"No," Calvin said quickly, leaving no room for argument. He blinked, and Abigail watched that little droplet of rain tremble then plummet toward the ground.
For some absurd reason, she thought it must have been nice to be that raindrop. She then frowned when Calvin folded his arms across the expansive breadth of his chest and approached her. He did not stop before her, however, but moved around Abigail, looking her up and down.
"What are you about, sir?"
I could throw you over my shoulder....
Abigail gasped. "I would be unconscious within the first mile. All the blood would go to my head."
"You could climb on my back."
"What an interesting picture that makes." She glowered at him over her shoulder. She wasn't positive, but thought his survey paused overlong on the swell of her bottom. Abigail turned to face him. "Honestly, Calvin. I can walk."
He watched her lashes flutter as the rain increased, dampening her hair in earnest. Calvin reached for the hood of her cloak and drew it over her head. Then, without warning, he lifted her in his arms as he did when putting her into the carriage.
"Calvin!" She dropped her crutch and grabbed his shoulders.
"Yes, Lady Abigail?" He lifted a brow and turned in the direction of the village they had left behind. Calvin knelt briefly, and Abigail's stomach plummeted at the drop as he recovered her crutch.
"What about the horses?" She was grasping at straws and she knew it. It wasn't that she was uncomfortable in Calvin's arms-and that fact surprised her. It was that she was certain her weight was too much for him to bear for ten miles, not to mention the rain.
"No saddles."
"I can ride bareback," she insisted, looking over his shoulder and watching the carriage begin to shrink in size.
"For ten miles? I think not." Calvin shifted his arms, and she fell into his chest. She was very conscious of his arm's proximity to her bottom when he said, "Your backside would take a beating and be sore for days."
Abigail's brows wrinkled. She had been forced to put an arm around Calvin's neck; her free hand clutched a lapel of his coat. "It's a risk I'm willing to take."
"I"-there was something rather unsavory about his grin as he continued to gaze straight ahead"find the thought less than agreeable."
"You are the most stubborn man I have ever met!" Abigail had to shout above a groan of thunder.
Velvet blue eyes locked with bay a moment be fore Calvin's damp lashes lowered in a wink. "I learned from the best." He chuckled at her baffled expression. "Do not fret, Abby," he said gently and pressed his lips to the space between her brows. "You were bound to meet your equal in obstinacy sooner or later."
It took great effort for her to refrain from lifting her fingertips to the place Calvin had so lightly kissed. She wanted to be certain it was not her imagination that made the spot so warm. She couldn't find the words to speak, and, as Calvin faced forward again, she noted the increasing dampness of the skin drawn taut over his sharp facial bones.
She released the lapel of his jacket and lifted her gloved hand to his cheeks and forehead, carefully brushing away the rainwater. His skin was warm through the material of her glove, and his muscles tightened as she touched them. Before his gaze could meet hers, she dropped her hand into her lap and looked straight ahead.
Chapter 19
"Leonard." Prudence Redman clutched at her husband's arm, her tone awestruck. "Do you think that carriage belonged to these folks?"
The old man's brows came together, two fat gray caterpillars kissing. His eyes weren't as good as they used to be, and he could barely make out the blur to the right of the road not far ahead. "I can't imagine why anyone else would be walking in the rain, Prue."
"She's not walking," Prudence clarified, where her husband's poor eyesight had left him oblivious. "He's carrying her. Heaven's, Leonard," she breathed, "he must have carried her four miles so far. What vigor!"
He elbowed his wife in her plump side. "I remember when you used to say the same about me."
"Hush," she hissed, but her wrinkled cheeks turned pink. Her bright blue eyes remained focused on the pair in the street. The man had stopped and turned himself and his charge to face them. He was tall and well muscled, with dark hair that lay damp against his skull. The woman he carried wore a lovely gown and cloak, most of her face hidden in the hood of the latter. It was peculiar, but Prudence could have sworn there was a distinctly horrified gleam to her eyes. "Stop the horses, Leonard."
The phaeton, Abigail told herself, was nothing like the one Lord and Lady Valmonte had given their son for his twenty-fourth birthday. It was not as fancy; its sides were caked with mud, and the horses that pulled it looked older than Abby. The man behind the reins guided the vehicle carefully near, and there was no devil-may-care gleam to his dark eyes. No drunken grin curling his lips.
"Hello, there!" The round woman seated beside him, a blanket thrown over her head, waved at the two in the road as if she had been waiting forever to see them.
"Good evening," Calvin called back. He began to lower Abigail to her feet, keeping an arm around her waist once she was grounded.
"That be your nice carriage with the broken wheel?" The old man spoke, exposing several spots where teeth should have been. It added, Abigail decided, a rather engaging quality to his smile.
She smiled back. "I'm afraid so. We hit a rather nasty hole in the road."
"That'll do it." He nodded.
"I said to Leonard you must be the folks from that carriage when we first caught sight of you walking." The woman dropped her blanket and, with a grunt, lowered herself from the phaeton. "I am an excellent judge of people."
"Are you?" Calvin was forced to look down at her as the top of her head of frothy white hair barely reached the middle of his chest.
"Absolutely." The woman glanced between Abigail and Calvin and pursed her lips for a moment. "For instance, I know that you both are in love."
Abigail felt her heart plummet to her stomach; she was very aware of Calvin's fingers flexing against her hip.
"I imagine you two must have been married for six years," the woman went on, completely unaware of the silence of the two with whom she was speaking. `Just like my Leonard and I when we were your age, I suspect."
Abigail blinked and had to clear her throat twice to speak. "Actually-"
"We haven't been married that long." Calvin made to hold out the hand not tightly gripping Abigail's side and produced her crutch.
"Oh!" The old woman stared at it, puzzled.
"Excuse me." Calvin gave the crutch to Abigail, meeting her gaze and-she thought-pointedly ignoring her stunned expression. He took the old woman's hand and bowed over it. "I'm Calvin Garrett," he said, "and this is my Abby."
She made herself ignore the way her heart fluttered its way back to its rightful place and forced herself to again smile at the woman.
"I'm Prudence Redman." She nodded toward the man still seated at the reins of the phaeton. "That's my husband, Leonard."
Leonard lifted his floppy hat to expose a bald and shiny scalp. "A pleasure."
"We have a farm just up around the bend."
"We're trying to make it back to North Ruther ford," Calvin explained, "before the weather gets worse.
"I'd say you're out of luck, son." Leonard scowled up at the sky above, as if he could read the clouds. "It's only going to get worse. The on-and-off rain is bad enough, but there's a storm brewing. I'm certain of it."
"My Leonard knows the weather like I know people." Prudence beamed.
"Now, don't you go bragging, Prue. Just help that nice boy and his lady in here. We'll take them back to the farm for the night and then into the village in the morning." ... .. . . . . . .. . . .
Abigail almost laughed at the old man's decision to call Calvin boy. "We wouldn't want to burden you like that, Mr. Redman," she said. "I should hate to put you out when you aren't expecting guests."
"No bother."
"We have four chi
ldren." Prudence was bragging again. "All with their own homes now, but there's still plenty of room at ours. Come along. Let's get you both warm and dry." She turned to lead the way, her great hips swaying side to side under her skirt.
Abigail felt Calvin's fingers lock around her elbow.
"Why did you let her believe we were married?" She barely moved her lips as she whispered. They were far enough behind the woman that she wouldn't notice.
"I couldn't," Calvin whispered back. "Not after what she said about knowing people." She felt him look down at the top of her head. "Will you be all right?"
"I think not," Abigail snapped. "I loathe lying."
Calvin's grip on her elbow tightened. "I mean in the phaeton."
Abigail frowned. She had almost forgotten about the phaeton upon suddenly finding out she was a married woman. For three years, she hated looking at the blasted vehicles. The one time she had tried to board her brother's, she had gotten physically ill, and he had felt obliged to sell the phaeton. She told herself it was the kindness that hovered around the couple that owned this vehicle like an aura that had stifled her fear. Not-she almost groaned when she bumped against him-Calvin's presence beside her.
"I think I will manage."
"Everything will be fine, Abby." Calvin's voice dropped even further as they neared the Redmans. `Just play along."
She turned to face him, ignoring the tremor that went through her when his broad hands wrapped about her waist to lift her into the phaeton. Abigail rested a palm on his shoulder, ignoring his muchtoo-engaging smile to scowl at Calvin. "I cannot imagine," she mouthed, "it can get any worse."
"I was wrong."
"I beg your pardon?"
Abigail winced as Calvin kicked the door closed behind them. Her eyes opened back to the bedchamber that had once belonged to the Redmans' only daughter. There was a dressing screen, washstand, a bed Abby barely glanced at, and a dressing mirror on the opposite side of the room from the door. Gazing at the reflection they made in the glass, she in Calvin's arms with her own wrapped loosely about his neck, Abigail was reminded of weddingday traditions and not the necessity of having to be carried, as her throbbing leg would not allow her to climb the stairs. To anyone who didn't know better, Calvin might appear a groom carrying his bride over the threshold to the bed in which they would consummate their marriage.
"Put me down, please."
She saw Calvin's brow lift in the mirror before he was setting her gently on her feet.
"What is wrong?"
Abigail wondered if he was deliberately being obtuse and was almost certain of the fact as he moved past her to sit on the edge of the bed.
"Your falsehood is what is wrong." Her crutch thumped against the wooden floorboards as she moved around the bed and to the washbasin Leonard had filled for them. "You have gotten us into quite a mess, Calvin. Now we have to share this room for the night or look like charlatans to two of the kindest people that have probably ever walked the earth."
"I like the room."
Abigail paused in splashing water against her heated face to gape at Calvin's reflection in the mirror above the ceramic basin.
"The bed is small." He fell back onto the quilt Prudence Redman had stitched when her daughter was a babe. Calvin slid the palm of one hand under his cheek and smiled a wholly wicked grin. "But if we both lie on our sides-me snuggling up behind you, of course-I think we'll fit nicely."
Abigail's mouth dropped open, fat drops of lukewarm water dripping off her chin and back into the basin.
"You could curl up behind me, if you'd prefer." He appeared to consider it before nodding. "Yes, I think I would like to feel you pressed up against my back. You'd have to remove that damned thing bracketing your leg, though. I'd hate to imagine what would happen if you accidentally kicked me in your sleep."
Abigail applied her full weight to where her brace wrapped around her slipper and spun to face Calvin. She fisted her hands on her hips and glared at him. "I'm glad you find this so blasted funny."
His expression went serious as Calvin sighed, then rolled up and out of the bed. He reached for one of the towels beside the washstand, and Abigail found herself unable to move when he began to dry her damp cheeks and forehead. "I know you are uncomfortable with tonight's sleeping arrangements, Abby," he said. His gaze was focused not on her eyes, but her mouth. "It might shock you to know that I am uncomfortable also, but for reasons you cannot imagine. I joke to get my mind off of it."
"What reasons?" She frowned up at him, slightly irritated by his tone.
"Gentlemanly obligations"-his eyes finally lifted to meet hers, and the tapers spaced about the room flickered his gaze like fire-"and an overwhelming desire to disregard them." Calvin turned away, pressing the now-damp cloth to the back of his neck.
Abigail watched him move around the room to a chair near the door. "I hate to tell you this, sir," she said, letting the corners of her mouth curl a little, "but as a humorist, you leave a lot to be desired."
"Opinion noted." Calvin shrugged out of his still-damp coat and threw it across the chair. He sat down to remove his boots.
Abigail quickly moved her gaze to the room's only window, watching rain pound against the glass. The water shone like diamonds every time lightning flashed. "Leonard was right," she said absently.
Calvin chuckled. "Apparently his knowledge of weather surpasses his wife's knowledge of people."
"I wonder why Prudence thought that we were married." Abigail's eyes went wide when she realized she had spoken the thought aloud.
"Because I was carrying you, perhaps," Calvin said quickly, as if he had been giving the matter some thought during the cabbage dinner the old woman had prepared. "I doubt many ladies allow their servants such liberties."
Abigail frowned, not caring for the separation his tone implied. Before she could speak, she was surprised by his touch on her bare arm-her gloves had seemed a little much as she assisted the farming couple in setting their battered dinner table. She was even more surprised when her head turned to the naked wall of Calvin's chest.
"You can have my shirt," he said, holding out the garment, "to sleep in."
"I can stay in my gown." She dropped her gaze quickly to her feet; she couldn't, however, manage to draw it away in its journey down. She did not miss the dark, curling hair that tapered into a thin line before disappearing into his breeches.
"It's wet," Calvin said to the top of her head. "Soaked through to your shift, I imagine."
The undergarment did, in fact, cling wetly to her legs.
"Take it, Abby. I won't have you fall ill."
She ignored the shaking of her fingers as she reached for Calvin's shirt. Fortunately, so did he. Abigail found shelter behind the dressing screen, and as she was tossing her gown over the topspreading the material out to dry-the room got dimmer. Calvin was putting out the tapers.
"Do you mind if I take the blanket from the end of the bed? I'll need something to put on the floor."
She shielded her naked breasts with her arms for a moment before the idiocy of the move hit her. Calvin's voice was from across the room.
"Certainly." Abigail reached quickly for his shirt and almost sighed at the warmth that remained a part of the garment like Calvin's ghost. It smelled faintly of rain and sweat and an odor she identified only as Calvin himself. She frowned, looking up from the buttons.
"I should take the floor," she said.
"No."
"But you walked a long way carrying me, and that cannot be good for your back. The hard floor will make it worse."
"I said no, Abby."
She held most of her weight on her good leg as she stared for a moment at the blank wall of the dressing screen. Her thoughts went back to what he had said only minutes before.
"I think," she said, loud enough for her roommate to hear, "you maybe right about why Prudence thought what she did."
"Yes?" She had an idea Calvin was watching the dressing screen.
"Pe
rhaps"-Abigail laced her cool fingers to- gether-"she sensed that I did not think of you as my servant, Calvin. I like to think you are my friend."
There was something unexplainable in his tone as he said, "Come to bed, Abby."
She almost did exactly as he ordered until her leg brace made contact with the floorboards. The shirt she wore came to her knees, and she was struck by how large the man who wore it was, most especially since the garment was too small for him. Abigail's thoughts drifted in that direction for a moment only before she-for the first time in a long time-was struck by the crudity of her right leg. Besides where her skin was red from her brace and her knee was swollen from the fall she had taken earlier, a vicious scar ran across her shin, nearly an inch wide and four times as long.
"Is your back turned, sir?" She tried futilely to tug the shirt down further.
His chuckle was dry. "Not to shock your ladylike sensibilities, but I have seen women in less than what you are now wearing. I imagine the nightgown you wore two nights past showed more flesh."
She struggled to find the words to explain it was not the fact of being seen in his shirt that bothered her, but the idea that he would see the ravages of the accident on her leg. A purely feminine, if not downright vain, part of her recalled him saying she was beautiful as she came down the stairs of her home hours before. She had an idea that if she saw Calvin look at her with the disgust that was quite unavoidable given the circumstances, something inside her would fall apart.
"I'm already lying down, Abby. You are safe."
After moments of waiting, imagining she was peeking out from behind the dressing screen, he heard her pad quietly to the bed. There was a squeak of loner unused springs as she sat, then the sound of brass hitting wood. Lying with his neatly folded coat as his head's only protection against the floor, Calvin realized she was removing her leg brace.
He rolled to his other side and saw, from under the bed, the assembly of wood and metal brackets and leather bindings with their brass buckles being set on the floor. As he watched, Abigail's delicate ankles, so small he might have fit a single hand around both, disappeared upward.
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