Lord Alistair nodded. “Let’s move the carriage to the side of the road if we can. I’ll take Miss Potter to the inn on horseback so she can get out of the cold.” He went to assist the coachman, while Louise watched in amazement.
Lord Alistair was a capable man, his strength evident in his ability to push the carriage forward while the coachman directed the horses. And rather than pant or groan from the exertion, he quickly went to help unhitch one of the horses, collect her bag, and come to help her up. “All you have to do is swing your leg over the side,” he said when he placed his hands on her waist.
Before she could think too much about what it felt like to have him touch her like that, she was in the air. Her right leg went over the horse’s back as he’d advised, so she sat astride in a way most people would frown at.
As if reading her mind, Lord Alistairmet her eyes through the falling snow. “I apologize for not having a sidesaddle.” Before she could answer, he glanced down at her exposed legs and grinned. “Then again, perhaps I’m not sorry at all.”
Handing her the blanket from the carriage so she could wrap it around her shoulders, he pulled the horse into a walk and started toward their destination. “Will you not ride with me?” she asked after a while. She’d warred with her conscience about suggesting he do so. But having him closer would help keep her warm, even if it wasn’t the wisest course of action. Especially not after the comment he’d made about her legs. Still, seeing him trudge through the snow while she sat like a queen filled her with guilt.
He muttered something imperceptible before saying, “I don’t think I should.”
“Because you claim to want me or—”
“Precisely.”
He said nothing further, and neither did she. But that didn’t make her any less aware of the tension that seemed to have formed between them. It was palpable, like a ball of dry hay waiting for a spark to set it on fire.
By the time they arrived at the inn, Alistair’s clothes were permeated by frost. He could feel it all the way to his bones, his feet so cold they’d practically gone numb. Helping Miss Potter down from the horse, he felt her shudder and knew she wasn’t faring much better. A hot bath would help, but before such a wonderfully soothing experience could be his, he would have to return to the carriage with a couple of men and a spare wheel.
But as they entered the inn and he became aware of how overcrowded it was and that several patrons were deep in their cups, he was forced to reconsider. Leaving Miss Potter alone here would not be the right thing to do.
So he led her over to the counter and addressed the elderly man who stood there. “Are you the innkeeper?” he asked.
“Aye,” the man responded.
Explaining his situation, Alistair asked if the man could spare a couple of grooms and if he had an extra wheel available too, offering decent compensation for both.
“I’ve two strong lads out back. I’ll ask them to go help your coachman bring the carriage here.”
“We’ll also need two bedrooms and a spot in the loft for my coachman to rest.”
The innkeeper raised both eyebrows. “As you can see, we’re practically filled to capacity.”
“Practically?”
Nodding, the innkeeper glanced at Miss Potter. “I’ve one room left. You might consider sharing.”
Appalled the man would suggest such a thing, Alistair shook his head. “That’s out of the question.” Miss Potter was an innocent young woman, who needed to be protected from the likes of him. “What about the hayloft?”
“There’s no more space up there. I’m afraid your coachman will have to sleep in the carriage. We can provide some blankets for him so he can be comfortable.”
Which still left Alistair without a bed unless he agreed to do as the innkeeper had initially suggested. Glancing at Miss Potter, he chastised himself for even considering such an inappropriate course. Especially when she was standing there, hugging herself in an effort to get warm. “Show us up, please.” He would decide what to do with himself later, once she’d been made comfortable.
The room turned out to be of the smaller variety, with the bed propped up against the wall and a chair in one corner. Setting Miss Potter’s bag on the floor, Alistair turned to the innkeeper. “I don’t suppose there’s room enough for a tub to be brought in?”
“It’s been done before,” the innkeeper said. “I’ll have it brought up as soon as possible.”
“And if we could please have some food as well, that would be splendid.”
The innkeeper nodded. “The beef stew is good. Will you want to eat it downstairs or up here?”
Thinking of the drunken men in the taproom, Alistair told the innkeeper to bring it up. He waited until he was gone before turning toward Miss Potter. “I apologize for the way this evening is going.”
“It’s not your fault.” She considered the room, observing its small size before meeting his gaze once more. “I’m happy to share this room with you, if you like.”
The tension that had been gripping him with increasing force since the moment he’d met her began to take its toll. “Thank you,” he said, clenching his jaw. “But it would not be proper.”
“I am well aware of that, Lord Alistair. Especially after what you have told me.”
He dipped his head and moved toward the door. “Then I shall leave you to rest. The bath will be up soon, along with the food. I hope—”
“But with no room in the hayloft and your coachman sleeping in the carriage, what will you do?”
“I don’t know.” It was the truth. But when it was clear his comment did not agree with her, he hastened to say, “I’m sure I’ll figure something out.”
“Really?”
He made a curt nod. “Yes.”
She crossed her arms and gave him a stern look. “I wasn’t offering you the bed, you know. But the chair over there does not look too uncomfortable, and I dare say it will be better than one of the wooden ones in the taproom. Not to mention the noise down there is unlikely to give you much peace.”
“As true as that may be and as generous as you are being, I still don’t think it is wise for me to remain here.”
“Why? Because you plan to pounce on me when I least expect it?”
That suggestion certainly stirred his blood. “Of course not,” he managed to say while visions of ravishing her swamped his brain.
“Then let’s be practical about this, shall we? You are definitely as cold, tired, and hungry as I. The fact you’re a man does not diminish your need for warmth, rest, or sustenance.”
“I suppose that’s true, though many would disagree.”
“Well, they’re not here right now. It’s only you and I, and I say you ought to have a comfortable spot for the night. What’s your opinion on the matter, practically speaking?”
“Well…”
A knock at the door served as a welcome distraction. Opening it, he found a servant holding a tray with food. Three more men stood behind him, two of them holding a brass tub, while the third carried a pail of water. Alistair waved them inside, maneuvering about so they could set everything down in the decreasing space.
“That does look rather tempting,” Miss Potter said, as soon as the servants had finished filling the tub. It had taken several trips up and down the stairs, but they’d eventually gotten it done. Turning toward her, Alistair found her staring down at the tub. Waves of steam rose from the hot water. Hands on hips, she glanced at where he stood. “Will you go first or shall I?”
The question, posed with a genuine look of concern in her eyes, almost knocked him off his feet. Clenching his fists, he dug his nails against the palms of his hands and focused on that discomfort, hoping it might alleviate another. “You will not be bathing in my presence, and I shall not be bathing in yours,” he clipped.
“Of course not!” She stared at him. “Heavens, I wasn’t suggesting something that scandalous. It goes without saying that we would step outside to allow the other the pr
ivacy they require.”
His limbs felt as though they were going to break beneath the strain of his carefully held control. “Then by all means, proceed. I shall return in fifteen minutes.” And with that, he stepped outside the room, shutting the door behind him while wondering if it was possible to survive seven days of constant arousal, or if it was destined to kill him. Because it sure as hell felt as though it would.
Sinking into the soothing water, Louise took a moment to think of her situation. If she encouraged him, she’d no doubt in her mind that Lord Alistair’s resolve would waver, and the two of them would enjoy a passionate night together. But as tempting as that was and as attractive as she found him, she could not allow such a thing to happen. Doing so would put everything at risk, because nobody on God’s green earth would want to employ a fallen woman as their governess. And while she was fairly confident Lord Alistair would refrain from mentioning any kisses they happened to share to his niece, Louise could not take the chance of her finding out. Her sisters relied on her too heavily for that.
So she picked up the soap and proceeded to wash. Her friendship with Lord Alistair would be short lived, but it would provide her with wonderful memories to look back on. Not because of the desire he felt for her, but because of how well they’d gotten to know each other, the confidences they’d shared, and the lengthy discussions they’d had.
Every word they’d spoken had strengthened the bond between them in a way she’d initially feared. She’d been wrong to do so, however, because getting to know Lord Alistair properly wasn’t something she could regret. In another place and another life, they would likely have made the perfect match. But they were here, in England, their actions dictated by social protocol. Soon they would arrive at Whitehaven where he would meet the woman whom he was supposed to marry. She was going to be a governess, and their lives, so intertwined in this moment, would move apart once more.
With this in mind, she finished her bath and stepped out of the tub, drying herself with the towel. She would count her blessings and the chance she’d had to know a remarkable man – a man who wasn’t too proud to help his servants, a man who put aside his own wants and needs in favor of doing what was right, a man determined to do his duty whether that meant adhering to his brother’s demands or finding a way to provide for himself without relying on others.
Managing to throw her dress over her head two seconds before he returned to knock on the door, Louise hastily tied the ribbons in place while she called for him to enter. He strode in with a grim expression hardening his features. The door closed behind him, and he stopped to take her in. She held her breath, unsure of what he might be thinking, then watched as his gaze slid sideways toward the bed where her undergarments were strewn about. Being in a hurry to finish up, she hadn’t put them back on again, though she wished she’d at least tidied them away.
When he considered her next, it was with flames dancing in his eyes. His throat worked and he dropped his gaze to allow for a slow and studious perusal of her entire body. Her belly tightened against a surge of heat, her skin tingling in anticipation of what he might do. Pointing toward the bed, he closed his eyes on a tortured breath. “Please put those things away.”
His request propelled her into action. Hastening forward she snatched up her stays, her stockings, and her chemise and stuffed them into her bag. She then hurried toward the door, grabbing her boots while she went, which forced her to move right past him, her arm brushing his as she did so.
The sharp inhale of breath he took sent shivers racing up her spine, and then she felt his hand upon her wrist, clutching her tight and halting her progress. “Will you save me from my insanity, Miss Potter?”
Swallowing in the face of his resistance, she lifted her chin toward his anguished expression. “I cannot.”
His jaw seemed to harden against her words, but he bowed his head in submission. “Of course not. I don’t know what I was thinking to ask.” And without speaking another word, he turned on his heel, flung open the door, and stormed out.
Spending the night on a wooden bench in the taproom wasn’t Alistair’s idea of fun, but it had been necessary. After exiting Miss Potter’s room so she could bathe, he’d gone for a brisk walk in the snow and had imagined himself capable of joining her for supper. Until he’d seen her standing there with her hair unpinned, the tips dripping wet, and her bare feet peeking out from beneath the hem of her dress.
He’d averted his gaze only to find himself staring at her undergarments lying on the bed, which meant she’d been utterly naked beneath the grey wool she’d been wearing. This thought had, in the space of one second, led to others. He’d imagined pulling the gown up over her head and taking a thorough look at her, of flinging her onto the bed and delving between her thighs in ways that topped his most erotic fantasies.
But when he’d asked for permission to do exactly that, she’d denied him. And rightfully so. In fact, he was glad of it, because what sort of woman would she be if she had allowed him to have his way with her like that? Christ, he was being a selfish scoundrel. She was an innocent woman whom his niece had asked him to escort to her home. The only problem was he’d been expecting a middle-aged spinster, not a goddess.
Groaning in response to the constant discomfort that plagued him, Alistair went to speak with his coachman. He would ensure the carriage was ready for departure before fetching Miss Potter. The anticipation of seeing her again made his muscles flex. Never in his life had he wanted a woman as much as he wanted her.
He’d mentioned marriage on impulse – as a lark, really – not as something he thought she might agree to. Her shocked response followed by her insistence that such a thing would not be possible had not banished the idea from his head, however. Instead, it had cemented itself in a way that demanded his attention. And if he did indeed marry her, then he could have her as often as he pleased and…There was more to it than that. He genuinely enjoyed conversing with her.
An idea struck him. His brother insisted he’d cut him off unless he married the woman who waited for him at Whitehaven. But would Langley really follow through on such a threat if Alistair married Miss Potter instead? And would he care? Was lust enough to make him take such a risk? He could still try to make some investments. He could even sell his country estate if doing so would help him provide for a wife.
Unsure of how far he was willing to go in order to sate his needs, Alistair did what had to be done in order to get ready for the rest of the journey. When Miss Potter came to find him half an hour later, he greeted her with politeness, then handed her up into the carriage and closed the door. She looked out of the window at him and frowned. “Will you not be riding in here with me?”
“Not today,” he said, then went to join his coachman on the driver’s block before she tried to convince him to keep her company instead.
Alone in the carriage, Louise tried to pass the time with her book. When doing so lost her interest, she gave her attention to the snow-covered landscape. Once this lost its appeal as well, she tried to distract herself with a game of solitaire. By the time luncheon finally arrived, she had to admit this day was turning out to be the longest of her life. It was only made worse by the realization that Lord Alistair wouldn’t be joining her for a meal. Instead, he left her to eat the ham and cheese she’d been served at the inn where they’d stopped, while he remained at the bar, conversing with other travelers.
Vexed, she did her best to remind herself that she was the one who’d denied him, and that if his passions ran as high as he’d suggested, she ought to be grateful to him for adding distance between them. But it was to no avail. The truth was she missed him, and as unwise as spending time in his company might be, she could not ignore the yearning of her heart.
So once she was finished eating, she exited the inn and waited for him to join her outside. “My lord,” she said, drawing his attention, “I’ve purchased the local gazette. Perhaps you would care to read it with me?”
Stop
ping next to the carriage door, he stared at her. “To do so wouldn’t be wise.” He then extended his hand, offering to help her up.
She remained where she was. “My name is Louise, by the way. In case you were wondering.” And on that note, she climbed up into the carriage without accepting his help.
Louise.
It was a beautiful name – one that suited her much better than Miss Potter. Still, it was personal and intimate, and after the incident between them the previous evening, it made him wonder about her motive in sharing it with him. One thing was certain, she’d been quite enraged when she’d done so, and while such high emotion ought to have dampened his lust for her, it seemed to have done the opposite. Which was why he found himself telling his coachman that he would ride inside the carriage for the rest of the day, upon which he flung the door open and climbed in after the maddening woman who drove him to want things he’d no business wanting.
Seated in the far corner, she stared at him as he slammed the door and took his seat. He then pinned her with the hardest glare he could manage and asked, “What are you trying to do?”
Her lips parted and she quietly shook her head. “I honestly don’t know. All of this…” she waved her hand between them, “is terribly confusing.”
“Well, it isn’t for me. In fact, my carnal appetite for you is so acute I can scarcely sleep at night or think straight during the day.” He watched her draw in a shuddering breath which only made matters worse. Aggravated, he felt a perverse need to destabilize her, to make her world feel as chaotic as his did right now. “Do you have any idea how uncomfortable it is to be in a state of unfulfilled arousal for several days in a row?” Her eyes widened and she shook her head. “I know it was wrong of me to proposition you last night, I know I must get you to Whitehaven without tossing up your skirts and having you right here in this carriage, but God help me, I’m only a man, so if you keep using your feminine wiles on me – as innocent as you think it may be – I won’t be able to answer for the consequences. Do you understand?”
The Governess Who Captured His Heart (The Honorable Scoundrels Book 1) Page 5