This time his laughter was unconstrained. She’d always had nerve, his wife, even when she’d been little more than an untried girl. “Be damned if you think I’m carting you off to cuckold me in comfort, madam.”
She sent him a cool look. “I’m thinking purely in terms of shelter, my lord.”
“I’m sure,” he said cynically.
Still, in spite of his jaded view of the world and its inhabitants, he couldn’t completely stifle his rankling surprise that Alicia had at last chosen a lover. In spite of their lack of communication, he’d always known what she was up to. Since leaving him, she’d been remarkably chaste, which was one of the reasons he’d allowed the ridiculous separation to continue. Clearly living with him for a year had left her with no taste for bed sport. A bitter acknowledgement for a man to make, by God.
Recent gossip had mentioned Lord Harold Fenton as a persistent suitor, but Kinvarra thought he knew enough of his wife to consider the second son of the Marquess of Granville poor competition. Bugger it, he should have listened to the gossip.
By all that was holy, her taste had deteriorated since she’d abandoned her marriage. The man was a complete nonentity.
Perhaps one day she’d thank her husband for saving her from a disastrous mistake.
And the bleak and stony moor around them might suddenly sprout coconut palms.
“No, my love, your fate is sealed.” He slapped his riding crop against his boot and tilted his hat more securely on his head with an arrogant gesture designed to irritate her. “Horatio travels north. I travel south. Unless you intend to ride the other carriage horse or pursue the clodpoll on foot, your direction is mine.”
“Does that mean you will help me?” This time, she didn’t bother correcting his deliberate misremembering of her suitor’s name.
She was lucky he didn’t call the toad Habakkuk and skewer his kidneys with a rapier. Alicia was his. Kinvarra had known that from the first moment he saw her, slender, unsure, but full of a wild vitality that still beckoned him, whatever else divided them. No other damned rapscallion was going to steal her away. Especially a rapscallion who lacked the spine to fight for her.
Kinvarra strode across to his bay mare and snatched up the reins. “If you ask nicely.”
To his surprise, Alicia laughed. “Devil take you, Kinvarra.”
He swung into the saddle and urged the horse nearer to his wife. “Indubitably, my dear.”
Her suddenly cavalier attitude made it easier to deal with her, but it puzzled him. Her lover’s desertion hadn’t cast her down. If she didn’t care for the fellow, why in Hades accept his advances? Yet again, Kinvarra realized how far he remained from understanding the complicated creature he’d wed with such high hopes eleven years ago.
He extended one leather-gloved hand and noted her hesitation before she accepted his assistance. It was the first time he’d touched her since she’d left him, and even through two layers of leather, he felt the burning shock of contact. She stiffened, as though she too felt that unwelcome surge of response.
He’d always wanted her. That was part of the problem, God help them. He’d often asked himself if time would erode the attraction.
Just one touch of her hand on this snowy night, and he received his unequivocal answer.
She swung onto the horse behind him and paused again before looping her arms around his waist. He’d always been hellish aware of her reactions, and he couldn’t help but note her reluctance to touch him.
Good God, what was wrong with the woman? She’d been ready enough to do more than touch rabbit-hearted Fenton. Surely her long-suffering husband deserved a little friendliness after coming to her rescue. With damned little encouragement, too, he might add.
Compared to the cold night, she felt warm and soft against his back. His lunatic heart dipped at her nearness, even as he told himself that the warmth and softness were lies. Alicia Sinclair was made of stone. Or at least she was when it came to her husband. If he forgot that, she’d drag his soul through the razor-sharp thorns of hell again.
But the warning fell on deaf ears. When she touched him, he could think of little else but how long it was since he’d held her in his arms and shown her how strongly she inflamed his unruly passions.
The mare curveted under the double weight, but Kinvarra settled her with a curt word. He never had trouble with horses. It was his wife he couldn’t control.
“What about my belongings?” she asked, calm as you please. The lady should demonstrate proper shame at being caught with a lover. But of course, that wasn’t Alicia. She held her head high, whatever destiny threw at her.
It was one of the things he loved about her.
He quashed the unwelcome insight. “There’s an inn a few miles ahead. I’ll get them to send someone for your baggage.”
He clicked his tongue to the horse and cantered in the opposite direction to the one Fenton had taken. Which was lucky for the weasel. If Kinvarra caught up with Fenton now, he’d be inclined to reach for his horsewhip. What right had that bastard to interfere with other men’s wives, then scuttle away leaving the lady stranded?
Alicia settled herself more comfortably, pressing her lovely, lush body into his back. She hadn’t been this close to him in years. He was scoundrel enough to enjoy the contact, however reluctantly she granted it.
Maybe after all, he should be grateful to old Harold. He might even send the poltroon a case of port and a note of appreciation.
Well, that might go too far.
“Is that where we’re heading?” She tightened her arms. He wished it was because she wanted to touch him and not just because she sought a more secure seat. He also wished that when she said “we”, his belly didn’t cramp with longing for the word to be true.
Damn Alicia. She’d always held magic for him and she always would. Ten long years without her had taught him that grim lesson.
The reminder of the dance she’d led him made him respond in a clipped tone. “No, we’re going to Heseltine Hall near Whitby.”
“But you can leave me at the inn, can’t you?”
“It’s a poor place. I couldn’t abandon a woman there without protection.” He tried, he really did, to keep the satisfaction from his voice, but he must have failed. He felt her tense against his back, although she couldn’t pull too far away without risking a fall.
“And who’s going to protect me from you?” she muttered, almost as if to herself.
“I mean you no harm.” For all their difficult interactions, he’d only ever wished her well. “You didn’t come all the way from London in that spindly carriage, did you?”
“It’s inappropriate to discuss my arrangement with Lord Harold,” she said coldly.
He laughed again, against all sense, enchanted with her spirit. “Humor me.”
She sighed. “We traveled up separately to York.” Her voice melted into sincerity, and he tried not to respond to the husky sweetness. “I truly didn’t set out to cause a scandal. You and I parted in rancor, but I have no ambition to damage you or your name.”
“Whatever your attempts at discretion, you still meant to give yourself to that puppy,” Kinvarra bit out, all amusement abruptly fled.
Alicia didn’t answer.
Chapter 2
THE WEATHER HAD worsened by the time they reached the inn. Alicia realized as they approached the ramshackle, rambling building that it was indeed the rough place Kinvarra had described. But just the prospect of shelter and a chance to rest her aching body was welcome. Surely Kinvarra couldn’t intend to ride on to his mysterious manor tonight when more snow fell every minute and their horse was blowing with exhaustion.
The earl dismounted and lifted her from the saddle. His hands were firm around her waist, and she struggled to ignore the thrill that sizzled through her traitorous body. The lamps that lit the inn yard revealed that he looked tired and strangely, for a man who always seemed so indomitable, unhappy.
As he set her upon the cobblestones, his
hands didn’t linger. She tried not to note that she’d touched Kinvarra more in the last few hours than she had since she’d left him. Nor did she wish to remember that hugging his strong back, she’d felt safer than she had in years.
“Let’s get you into the warmth.” He gestured for her to precede him inside, as a groom rushed to take their horse.
Alicia had expected her husband to spend the journey haranguing her for her wantonness—or at the very least her idiocy in setting out for the wilds of Yorkshire in the depths of winter so ill prepared for disaster. But he’d remained quiet.
How she wished he’d berated her. She dearly needed to remember why she hated him. She’d spent a decade convincing herself that leaving him had been her only choice of action. A moment’s unexpected kindness shouldn’t change that.
While his body offered a warm anchor and his adept hands unerringly guided their horse toward sanctuary, resentment had proven fiendishly difficult to maintain. And when she wasn’t constantly sniping at him, it became impossible to ignore his physical presence. His clean, male scent—horses, leather, soap, fresh air. The muscles under her hands, hard even through his winter clothing. His lean strength.
Kinvarra had been a handsome boy. He’d become a splendid man.
She’d forgotten how powerfully he affected her. And the pity of it was that she’d need far too long after this to forget again. He made every other man pale into insignificance.
It was vilely irritating.
The rotund landlord greeted them at the door, clearly overwhelmed to have the quality on his humble premises. The tap room was jammed to the rafters with people bundled up for an uncomfortable night on chairs and benches. A few hardy souls hunched near the fire, drinking and smoking. One table of revelers even defied their circumstances and sang some carols in honor of the season.
Apart from a couple of serving maids, Alicia was the only woman present. Self-consciously she drew her hood around her face, as she shifted closer to the blaze. The heat penetrated frozen extremities with painful force. Even molding herself to Kinvarra’s big, strong body, the ride had been frozen purgatory.
For all that she remained standing, she’d drifted into a half-doze when she became aware of Kinvarra beside her. He spoke in a low voice to save them from eavesdroppers. “My lady, there’s a difficulty.”
Blinking, striving to regain alertness, she slowly turned to face him. “I’m happy to accept any accommodation. Surely you don’t plan to go on tonight.”
He shook his head. He’d taken off his hat and light sheened across his thick dark hair. “The weather will worsen before it improves. It would be cruel to force my horse back into the blizzard. And there isn’t another village for miles.”
“Then of course we’ll stay.”
His saturnine face was shuttered. “Are you sure?”
His hesitancy aroused misgivings. Her husband was never hesitant. “What is it?”
“There’s only one room.”
One room? Dear heaven. What a catastrophe. Aghast, she stared at him. “Surely…surely you could sleep in the tap room.”
The moment she made the suggestion, she felt like the world’s most ungrateful creature. Her husband had rescued her in extremely good spirit, given the compromising situation he caught her in. He’d made a few cutting remarks, but she’d deserved much worse. Like her, he was tired and cold and hungry. It wasn’t fair to consign him to a hard floor and the company of a parcel of rustics, not to mention the vermin flourishing on their unwashed persons.
His lips twisted in a wry smile. “As you can see, there’s no space. Even if there was, I won’t leave you on your own with the place full of God knows what ruffians.”
What on earth was going on here? He sounded protective. When she knew he despised everything about her. “We can’t share a room.”
She’d suspect him of some trick, if she wasn’t sharply aware that he, too, recalled the misery of their time together at Balmuir House. He must be as eager as she for this night to end so they could both return to their separate lives. Kinvarra would never plot the seduction of his wife.
So what was his game?
His eyes glinted with sardonic amusement. “I don’t see why not. We’re married. It’s too late to play Miss Propriety. After all, you were about to hop into bed with Herbert.”
“Harold,” she said automatically, avoiding his gaze. Sick humiliation twisted her belly into knots. Here with Kinvarra, she didn’t feel brave and daring for taking a lover. Instead she felt grubby and small.
His features tightened into harshness. “Whatever the bugger’s name, I hope to hell he hasn’t sampled your favors already, or I’ll think even less of his stalwart behavior on the road.”
“We hadn’t…we didn’t…” She stopped and glowered at him, furious. “That is none of your concern, my lord.”
But it was far too late. Triumph lit Kinvarra’s face. Curse her for confessing that she was still to all intents faithful to him. The cad didn’t deserve her fidelity. He never had.
“Can’t we hire a gig to take us to your manor?” she asked on a note of desperation.
Now the prospect of staying at the inn wasn’t so welcome. And not just because she’d have to share a room with her husband. Tonight’s events left her too exposed to painful memories and present confusion. Easy to play the indifferent spouse when she met the earl for five minutes in a crowded ballroom. Much more difficult when she’d just spent an hour cuddled up to him, and he sounded like a reasonable man, instead of the spoiled, petulant boy she recalled from their brief cohabitation.
At least, thank heaven, he wouldn’t touch her, whatever silly suspicions entered her mind. She was safe from that. The last time they exchanged more than bland public greetings, he’d made it obvious that he’d rather have a crocodile in his bed.
He shook his head. “There are none. And even if there were, I’m not going to risk my neck—and yours—on a night like this. Face it, madam, you’ve returned to the bonds of holy matrimony until tomorrow. I wager you’ll survive the experience.”
Alicia wasn’t so sure. Leaving Kinvarra had nearly destroyed her. All this propinquity now only reopened old wounds that had hardly healed since. But what choice did she have?
Raising her head, she studied his striking face. The black eyes were veiled. His expression indicated impatience with her havering and no hint of amorous intent. Of course there wasn’t. He didn’t want her. And nor, it seemed, did Harold. She’d been alone for so long. She’d never felt as alone as she did at this moment.
She didn’t try to hide her reluctance. “Very well.”
Kinvarra’s lips twitched at her lack of enthusiasm. “I’ll tell the landlord that we’ll take his last chamber.”
Shock held her silent as she realized how much he’d changed. The man she’d married would have caviled at her unmannerly acceptance. Heavens, the man she’d married would have thrown a tantrum if she’d as much as glanced at another man, let alone eloped with him. Kinvarra hadn’t just grown into his looks, he’d grown into his power.
He bowed briefly and strode away with a smooth, confident gait. As a youth, he’d been almost sinfully beautiful with his black hair and glittering eyes, but the man of thirty-two was formidable and in command of himself in a way his younger self had never been.
Alicia watched him go, wanting to turn away but unable to shift her gaze. What would she make of him if they met for the first time now? Honesty compelled her to acknowledge she would probably like him. She’d certainly notice him—no woman could ignore such a handsome man, with his air of authority and competence.
While admitting the fact made her skin itch with pique, she was glad Kinvarra had arrived to rescue her from that ditch. If she’d relied on Harold to solve their problems, she’d still be standing by the roadside.
***
Given the shambles downstairs, the bedchamber was surprisingly clean and wonderfully snug to a woman shivering with cold. Silently Alicia removed
her gloves, then slid her dripping red cloak from her shoulders, folded it and placed it on top of a carved wooden chest.
It seemed ridiculous to feel shy in the presence of the man she’d married eleven years ago, but she did. Across the room, Kinvarra removed his muddy outdoor clothes, revealing a plain blue coat and buff breeches.
A troupe of maids delivered hot water and a substantial supper, then disappeared, leaving Alicia standing in a bedroom with her husband for the first time in ten years.
She tried not to focus on the massive tester bed in the corner. Out on the moors, she’d have scoffed at the idea of letting him touch her in passion, even if he wanted to. But with every moment in this room, a strange tension built between them, a tension that whispered of desire long denied.
Did Kinvarra feel this tremulous awareness, too? Or was it all her imagination? Was he hoping to join her in that bed? And if he was, what would her response be? Last week, yesterday, an hour ago, it would have been a contemptuous refusal.
Now? Now, she wasn’t so sure what she wanted. She had an unwelcome inkling that she might want her husband.
She shivered, but whether with nerves or anticipation, she couldn’t have said.
Kinvarra poured a glass of claret from the decanter on the sideboard. He took a mouthful, then turned to watch Alicia lower herself gingerly into an oak chair near the fire. Frowning with concern, he strode toward her. “You told me you weren’t hurt.”
Again, that protective air. She fought to strangle the warmth curling in her heart. And failed. Heaven help her, she needed to remember the last time they’d been alone together, or she risked making an awful fool of herself.
She shook her head, even as she relished the blessed relief of sitting on something that didn’t move. “I’m bruised, and stiff from cold and riding, but, no, I’m not hurt.”
“You were lucky. The curricle is beyond repair. I know the road was icy, but the going wasn’t hazardous, for all that. Was Henry driving too fast?”
“Perhaps.” She paused before grudgingly admitting, “We were arguing.”
Mistletoe Wishes Page 2