Danice Allen Read online

  And hopefully they’d not be delayed too dreadfully long from pursuing the real purpose of the trip, thought Amanda. She felt sorry for the injured gentleman, as well as responsible, but getting to Thorney Island to rescue her half-sibling was uppermost in her thoughts.

  “You take ’is feet, Harley,” ordered Theo, speaking to the smaller of the two outriders. “I’ll take ’is upper parts, and Joe, you keep ’is middle parts from saggin’. The bloke weighs at least fourteen stone, I’d wager!”

  Amanda held both lanterns and watched as her servants lifted the man—with some considerable effort—off the ground. He was absolute dead weight and hadn’t moved, nor even so much as twitched, since he’d hurtled himself out of harm’s way and connected in such an unfortunate manner with a rock.

  His inertia alarmed Amanda. After all, he looked to be in prime twig. He couldn’t be much over thirty years old, and every bit of the fourteen stone he carried on his tall frame had to be either muscle or vital organs, as he appeared not to be the least encumbered by fat. He was dressed very smartly, too, and would no doubt be horrified to know how muddied he’d become.

  Despite the labored breathing of her servants and their uncertain footing in the muddy road, the removal of the gentleman to the carriage was going along fairly well till Joe slipped and fell. Without his assistance, Theo and Harley staggered and looked ready to drop their burden had not Amanda set down her lanterns and come to their rescue by supporting the suddenly unsupported “middle parts.”

  Even as she exerted all her effort to do her fair share of the heaving and hoeing, Amanda thought with some amusement that for the first time in her life she had her hands quite firmly planted on a man’s derriere. She also thought, with a rush of blood to her cheeks, that his derriere felt rather pleasantly … firm.

  Not too soon for Amanda’s deteriorating composure, they finally maneuvered the gentleman into the carriage and draped his large body on the forward-facing seat. The man was much too big to fit comfortably on the cushions; his legs dangled off the end and stretched across the foot space between the seats. But in his condition he could not be aware of how uncomfortably he was situated, so Amanda tried to disregard how awkward he looked crammed into the small space and stepped into the carriage to sit down opposite him.

  As she was settling her damp skirts about her, Theo stuck his head in the door and said, “We’d best get Harley or Joe in here with ye, miss.”

  “Under the circumstances,” said Amanda dryly, “I don’t think a chaperon is necessary.”

  “He might wake up, miss, and be out of ’is head. He’s in ’is cups, and who knows what he’d do once’t he found hisself alone with a comely female … if ye don’t mind my plain speakin’, miss.”

  “If the goose egg on his forehead doesn’t keep him sleeping like a babe till long after we reach the inn, the goodly amount of liquor he imbibed certainly will,” Amanda calmly replied. “Besides, there’s no room for another passenger.”

  “Harley’s no wider than a lamppost, miss. He’d squeeze in nicely, I should think.”

  “No, thank you, Theo,” she said firmly. “If I find myself in danger of being seduced or strangled, I shall certainly use my parasol to knock on the ceiling … or on the stranger’s head if the situation is desperate.”

  Theo frowned doubtfully.

  “Now, do hurry along, Theo, and drive us to that village you mentioned before I freeze to death or the gentleman actually does recover his senses.”

  “I don’t know, miss,” Theo said stubbornly, convinced it was an odd business allowing his mistress to be closeted with a stranger … swell or otherwise.

  “He’ll have the devil of a headache, you know, when he does come about,” Amanda said pointedly. “He’ll want some brandy and a warm, dry bed to collapse into. Remember, Theo, we’re dealing with a gentleman who is accustomed to comfort, and who may perhaps be a little toplofty, as well. If he learns you delayed our departure out of concern for my safety while in his company, he might take umbrage!”

  Theo needed no further inducement to climb atop the box and urge the horses to a gallop.

  Amanda leaned back against the velvet squabs of the carriage and pulled off her wet and dirty gloves, her eyes fixed on the fashionable fellow sprawled on the seat across from her. The lantern inside her carriage was lighted, and she could observe him quite easily and, since he had no notion he was the object of her perusal … quite freely as well. Though considerably disheveled at the moment, he was a handsome one, all right. But what did that signify to an old maid like herself?

  She sighed deeply. “How one’s life can change in the twinkling of a bedpost,” she commented aloud. “First I find out I have an illegitimate sibling I must rescue, then I am compelled to play nursemaid to a sinfully handsome, inebriated fellow who wandered—quite out of nowhere!—directly into the path of my galloping horses! I feel perfectly justified in complaining that I’ve not had a fortuitous day!” She shook her head and clicked her tongue at her unconscious companion. “And neither have you, my good man.”

  To Amanda’s considerable consternation, the gentleman chose that moment to stir. He moaned and reached for his bandaged forehead, instinctively seeking to alleviate the source of his discomfort. Just as instinctively, Amanda leaned forward and grasped the man’s wrists.

  “No, you mustn’t touch the wound, sir,” she admonished him in a low but forceful tone. “The bleeding may start again.”

  His head moved fitfully on the cushion, but his eyes didn’t open and he did not answer her. She glanced down at his hands and was astonished that she had managed to stop him from grabbing his bandage. Though finely shaped, with long fingers and neatly trimmed nails, it was obvious his hands were capable of great strength. They’d gone limp now, and she lowered them to his chest.

  Bracing herself against the back of the seat as the carriage swayed and rocked over the country roads, she stood over him till he settled down and appeared to be sleeping again. Then, for good measure, she stood over him a few minutes longer. She tried to convince herself she was merely concerned that he may suddenly become restless again and reach for his bandage, but her inherent honesty forced her to admit otherwise.

  She liked looking at him. Except for the dancing she’d shyly suffered through during her season four years ago, she had never been this close to a man. And certainly no man as attractive as this one.

  His hair was a riotous tumble of black curls flattened here and there by a glob of mud, but she could well imagine how fine it would look clean and gleaming in candlelight or sunshine. A curling strand dangled over his brow, and her fingers itched to touch it, to examine its texture. But she hesitated, held back by the habits of her strict upbringing. She almost felt it would be a sin of sorts to indulge her curiosity, because she was quite sure she would find touching this strange man most pleasurable.

  Then a rebellious thought came conveniently to her rescue. Why should she allow the habits instilled in her by her parents to continue to dictate her actions when she had so recently received shocking proof that her mother and father’s pious existence was nothing but a sham?

  Amanda clenched her jaw. It was but a paltry act of rebellion, but it was a start. She bravely reached down and caught the dusky curl, gently pressing and rubbing it between thumb and forefinger. She smiled to herself, satisfied that her imagination had not exceeded reality in this case. The strand of hair was as silky soft as a kitten’s ear, but thick and springy, too. She brushed it back from his forehead and looked critically at the man’s face.

  His brows were black and gracefully arched. Feeling quite brazen by now, she lightly followed the curve of his brow with the tip of her finger. She admired his thick lashes, which were lush enough to send a green girl into heart flutters. Luckily she was no green girl, or she might have misconstrued that odd sensation in her chest.

  His nose was straight and slightly aquiline. His lips were boldly curved, and she would nave traced their sensuous out
line, too, if she hadn’t been convinced that she’d already been rebellious enough for one day.

  But then she noticed a scar on his upper right cheekbone, very thin and silvery white, and at least an inch long. It looked like a knife or saber wound. Instead of detracting from his looks, it seemed to add to them, making him appear brave, dangerous, mysterious…. She touched the scar. It was smooth and soft.

  Then she found herself fascinated by the shadow of a beard on his jaw and chin, and she couldn’t help but wonder how a man’s skin felt when he needed a shave. She doubted she’d ever have the opportunity to find out during the sort of physical intimacies enjoyed between husbands and wives, so she decided that one last delicious act of rebellion was inevitable.

  She ever-so-carefully laid her palm against his cheek, ready to pull back the instant he reacted to her touch. Feeling a strange flutter of excitement, she lightly moved her hand back and forth. The beard stubble tickled her tender palm like the soft bristles of a brush. She wondered how those bristles would feel against her cheek, her breasts….

  Alarmed and feeling flushed by such unusually provocative thoughts, Amanda was about to remove her hand when the man, who had been lying so peacefully an instant before, grabbed her wrist and pressed her palm to his lips. As Amanda stiffened with shock, he released her hand, and a faint, sly smile flickered over his lips.

  “You minx,” he murmured in a low, seductive voice. “Don’t you ever get enough? Grant me a half-hour’s sleep, then I’ll—”

  But what he would do remained a mystery because his words trailed off as he grimaced with pain and reached for his bandaged head again. Amanda shook free of the pleasant paralysis that had been induced by his warm mouth against her skin and prevented him from disturbing the bandage.

  As before, he was surprisingly easy to control. But she suspected that his meekness was only a temporary condition, a product of his inebriated state and the easy, alarming way he slid in and out of consciousness, and not a usual facet of his personality.

  Amanda sank into her seat, feeling as though she had been walking on the edge of a cliff, playing a dangerous game far beyond her power to control. She took one last look at the gentleman, who was again lying quite motionless, and closed her eyes. It had been wrong to touch the man without his knowledge or invitation, and it would be easier by far to abstain from further misbehavior if she ceased to gaze at him like a mooncalf.

  Soon they would arrive at the inn, and despite the glib way she’d spoken to her coachman, she sincerely hoped the man would have regained consciousness by then. She greatly feared he had suffered a concussion. As well, he might already be missed by friends or relatives, and they’d be worried about him. She wanted him to give a lucid accounting of himself because it was puzzling how he could have ended up in the middle of a wilderness quite drunk and entirely alone. As soon as he could speak, he’d hopefully be able to clear up the mystery surrounding his odd appearance out of nowhere.

  She wondered if he was married. She saw no wedding ring on his finger, but men were frequently indifferent about wearing a piece of jewelry that announced one’s marital status. She wondered if the “minx” he’d dreamily referred to in his state of semiconsciousness was his wife … or some bit of fluff?

  Amanda felt an unexpected stab of jealousy toward this unknown female. And despite her conviction that such thoughts were improper, Amanda couldn’t help but indulge in a short but extremely pleasant daydream that involved her willing participation in minxlike behavior with the handsome stranger sharing her coach.

  Moments later, Amanda pulled herself together and gave herself a stem mental shake. She was surprised by her instant attraction to this man and the risqué thoughts that had beset her ever since she’d first laid eyes … and hands … on him.

  She wasn’t sure if there was something so compelling about him that made her give in to urges, or if she was simply rebelling out of anger against her parents. It was too complicated, and she had too many other things to think about … namely the more important and pressing problems that awaited her on Thorney Island.

  The horses slowed to a canter, and Amanda lifted the leather shade to peer out the carriage window. They were passing through a small village and, within moments, had pulled into the cobbled courtyard of an inn. Amanda could see a large lantern hanging from an awning over the front door, the glow from it illuminating a wooden sign declaring the name of the establishment to be the Inn of the Three Nuns. It was a modern structure of stucco and thatch but was rather small. She hoped there would be no trouble bespeaking at least two rooms, since she was fairly certain a small village in West Sussex could boast no more than one public inn.

  When Harley opened the door and let down the steps for her, she instructed him to stay inside with the injured man till she made sure rooms were available, but she motioned for Joe to follow her as she hurried through the drizzle and up to the door. Once they stood inside the cozy hall, she glanced about for someone to assist her.

  At last a sharp-faced, angular woman, with gray hair pulled into a tight coil at the nape of her neck, came through a narrow doorway. She was dressed in a plain gray dress and white apron and was wiping her hands on a dishcloth.

  “What kin I do fer ye, miss?” she asked without a trace of hospitality in her manner. Her hard eyes flitted over Amanda’s mud-spotted skirts, then over to where Joe stood near the door, his coat dripping water on the clean floor.

  “I’d like to speak to the landlord, please,” Amanda replied politely.

  “M’ husband’s been dead nearly a year and a half,” the woman informed her briskly. “I run the inn now and you’ll have t’ speak t’ me.”

  “Oh, I see,” said Amanda, not sure whether to offer condolences or simply state her business as quickly as possible. By the continued unfriendly expression on the woman’s face, Amanda decided on the latter. “I’d like a room,” she said. “That is, I’d like three rooms if you have the vacancies. One for me, one for my … er … companion, who is waiting in the carriage, and the last for my servants, whom I should wish to see accommodated in the house rather than above the stables.”

  The woman scowled, giving the distinct impression that she’d rather Amanda had simply stopped to ask for directions and not troubled her with a request for rooms. She shook her head, saying, “Only got one room left, miss, and it might not suit ye. ‘Tis the smallest of the lot.”

  Dismayed by this news, Amanda exclaimed, “Oh dear, what’s to do? I don’t suppose there’s another inn for miles!”

  “Not fer another fifteen, miss.”

  Amanda bit her lip and frowned. “Then we’ll have to manage with the one room.” She wasn’t sure how, but she’d figure something out.

  The woman shrugged. “Suit yerself, miss. Make’s no never mind to me. If’n ye stay, the servants can bunk with the ostlers above the stables. ‘Tis clean enough, and there’s but a few fleas this time o’ year. The room I told ye about is indeed quite small, but the bed’s big enough fer two, if’n yer husband’s reasonable sized.”

  “Oh, but he’s not—” Amanda stopped herself before she uttered the words she was suddenly quite sure would land her in the suds. She very foolishly had not considered how improper it would appear to most people—and certainly to this crotchety old already narrowed her eyes suspiciously—to be traveling without a chaperon and in the company of a man who was not her husband. There were extenuating circumstances, of course, but Amanda didn’t have time to waste lengthy explanations on someone who would very likely be unmoved by them.

  “Was you about to say he’s not yer husband, miss?” the woman demanded to know. “We run a respectable establishment here, and I’ll not have folks playin’ fast and loose on my premises!”

  The woman’s ferret-like eyes took another more inclusive assessment of Amanda’s person. As she was enveloped in a black velvet cloak and wore an unadorned bonnet on her head and plain black kid boots on her feet, Amanda couldn’t imagine how she could
look more respectable. She could perhaps be a bit more modishly rigged out, and she was a little muddy and travel-worn, but she was quite certain she didn’t bear the slightest resemblance to a woman of easy virtue.

  “My dear lady!” exclaimed Amanda, forcing a laugh. “You quite misunderstand! I did not say he wasn’t my husband, I only meant to say he is not—as you so charmingly phrased it—of a reasonable size! And since he met with an accident en route here, I hadn’t planned on … er … sharing his bed in the first place. I’ll need a cot and a—”

  “Met with an accident, did he?” the proprietress asked sharply. “What sort of an accident?”

  “He fell and hit his head on a rock when we were compelled to stop the carriage and allow him to … er … step out for a few moments,” said Amanda, blushing with embarrassment because she was forced to refer to private matters no lady had any business discussing.

  “He’s not bleeding, is he? I’ve just scrubbed the floor, and there’s a new carpet in the room you’ll be stayin’ in,” was the woman’s most unsympathetic rejoinder.

  Amanda was at the end of her tether. She perceived that no amount of patience and pleasantness would be effective in dealing with such an ill-tempered woman. Amanda lifted her chin and leveled her a chilling, contemptuous gaze. “My good woman, I have tried to be gracious despite your singular lack of concern toward my injured husband, the earl.” Amanda thought she heard Joe gasp and sincerely hoped he wasn’t staring with his mouth agape. “It appears I have no choice but to—”

  The woman’s jaw dropped. “Your husband’s an earl? And you’re a countess?” She gave Amanda’s well-made but unremarkable traveling apparel another once-over.