She couldn’t remember how she got into the room, or how she came to be undressed. But there were other memories. She remembered the carriage flipping to its side, sliding down the short embankment, and how tender George had been comforting her after the accident. She remembered the freezing rain and the chill, and she remembered the ride to the inn, George’s body pressed tightly against her own, heat radiating off of him, warming her. But there was nothing after that.
And where was George?
A knock at the door startled her. She pulled the blanket up to her chin and stared at the doorway, hoping whoever was on the other side would just go away.
A moment later she heard rattling and the door opened.
She sensed him before she could see him. It was his smell, that manly scent of sandalwood and leather that was unmistakable. It permeated the air, lingering long after he left.
She relaxed a bit, but kept the blanket held high, preserving whatever modesty she had left.
George stepped inside. “Good, you’re awake. I was starting to regret finally allowing you to fall asleep.”
“I feel much better now,” she answered, testing out her voice, still hoarse from her slumber.
He plopped a basket down on the small table at the center of the room. “I thought you might be hungry. I apologize for the lack of variety, I brought what I could find.”
She nodded her thanks. “Please don’t think me totally rude, but is there any way you could return to your room for a bit until I can make myself ready to receive you?”
“About that…” He sat down at one of the chairs around the table and crossed one ankle over his knee. “I’m afraid this is my room.”
“What?” She could feel the blood rush to her head. “How can that be?”
“Quite easily, actually. The weather still can’t make up its mind if it wants to rain or snow, so we’re left with a freezing mix of both. It’s made the roads nearly impassable and delayed any repair work that can be done to the bridge until it’s cleared up a bit. This is a well-travelled road, so the inn is full to capacity.”
“Impassable? But what about your men? How will they get back to London?”
“A more fortunate set of travelers came upon them earlier and brought them back here. I am pleased to report that all are warm, fed, and drunk at the moment.”
“By chance did they happen to bring our trunks? My bag?”
“I’m afraid not. There wasn’t enough room for the men and our belongings. All we have is what we were wearing.”
Which was nothing. She couldn’t possibly stay a night alone with him wearing little to no clothing? What kind of cruel joke was fate playing on her?
“There has to be somewhere you can stay?”
He raised a sardonic brow. “Like the stable? Or perhaps there’s a chicken coop I can make my bed in? You’d turn me out into the cold as to avoid occupying the same room as me? My, you do hate me, don’t you?”
“I didn’t mean that.” She had actually meant that, but it sounded foolish when he said it out loud like that.
He smirked, his smile impossibly bright. The teasing added a bit of normalcy to their situation, which was, without a doubt, anything but.
She noticed her gown hanging on the wall. It was soiled, but would have to do. “Is there anyone who can help me dress?”
“I doubt that. With the sudden influx of guests, the staff are running around just trying to keep everyone fed and the fires lit.” He inclined his head toward her. “I apologize. It would appear that I’m a harbinger of utter disappointment.”
An inkling of something appalling began to take shape. “How did I get undressed then?”
George abruptly looked down to examine his boots.
Immediately, she knew. Willie pulled the blanket even tighter against her body, her hands trembling. “You did this!” Suddenly, the dark, wool blanket she was clinging to made her feel little better than if she were holding up a wet piece of white muslin.
“I couldn’t very well leave you in your wet clothes, now could I? You’d certainly catch a fever then if you haven’t already.”
“But what about your clothes?” She pointed her finger accusingly at his fully dressed form.
“I was wearing about as much as you are now.” He gestured toward a gray blanket tossed in the corner of the room. “I decided to put on my wet clothes in order to find some food for us. I didn’t want to frighten the locals by waltzing around this establishment in nothing but the wardrobe God provided.”
Wilhelmina bit her tongue. George in his naked form would hardly be frightening to anyone. Now that he’d mentioned it, she could tell that his clothes were still quite damp, clinging to the muscles of his arms and legs. She quickly averted her eyes, hoping he hadn’t noticed her ogling. “Could you at least give me a few moments of privacy so that I might change into my gown? I’d feel much better about having this conversation if I weren’t so…exposed.”
He tested the fabric of the gown between two fingers. “It’s still soaked through.”
“My chemise?” She nodded toward the thin muslin garment hanging next to her black gown.
He fingered the waist of the garment. “I think that could do.” George took it down and tossed it over to her.
She reached out and caught it, simultaneously dropping the blanket and exposing her upper body to him. As soon as she realized her error she clutched the chemise to her bare chest. “You did that on purpose!”
George rocked back on his heels. “Always thinking the worst of me, aren’t you?”
“You’re the one who offers me no choice in the matter.”
“For your information, I did not plan that. But, I am quite pleased to have borne witness to such a lovely mishap.”
“Turn around,” she sighed heavily.
He complied, turning slowly with his hands in the air.
Willie seized the opportunity and quickly pulled the chemise on over her head. “Dammit,” she mumbled. The fabric was thin and completely transparent in the firelight.
“Are you decent?” he asked, his voice dripping feigned innocence.
“Hardly.”
George turned back around, his brow wrinkled. “You’re trembling. You should come sit closer by the fire.”
If he noticed the transparency of her garment, he didn’t let on. For that, she was thankful. “I’ll need a hot bath if I’m to escape this bitter cold.”
“I did put in the request, but I’ve about lost all hope for having one tonight.”
He placed both the wood chairs in front of the fire and gestured for her to take one. She accepted his offer, grateful for the roaring fire he must have tended to while she was resting. As he turned, his freezing knuckles grazed her shoulder, sending a chill down her spine. “My, you’re colder than ice!”
George shrugged it off. “My clothes are wet so that’s to be expected.”
“You go making a fuss over me when you’re just as likely to catch a fever as I am.”
“Yes, but I don’t have a chemise.”
Wilhelmina contemplated their predicament for a moment. Surely, they were mature enough to put their basic requirements for warmth and shelter over any of their baser needs? Granted, there was a time in their lives where they could barely keep their hands off each other, but they were older now and certainly able to show more restraint than that.
“You should get back into your blanket. Hang your clothes by the fire. Your shirt should be first to dry. As long as you can wear that, you’ll be decent enough.”
George’s eyes narrowed, but then he slipped off his jacket, letting it fall to the floor. He began to unbutton his waistcoat until that too fell away and joined the jacket. He then untucked his shirt…
She let out a slight gasp and swiftly turned away, averting her eyes to the wall behind them. It was void of any decoration and was plain as any wall she’d seen, but at that moment she stared as if it were the most interesting structure ever built. It became apparen
t that even with her back turned she was still able to watch his shadow, projected onto the wall by the firelight. He was sitting now, taking off his boots, one at a time. She flinched as each one hit the floor. Then he stood again and started to remove his pants.
Wilhelmina shut her eyes and began silently reciting the Lord’s Prayer.
“I’m ready,” he announced after he’d hung his clothes by the fire.
She turned back, her ears hot, praying that he didn’t take notice. He had wrapped himself in the blanket in the style of a toga. It had been years since she’d seen such a sight, his being the only male form she’d the privilege of seeing outside the occasional text on Greek mythology or human anatomy. The muscles in his shoulders and arms rippled with each slight movement, but it was his exposed legs that captured her attention. His calves were well-muscled, with razor sharp shins dusted with a light brushing of dark hair.
Willie hadn’t realized how desirable a man’s legs could be before.
Her cheeks felt warm, though she doubted the fire had anything to do with it. “Do you think your men made it to Chesterton?” she asked, desperate to think of something else than the half-naked man sitting next to her.
“No,” he answered honestly. “But, they took another road, so there’s no reason to think their delay will be dependent on anything but the weather, which by all approximation should be better by day break.”
“That means Kitty and your brother are still alone out there.”
“Perhaps. But it also means they might be stranded just like us – a safe distance away from Gretna Greene and any sudden Scottish declarations of marriage.”
Though she hated to think her sister was staying the night at an inn with a young man, sans escort, the knowledge that the Scottish border was still miles away was certainly a silver lining to what was otherwise quite a stormy night.
“Brandy,” he blurted out of nowhere.
“What about it?” she asked, noting the slight tremor in her voice.
“We should have some.”
That was possibly the best suggestion she’d heard since the start of this trip. “Do you have any?”
He reached over and rummaged through the basket he’d brought in. “Eureka!” he declared, holding up a flask.
“So, you didn’t manage to salvage any sort of clothing, but you did happen to save your flask?”
“It’s called priorities.” George passed the flask to her, to which she accepted without so much as a moment’s hesitation.
Briefly, she admired the vessel, tin with gold filigree as decoration. It was so beautiful on the outside, but inside, well, it was quite utilitarian. Alcohol was indeed the great equalizer of men. No matter the method, how fine the quality, the end result was always the same.
She took a swig, aware of his stare. One gulp, two, three, and four. Willie passed the flask, smacking her lips together as the fiery liquid burned down her throat and puddled in a warm spot at the pit of her stomach.
She turned to George whose mouth fell agog. “Your turn.”
He accepted it, bringing the vessel to his lips. “Most of the women I know are partial to elder wine or claret, Madeira. You take to brandy like any man I’ve come across at Brooks’.”
She reached for the flask and unabashedly helped herself to another swig. “My late husband didn’t imbibe. A gentleman from the church once brought an entire decanter of good Scottish whiskey and my husband, always the example of propriety for his people, accepted the gift, but never partook. I however, found it delicious and for the short duration of our life together, enjoyed taking a few moments for myself by the fire with my glass of whiskey before I retired.”
“Everything but the cigar,” he remarked.
“I know it sounds silly, but it resonated with me.” The brandy was taking quick effect, that heady feeling washing over her body, relaxing her muscles and slowing her mind. “It had a most cathartic effect.”
George nodded. “That’s exactly why men escape to take their brandy after dinner. It provides a brief reprieve from the chaos of everyday life.”
“Oh, what do you know of chaos?” She took another drink, despite knowing better.
He didn’t refute her point. George stared into the fire as he spoke. “I’m sorry you experienced so much tragedy with your husband.”
She didn’t pass the flask back. “He was there for me at a time I desperately needed a friend and I returned the favor when he needed it most. There’s no room for regret, in fact, I’m comforted knowing I was there for him when he needed it most.”
“You keep speaking of friendship. I haven’t heard about love yet.”
The next drink sent her into a sweet oblivion. Suddenly, the room was no longer nearly as bare, the air was warm, and the company was familiar and welcomed. “Ours wasn’t a marriage founded on love. Granted, love grew, but it was not the romantic type. I’m afraid my husband was committed to God above all else.”
Chapter 11
“Would you like something to eat? I’m starving.” She stood up, abruptly changing the subject. As far as he was concerned, avoidance was tantamount to admittance.
He watched her make up two plates with the bread and cheese he’d managed to come by (thanks in part to a rather large sum of money and quite a bit of sexual innuendo). “You didn’t love him?”
She passed him a plate.
He watched for any telltale sign. The brandy had relaxed her, and suddenly she’d lost that lovely veneer which protected her and her thoughts so well.
Willie returned to her seat by the fire, tucking her feet beneath her, precariously balancing her plate on her knee. “I loved him as the dear friend that he was. But it was never romantic.”
“But you had such determined notions regarding love.” He tried to sound casual, even going so far as to enjoy a few bites of Gruyere, despite the pounding of his heart.
“There’s something to be said for marriages based on friendship. It’s so much simpler that way.”
George couldn’t believe it. He’d thought for all this time that she’d been in love with the vicar. Why else would she have cut ties with him and then suddenly marry a man who came out of nowhere. Friendship? But why?
“You can have friendship without marriage.” He couldn’t think of a worse reason to marry. “You don’t have to marry at all.”
“That does sound like something you’d say.” She reached for his plate, then set both his and hers on the floor.
“Why do you say that?”
“Well, you were and continue to be marriage-averse.”
“That’s not even a word.” He rebuked.
“It is now.” She pointed her finger at him for emphasis.
He debated biting it, playfully of course.
“You run from marriage,” she slurred. “Why else would a man your age remain a bachelor?” The day’s events, and the contents of the flask, had finally taken its toll on her.
“My age?” He scoffed at the affront. “I’m not that old.”
“Well, you’re not that young either.”
“Marriage isn’t for everyone. I’m perfectly content where I am in my life.”
“I know,” she said. “You chose your path, and I chose mine. My marriage wasn’t based on love, but it served its purpose.”
He wanted to point out that the only reason he’d even set upon this path was because she pushed him toward it, but again, he knew when it was best to keep his mouth closed…most of the time. Still, it bothered him that she would purposely deprive herself of the very thing she’d fought with him so vehemently for – a loving marriage.
Willie yawned. “I do believe if I don’t get to bed soon, I’ll fall asleep in this very chair.”
“Don’t do that,” he warned. “You’ll wake with terrible back pain.”
She stood and walked to the bed, hesitating before crawling in. “Where will you sleep?”
His bed at home could comfortably sleep at least a half dozen individuals, th
ough he’d never tried it himself. It was plush and warm and covered in silk sheets and down-filled comforters. He slept with no fewer than two pillows beneath his head and his mattress was the finest money could buy.
And at this very moment, he could think of nothing more enticing than the finger-thick straw filled mat in front of him, barely wide enough to accommodate two adults.
And it wasn’t out of sheer exhaustion either.
“On the floor, like I did earlier.” He’d spoken the words with every hope that she’d invite him to share the bed with her. It was a terribly improper idea and he had just about as much of a chance of being hit by a falling star than he had of being invited to sleep with her, platonic or otherwise.
Wilhelmina crawled into the bed and finger-combed her hair. “Do remember to blow out the candle and stir the fire before you go to sleep.” She pulled up the blanket and rolled over, leaving him with a view of slim shoulders and the vague outline of her bottom draped in a rough, wool blanket.
George made up his bed and crawled into it. He rolled from side-to-side to get comfortable, but no matter what the position, he couldn’t. His leg ached. It usually did when the weather turned cold, but that wasn’t the reason for his insomnia.
He didn’t feel right anymore. He felt, guilty. He was the man she’d accused him of being all those years ago. He’d surpassed even her lowest expectations, in spectacular form no less. And just as Aunt Louisa had fatefully predicted, he had indeed failed Willie in every possible way.
It always comforted him to think that he’d made those promises under duress. They were the oaths of lovers, words difficult for any mortal man to follow through on, impossible for a scoundrel like him. He’d been completely captivated by Willie—a beautiful girl without any of the pretense he’d found so common among his rank. She’d turned his life upside down in a matter of days and made him question everything he’d ever known about the world. He wasn’t merely in love with her, he’d been all-consumed by his aching for her, rendered mad with arousal, and obsessed beyond reason. His love for her had been the very definition of insanity.
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