Wicked Nights With a Lover

Page 17

With a parting wink for Marguerite, Robbie departed the room. Triumph swelled inside her chest. But that was not the only sensation. Anxiety fluttered her belly. Was she mad to place herself in the hands of a boy? A stranger, no less?
“Can I get you anything else, Miss? Help you undress?”
“No, thank you.” Her hands moved to the buttons at the front of her gown.
With a brusque nod, Fiona took her leave.
Marguerite hurriedly undressed, her pulse a panicked jump at her throat. Would Robbie really manage to lure his sister away? She flew to action, sinking into the copper tub. It had been days since she’d had the luxury of a bath. She wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity.
She worked quickly, sloshing water over the sides of the tub without care. When she hopped free, she stood for a moment, biting her lip and staring at the gown waiting for her on the bed. Not exactly appropriate attire for an escape.
Putting her faith in Robbie’s quickly formed tendre for her, she donned a riding habit instead and packed a few things she would need for the journey back to London.
She was in the process of lacing up her half boots when a gentle knock sounded at the door. She hastened forward, opening it a crack to peer out.
Robbie stood there. “I got rid of Fiona, but she’ll be back any moment. Come quickly.”
Marguerite snatched up her small valise at the foot of the bed. Stepping out into the hall, she told herself trusting this boy was the right thing to do. Her only choice, considering her fate if she remained at this inn.
“Quickly, then,” she said. “Lead the way.”
Young Robbie took her hand and led her down the servants’ stairs. On the bottom step, he paused and stuck his head into a room. From the heavenly aroma of bread, stewing meat, and wassail, she presumed it was the kitchen. Apparently, Robbie judged it safe, for he yanked her down the last step and into the warm room.
She swallowed back a gasp at the sight of the cook—her back to them—peeling potatoes into a large bowl. As the thick-shouldered woman started to turn, Robbie dragged Marguerite from the room. They plunged out the door into the crisp cold.
They ran across the yard into the stables, their quick tread crunching over the packed snow. The pungent scent of horseflesh and cut hay filled her nose as they took shelter in an empty stall.
“Here we are, love.” Robbie boldly took both her hands into his and chafed them together. Leaning down, he blew on them for warmth. “We’ll have you right warmed up.” His hands slid up her arms, pulling her closer. The lascivious light in his eyes was unmistakable.
She stifled her indignant snort. Did he think the odor of horse manure appealing to a female’s senses?
“Robbie,” she quickly said, pressing a hand to his chest inches before his lips descended onto hers. “I knew at once you were a gallant, chivalrous man.”
He halted. “Chivalrous?”
“Of course. At a glance, I saw that in you. You’re so kind to come to my aid this way.”
“Your aid? You’re in trouble, miss?” He frowned.
She glanced over her shoulder. She couldn’t help it. She didn’t have long. Ash would learn she was missing soon, and she didn’t want to be anywhere around when he did. The last thing she wanted was to come face-to-face with him. Her willpower all but vanished in his presence. One look in his mesmerizing dark eyes, and she wanted only to crawl into his arms, fate be damned.
With a sniff, she swiped at the corner of her eye in what she hoped was an affecting manner. “He’s a brute.”
“Who?” he demanded. A militant gleam entered in his eyes.
“The man who brought me here,” she explained, guilt stinging her heart for talking about Ash in such a way. “Forgive me if I misled you, but I needed to escape that room before he returned. Will you help me?” She squeezed his hand.
He looked uncertain, glancing over his shoulder. “Fiona would have my hide if—”
“Please.” She clutched his hand in both of hers, gazing beseechingly upon him. “There must be some way you can help me.”
He looked at his hand clutched in hers. “I suppose they wouldn’t miss me for an hour. I can get you to an old hunting cottage south of town. My da sometimes lets it out, but it’s vacant right now.” He nodded as if the idea were growing on him. “I can settle you in there and then come back for you later … take you to the nearest rail station—”
“That sounds splendid,” she breathed, thinking she might truly have done it, truly escaped Ash and the temptation he represented. “Thank you.” Again, she glanced over her shoulder, almost certain to find his imposing figure looming there. It couldn’t be so simple. “We must leave now though. He will return any moment.”
A frown pulled at her lips. A sudden tightness filled her chest as she realized she would never see Ash once she was free of this place. Foolishly, she had let herself grow attached. Why else would she have almost convinced herself to marry him?
Roger seemed only a poor replacement now. How could she return to him and enjoy his kisses, his touch? She laced her fingers tightly together.
Robbie pulled her into another stall. She watched as he saddled a mount. Tightening the cinch, he tossed a smile over his shoulder. “We’ll be gone before he ever knows you’re missing.”
Securing her valise at the back, he assisted her onto the horse, then climbed up after her. With a click of his tongue, they plunged back into the cold. She spotted the cook at the kitchen’s back door, emptying a bucket of dirty water. As they burst through the yard, she looked up with a scowl.
Robbie ignored her, turning them hard into the wind. With a dig of his heels, the horse surged forth into the dusk in a bolt of speed. She grasped the horse’s mane to keep from falling as they dashed down the lane. Away from the inn. Away from her fate.
The lodge was a comfortable abode and could not have been too long neglected for all its lack of dusts and cobwebs. Either that or Robbie’s father took great pains to keep the residence in fine order. A fireplace gave heat to the house’s two rooms. She could have stood within the hearth, it was so vast. A comfort, given the fierce winter winds outside. Still, she hoped she would not be here for long.
Robbie started a fire for her. Dusting off his hands, he rose as it grew to a crackling nest of flames. “Be certain to tend it. Don’t want you to freeze tonight.” He approached her, chafing his hands. “Perhaps if I can get away you won’t have to spend the night alone.” Stopping before her, he laid a hand awkwardly on her shoulder and squeezed.
“Robbie,” she began, hoping to dissuade him from any notions of intimacy. “Please understand that nothing untoward may pass between us.”
A shutter fell over his eyes and he ducked his head, burying his hands in his pocket and looking every bit a callow youth. “Aye, I understand. You needed a pigeon—”
“Please, it’s not like that. You’ve been so kind to me, truly. I appreciate your willingness to help me from the goodness of your—”
“And I’ll likely get caught for it. Da will take his strap to me,” he grumbled.
She tried to speak again and offer some reassurance, but he waved her off. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he said, his voice tight with resignation.
“Thank you, Robbie,” she called over the slam of the door. She moved to the window in order to watch him ride away. The snow was falling thickly now, coming down in a slanted veil. Horse and rider dove back into the white-dappled trees, vanishing from sight.
Outside, the whistling wind released a howl. Marguerite tried not to shiver at the prospect of spending the night alone in a strange cottage. She was quite accustomed to spending her nights alone in one room or another. How should this time matter?
Rubbing her arms, she moved to the fire and added several more logs for good measure. Standing, she eyed the bed. It looked comfortable with its thick, colorful afghan and several plump pillows.
Removing the extra quilt folded at the foot of the bed, she wrapped it around herself and sank down onto the plush armchair before the fire. Staring into the rising flames, she twisted around until she found a comfortable position, settling in to wait … and trying not to think about Ash and his reaction when he learned she had eluded him twice now.
He wouldn’t find her this time. It would be as though she had disappeared, not a trace of her life left. Nothing but the echo of her broken promise to marry him. Nothing of her left at all.
Nothing of her left at all.
She shivered and regretted that precise thought. That’s what this was all about after all. Making certain she remained, that she continued to exist. Even if it was to secure a passionless existence for herself.
With a grimace, she bent down and unlaced her boots, kicking her feet free to bring her knees to her chest. Wrapping the blanket around her, she hugged herself close and sank even deeper into the overstuffed chair, silently congratulating herself.
If she hadn’t acted when she had, she’d be married by now. Ash Courtland’s wife. A man cut from the same cloth as her father. Someone who grew up in the stews and earned a living exploiting the weaknesses of others. Even if Ash did bring her body to life with a single touch, a single dark-eyed look, she should feel nothing but triumph, relief …
And yet for some reason, she felt only a deep, numbing cold.
Chapter 14
MMarguerite woke with a sense of bewilderment, chilled and huddled uncomfortably, a quilt clutched to her chin. Disoriented, she shook her head, blinking the sleep from her eyes. She moved carefully, testing her stiff and aching muscles, regretting falling asleep in a chair.
For a moment, glancing around, she wondered how her rooms at Mrs. Dobbs’s had changed so greatly. Then she remembered.
The howling wind outside brought it all back. With a moan, she dragged a hand over her face, wincing at the rawness of her chapped cheeks. Dropping her head back in the chair, she sighed heartily, her gaze settling on the window.
Dusk had come and gone. It must have stopped snowing. An inky black pressed on the panes of glass and made her feel adrift, as if she floated lost in a night sea. She glanced around the hunting lodge, staring at the walls with their strange, clawing shadows. The fire burned low, casting a dim red glow that seemed demonic. What had looked quaint before now struck her as ominous.
Squeezing the quilt even tighter about her, she rose to add more wood to the fire. That done, she poked it several times until sparks danced.
A horse’s whinny broke over the keening wind. She stilled, straining her ears for any other sound. The jingle of a harness soon followed. She set the poker back in place and turned, her heart light.
Robbie had managed to get away, after all. She didn’t care for the impropriety of it, she was simply glad he would save her from a night alone in this eerily still place that sent her imagination darkly awhirl.
She moved eagerly for the door, jerking to a stop as it burst open.
She cringed within the embrace of her quilt, a single hand lifting to her mouth—as though a scream might burst forth. Of course, it didn’t. Only a breathy croak escaped as she stared at the man looming in the threshold.
Ash stood there, more furious than she’d ever seen him. The small scar beneath his eye stood out starkly, a jagged white crescent on his swarthy skin.
“Surprised?” he growled, nostrils flaring. His dark gold hair gleamed wet with snow, tousled wildly about his head.
She edged back several steps, shaking her head, gaping like a fish.
Beneath her astonishment and fear, another emotion lurked, humming just beneath her skin at the sight of the man she never thought to see again.
Ash moved into the room like an invading storm. Behind him, Robbie hovered, his eyes bright and fearful.
“Robbie …” she began.
“He can’t help you.” Ash flicked the boy an angry glance. “Not if he knows what’s good for him.”