact, it was all for her.
As he crossed to the trunk and threw up the lid to find the razor, he was careful to keep his distance. He stayed crouched on his haunches until her breathing became more regular. If the sight of his manhood had disturbed her that much, he must take care not to show her more until she was ready. The last thing he wanted to do was distress her.
Taking out what he needed, he got to his feet in one smooth movement, holding his clothes before him. “I can’t let you go downstairs on your own,” he said, “but I promise I�
�ll be as discreet as possible getting ready. Then I’ll go downstairs. Should I send a maid to you?”
She nodded, then shook her head. “I can manage.”
“Very well. I’ll have Butler bring breakfast up to you. I’ll tell him to knock four times, two short, two long, so you’ll know it’s him. How long will you need?” While he spoke he made himself busy at the mirror, stropping the razor.
“I can be ready in half an hour.”
“Three quarters of an hour will do,” he murmured, examining himself in the spotted, faded mirror.
Changing his mind, he put the razor down. “If I’m not as clean-shaven as usual, that might help. I’ll remain somewhat slovenly.”
The sight of his incipient beard in the mirror made him realize that it made him look different. Butler had shaved him two days ago, so the dark fuzz was readily apparent now. But he couldn’t leave it too long. It would drive him mad.
He poured cold water into the basin and set about washing his face and hands. “But only a little,” he owned, drying his face. When he emerged from the towel, he was still facing the mirror. She was watching him.
Hunger, raw and unmistakable, leeched from her eyes, arcing from hers to his and back again. She wanted him. The connection between them, if visible, would have been fiery. But it was not, and with supreme effort, Francis looked away, back to the towel.
He managed to dress without revealing too much of himself, rather like a shy boy trying not to reveal his body, but all the time he was startlingly aware of her watching him. Tingles spread over his skin at the thought of revealing himself to her.
He put his breeches on first, under his nightshirt, then pulled the nightshirt over his head, and with a touch of wickedness, stayed half naked while he folded it carefully before he put it in the trunk. He’d give her a good look at his torso. He would preen if he didn’t know better.
Dressing didn’t take long, and after he’d loaded his pockets with money, his small knife, and his watch, he was on his way, pausing at the door to throw her a kiss.
She turned her back, but he didn’t miss her reluctant grin.
* * * *
Of course Virginia had shared a bed with a man before, but not often and not for long. Ralph had frequently seen her in her night rail, but even though this one was as voluminous as a tent, she’d never felt so vulnerable before. Francis was so much more of a man. Would he believe her if she told him of her ironically virginal state?
Ralph had taunted her with it sometimes, when he’d said her name in company, emphasizing the first part for her ears only. Of course, his friends had taken the innuendo the wrong way, as he’d meant them to.
He’d never accepted his inability to perform and preferred to blame her. Knowing he had done so didn’t help Virginia to cope with her feelings of inadequacy. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps she wasn’t enough for any man.
Except, this morning…
Hastily, she moved her mind away from that. Men had that reaction. Ralph had sometimes, but it had slipped away from him.
It could have been anyone in bed with Francis this morning.
Virginia the virgin. As she slipped out of the night rail and found a shift to put over her nakedness, Virginia tried to shrug her distress away. But for the first time in her life she found the task difficult.
Of course she had noted handsome men before, but she’d admired them at a distance. Never tempted like this. She had not thought of the intimacy shared between husband and wife, man and mistress, for years, had considered that part of her life over before it had begun.
Francis made that dispassionate survey so hard to do. Before she’d come properly awake this morning, she’d relished the warmth, the security surrounding her. Then her awareness had kicked her awake and she pulled out of his arms. Francis was strong, protective, in the prime of life. And he was everything she wanted but should not, could not, have.
She had to use the trick her mother had taught her to lace her stays, and she couldn’t do it as effectively as she wanted. Pulling the tapes simultaneously gave her the support she needed, but not the firmness she preferred.
The thought of him dealing with her nervous, fumbling innocence made her huff an ironic laugh. They had taken their attraction further than she had ever allowed before, and she was suffering the consequences of that. No, that was wrong. She’d yearned for him long before their first kiss.
The fault lay all on her side. She trusted him not to force her to anything, especially now she was so vulnerable to his advances. No, she was safe with him, however much she might wish she was not.
Recalling Francis’s unshaven state, she smiled and conceded that a less than fashionable figure might serve to present her as the wife of a country gentleman better.
So did the clothes in drab colors that Butler and Hurst had supplied. She found a bum-roll to pad her hips rather than a hooped petticoat, a quilted petticoat to pad her hips further, then a skirt over the top in a particularly bilious shade of green.
The skirt was a shade too short for her, reaching just above her ankles, but it was respectable, especially when paired with the linsey-woolsey stockings, plain garters and sturdy shoes.
The thigh-length brown caraco jacket boasted a little frill at the back, and the fichu was the coarsest she’d ever used. All the better to hide her breasts with.
When she was dressed, she couldn’t deny how comfortable the well-worn but soft clothing felt, even though she’d prefer a fine linen shift against her skin.
Her own shift and the remnants of her riding habit she put in the trunk, in case she should need it, though both garments were ready for the ragbag.
Tying the plain linen cap over her simply dressed hair, Virginia had to admit that nobody would recognize her now, not even her own mother.
The shoes, nailed to preserve the leather of the soles and heels, rapped satisfyingly against the uneven, dark floorboards when she crossed the room to answer the door. She only recalled her promise to take care at the last moment, but as expected, Butler had brought her some breakfast. His eyes widened a little, but he made no comment.
He laid the tray on the small table with the care of a born butler, nudging the flatware into place and standing back to judge the result. “Mr. Durham asks if you will be ready presently, ma’am.” He gave a small bow as if he couldn’t help himself.
“By and by. I’ll eat a little of this and pack the rest.”
There was a pot of tea. Heavenly. “Thank you so much for the tea.”
“I’ll do my best to ensure you have it in future, ma’am.”
They might be in deepest peril, but at least she still had tea.
* * * *
The sun was peeping out from a heavy bank of clouds when they left the inn to get into the carriage Hurst had hired for them. The new coachman had swathed himself in an old greatcoat, even though the day would not be a cold one. His pipe stuck out of the folds of gray cloth that enclosed his face, a wisp of smoke spiraling up to join the other clouds.
Fresh horses had been put to the carriage. At least they appeared more lively than yesterday’s slugs. Francis helped Virginia aboard, and she settled in a corner of the chaise, which was somewhat larger than yesterday’s vehicle. He followed her up, and the coachman whipped up the horses. But as they left the small inn yard, an equipage whisked past, a grand berline complete with outriders and liveried footmen clinging to the back of it.
Before she could register the sight, Francis dragged Virginia into his arms and pushed her head against his chest. His curses rent the air.
The carriage rocked, but remained stable as the coachman guided them onto the main road.
Virginia pulled away.
“Look,” Francis commanded.
As they turned onto the road, the carriage in front of them, a fine, glossy vehicle drawn by four frisky horses, turned a c
orner, giving her a glimpse of the crest emblazoned on the side. They were too far away for her to see the coat of arms properly, but the colors attracted her attention. “That looks familiar.”
“They should. They’re yours.”
“What?” Indignantly, she turned to face him. “I sent my crested traveling carriage ahead to Hatherton Cross with my maid. Has someone…?” Her voice trailed away as realization hit her. “Jamie. That’s Jamie’s carriage.”
Her crest was set inside the widow’s lozenge. This one had none. The current Lord Dulverton was on the road.
Despite the moderate weather, she paled and her fingers went cold. “Jamie was supposed to be visiting a friend in Canterbury, then going to Lancashire. He shouldn’t be on this road at all.” She buried her face in her hands. “Oh, God, if he sees us…”
“He will not.” Francis pulled her hands down and held them between his, chafing them. “His equipage is much better than ours, faster and with better horses. So we’ll let him pull ahead. We’ll linger over the next change and let them get even further ahead. By the end of the day, they could have ten miles on us. That’s a safe distance.” He murmured the words, talking softly until Virginia’s panic subsided.
“This is so foolish.” For the first time she recognized the peril in her actions. She’d longed for privacy and quiet, and had ignored several warning signs. But when Francis was injured, what should she have done? Left him behind, called his friends at the club? “We should have hired two carriages and traveled openly.”
Francis shook his head. “I tell you now, Virginia, and you had best listen. You would not have left me behind or sat in a carriage that did not include me. If you had tried, I’d have abducted you. The people who wanted to harm me did it to leave you unprotected. I will not allow that.”
She laughed shakily, the mood cautiously settling into wariness. “You would not. What would people think?”
“That I was mad with passion for you,” he said promptly. “Like that dreadful melodrama at Drury Lane Theater last month. Appalling stuff. But don’t you see the danger you’re in? You rejected his suit. Now the only way he can get to you is with your death.”
Virginia And The Wolf Page 15