Thomas shot the frightened Gertrude a look. “Lincoln has an idea,” he began.
Gertrude leaned forward, smiling at last, as she always did when she heard her new husband’s name. “Does he?”
Thomas nodded. “Aye. He says there is an inn a few miles east of the main road. If we can make it there we’ll be safe for the night and be able to rest the horses.”
“Mr. Fitzgilbert will be furious if we don’t make it tonight,” Gertrude whispered.
Rosalinde swallowed hard. That had been her own thought and she couldn’t deny the anxiety in her chest when she thought of the potential for his wrath. Even a claim of an act of God like the snow wouldn’t appease her grandfather, she was certain.
She looked at her groom, his face bright red from exposure to the wind and cold. She could imagine Lincoln was just as miserable, not to mention the poor horses. There was no way she would deny them all shelter and perhaps sentence them to death.
“Grandfather can hang if he thinks I’ll get us all killed for his foolish timeline,” she said. “Thomas, tell Lincoln to try for the inn.”
Relief flashed over Thomas’s face, making clear how dire the circumstances were. He nodded. “I will, ma’am. But be warned, it will likely take close to an hour to get there on these roads.”
Rosalinde flinched at the prospect but forced a smile. “Just do your best.”
He closed the door and Gertrude reached out to readjust the curtains on all the windows to hold in as much heat as possible. As the maid turned her head, Rosalinde could see the worry on her face. The fear.
She reached out to touch Gertrude’s arm. “Gertie, Mr. Fitzgilbert won’t blame you,” Rosalinde said softly. “I will insure that he blames me for our delay.”
Gertrude didn’t look fully convinced but nodded.
Rosalinde settled back against her seat and shoved her hands into her pelisse pockets. “Celia will worry though,” she mused out loud.
Gertrude nodded. “Yes, but she must be very caught up in arrangements for the wedding. That will distract Miss Celia.”
Rosalinde pursed her lips. She wasn’t so certain of that fact. Celia was the most disinterested bride she had ever known. Neither she nor Stenfax seemed to have allowed emotion to come into the equation of their nuptials at all. After her own bitter experience with marriage, Rosalinde supposed she should be relieved that Celia wasn’t letting her heart lead.
And yet she was uncomfortable with the fact that her younger sister was only being practical. Would she be unhappy with that choice in the future? Would she regret being forced to make the choice Rosalinde had not?
Rosalinde glanced over to find Gertrude watching her closely. Apparently she was awaiting some kind of answer to her earlier statement about Celia’s wedding. She shrugged.
“Well, worried or no, we’ll get there tomorrow and it will have to be enough. All we can hope now is that we arrive safely at this inn of Lincoln’s and that tonight is more uneventful than today has been.”
“How could anything be as eventful as today?” Gertrude asked with a laugh.
Rosalinde joined her in the laugh, for she knew in her heart that her maid was right. The inn couldn’t be anywhere as shocking as the road had been. Not at all.
Gray sat in the corner table at the Raven’s Wing Tavern, nursing his ale and watching the crowd fall in from the storm that raged outside. Normally he would curse the weather, which currently kept him from his business, but since he wasn’t actually looking forward to the duty before him, he toasted it instead.
“One more night won’t change a thing,” he muttered to himself.
He sipped the ale and grimaced. If the snow hadn’t forced him off the road an hour before, this was not the kind of establishment he would normally patronize. It was worn out, ill kept and the ale was terrible. But beggars, it seemed, could not be choosers. A proverb that had always chafed Gray, as he was not accustomed to begging anyone for anything.
Even a drink. And it didn’t seem he had to, for the round innkeeper’s wife who had greeted him and shown him to his small, but serviceable room when he arrived, now stepped up beside him with another tankard in her hand.
He smiled his thanks. “You are getting busy,” he said, flicking his head toward the door where another group of travelers had just staggered in, brushing snow from their clothing as they were welcomed by the portly innkeeper.
The woman’s eyes gleamed with greedy pleasure. “Aye. When you travelers lose, it seems we win. We have only a room or two left for the night.”
Gray tilted his head. “And what happens when they are full? Being stuck in this storm could be deadly.”
“My husband says we’ll stack them out in the great hall here like firewood,” she cackled. “And charge them half of what we’d have them pay for a bed and a fire of their own. We’re already doubling up the servants in the back.”
Gray nodded. He was glad he’d gotten his room when he had, for the idea of sleeping out here in this sea of wet and sniffling humanity was unpleasant, indeed. Money and power talked, it seemed.
The door opened yet again and a swirl of snow entered before the new arrival. As the door was shut and the flakes fell away, Gray straightened up. It was two women who had entered this time. They were obviously lady and servant by their posture. The lady wore a red coat, its hood up around her face. When she pushed it back, Gray caught his breath.
She was stunningly beautiful. Her dark hair was almost jet black, but her eyes were icy blue, piercing the room even from the distance between them. She was the kind of woman who men turned to stare at if she passed them on the street. Now the main hall of the inn grew silent as each man did just that. The lady shifted as a grumble rustled through the crowd of mostly men.
“Ah, here’s another!” the innkeeper’s wife cackled. “And I bet she’ll pay a pretty penny not to have to sleep out in the main room with the riffraff.”
She hustled off through the crowd toward the lady without another word for Gray. He was just as glad for it. Right now his body was doing things he had not allowed it to do for months, hell, years. He’d been a veritable monk during that time, focusing on his investments, his fortune, his family.
Now he wasn’t feeling particularly monk-like as the newcomer smiled at the innkeeper’s wife and began to speak to her softly across the room.
She looked nervous, though Gray could hardly blame her for that after her entrance. Every man in the room was still casting side glances at her like she was a piece of candy and all of them were starving. Gray, included, it seemed.
She looked sophisticated, as well. Every movement of her body spoke of quiet elegance. She must have money, for the innkeeper had now joined his wife in their discussions and both of them were practically drooling all over the newcomer.
The newcomer who was still alone. There was no man who had yet strode through that door to wrap his arm around her and stake his claim before the masses.
She must have come to an arrangement with the innkeeper for his wife smiled and motioned for the lady and her maid to follow, guiding them through the crowded hall and up the stairs where the bedrooms awaited.
Once the mysterious lady had gone, the room drew breath again and the men around him began to make various lewd noises about the beauty which had just been in their midst. Gray gripped his tankard a bit harder as he heard just snippets of the conversation of those close to him.
“Beautiful eyes-”
“…those breasts…”
“I’d like to-”
It seemed everyone in the room had the same lascivious thoughts about the lady. Gray certainly hoped she would be wary when it came to the men in the hall. Most would likely do no more than talk about her behind her back. But a few…Gray looked around. A few did not look savory.
The innkeeper circulated into his crowd, taking over his wife’s job of pouring fresh whiskey and checking on the men in his company. As he passed by Gray
’s table, he paused.
“And may I get you another tankard, sir?”
Gray stared at his half-empty glass. “Not right now, thank you. But I wonder if you might have more information about the lady who just arrived.”
The innkeeper’s eyes lit up with mirth. “Ah, I see, sir. You’re not the only one who has an eye on the lady.”
Gray pursed his lips, hating the teasing tone of the man beside him. “I thought I recognized her,” he lied.
“You and every bloke in the hall,” the man laughed.
Gray scowled before he reached into his pocket and drew out a coin. He pressed it into the man’s palm and said, “As I said, I think I know the lady. Perhaps you could verify that for me.”
The greedy innkeeper pocketed the gold piece swiftly. “Mrs. Wilde, she told my missus,” he said, his tongue now freed by heavier pockets. “I came in late to their conversation, but it seems she’s from a very important family to the west. She was trapped on her way to their great country estate, I think.”
Mrs. Wilde. Gray smiled at the name. The lady at the door hadn’t seemed particularly wild, but then, looks could be deceiving.
“And her husband is seeing to the horses?” he pressed.
The other man laughed. “She don’t have one,” he said. “A widow, I think.”
Beneath the table, Gray gripped his fists on his thighs and tried to ignore the aching of his cock.
“Hmm, well, I thank you for the information,” he said.
The innkeeper took the dismissal as it was intended and bowed away to the next table, leaving Gray to ponder his situation.
He wasn’t sure why he had asked after the lady, let alone paid for information about her. Yes, she was striking, and yes his body was reacting in ways he’d made himself forget, but he hadn’t allowed himself to be distracted by a woman for a very long time.
He certainly didn’t intend to start now.
Other Books by Jess Michaels
Also in The Wicked Woodleys
Forbidden (Book 1)
Deceived (Book 2)
Tempted (Book 3)
Ruined (Book 4)
The Notorious Flynns
The Other Duke (Book 1)
The Scoundrel’s Lover (Book 2)
The Widow Wager (Book 3)
No Gentleman for Georgina (Book 4)
A Marquis for Mary (Book 5)
The Ladies Book of Pleasures
A Matter of Sin
A Moment of Passion
A Measure of Deceit
The Pleasure Wars Series
Taken By the Duke
Pleasuring The Lady
Beauty and the Earl
Beautiful Distraction
Mistress Matchmaker Series
An Introduction to Pleasure
For Desire Alone
Her Perfect Match
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About the Author
Jess Michaels writes erotic historical romance from her home in Tucson, AZ with her husband and one adorable kitty cat. She has written over 50 books, enjoys long walks in the desert and once wrestled a bear over a piece of pie. One of these things is a lie.
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PO Box 814, Cortaro, AZ 85652-0814
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Jess Michaels raffles a FREE Kindle or Amazon gift certificate EVERY month to members of her newsletter, so sign up on her website: http://www.authorjessmichaels.com/
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