The Mammoth Book Of Regency Romance Part 3

"I'm sure," he said cynically.

In spite of their lack of communication in recent years, 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.

Recent gossip had mentioned Lord Harold Fenton as a persistent suitor, but Kinvarra thought he knew her well enough to consider the second son of the Marquess of Preston poor compet.i.tion. He should have listened.

Her taste had deteriorated in the last ten years. The man was a complete nonent.i.ty.

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 mount the other carriage horse or pursue the clodpole 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 lover's name. She was lucky he didn't call the blackguard Habakkuk and skewer his kidneys with a rapier. Alicia was his. No other d.a.m.ned rapscallion was going to steal her away. Especially a rapscallion who didn't have the spine to stand up and fight for her.

Kinvarra strode across to his mare and s.n.a.t.c.hed 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 cavalier att.i.tude 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 man, why choose him? Yet again, he realized how far he remained from understanding the complicated creature he'd wed with such high hopes eleven years ago.

He extended one black-gloved hand and noted her hesitation before she accepted his a.s.sistance. It was the first time he'd touched her since she'd left him and even through two layers of leather, he felt the shock of contact. She stiffened as though she too felt that sudden surge of attraction.

He'd always wanted her. That was part of the problem, G.o.d help them. He'd often asked himself if time would erode the attraction.

Just one touch of her hand and he received his unequivocal answer.

She swung on to the horse behind him and paused before she looped her arms around his waist. He'd always been cursed aware of her reactions and he couldn't help but note her reluctance to touch him.

Good G.o.d, what was wrong with the woman? She'd been ready enough to do more than just touch that milksop Harold. Surely her husband deserved some warmth after offering a.s.sistance. With d.a.m.ned little encouragement too, he might add.

The mare curvetted under the double weight, but Kinvarra settled her with a 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 any baggage."

He clicked his tongue to the horse and cantered in the opposite direction to the one Harold had taken. Which was lucky for the weasel. If Kinvarra caught up with Harold now, he'd be inclined to drag out his horsewhip. What right had he to interfere with other men's wives then scuttle away to leave them stranded?

Alicia settled herself more comfortably, pressing her lovely, lush body into his back. She hadn't been as 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 b.a.s.t.a.r.d a case of port and a thank you note.

Well, that might be going too far.

"Is that where we're going?" She tightened her arms. He wished it was because she wanted to touch him and not just because she sought a firmer seat. He also wished that when she said "we", his belly didn't cramp with longing for the word to be true.

d.a.m.n 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 headed for 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.

"But who's going to protect me from you?" she muttered, almost as if to herself.

"I mean you no harm." In all their difficult interactions, he'd never wished her anything but well. "You didn't come all the way from London in that spindly carriage, did you?"

"It's inappropriate to discuss the details of my arrangement with Lord Harold," she said coldly.

He laughed again. "Humour me."

She sighed. "We travelled up separately to York." Her voice softened 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 rancour, but I have no wish to do you or your pride damage."

"Whatever your discretion, you still meant to give yourself to that puppy," Kinvarra said, all amus.e.m.e.nt suddenly fled.

Alicia didn't answer.

The weather had worsened by the time they reached the inn. Alicia realized as they came up to the building that it was indeed the rough place Kinvarra had described. But just the promise of shelter and a chance to rest her tired, sore body was welcome. Surely Kinvarra couldn't intend to ride on to his mysterious manor tonight when snow fell thicker with every minute and their horse was blowing with exhaustion.

The earl dismounted and lifted her from the saddle. The flickering torches 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 ground, his hands didn't linger at her waist. She tried not to note that she'd touched Kinvarra more in the last few hours than she had in the entire preceding ten 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 him to spend the journey haranguing her on her wantonness or at the very least her stupidity for setting out for the wilds of Yorkshire so ill prepared for disaster. But he'd remained quiet.

How she wished he had berated her. She'd spent ten years convinced she'd been right to leave him. A moment's kindness shouldn't change that.

But when his back offered her a warm anchor and his adept hands unerringly guided their horse to safety, her resentment proved fiendishly difficult to cling to. And when she wasn't constantly sniping at him, it was harder to ignore his physical presence. He'd been a handsome boy. He was a splendid man, with his clean, male scent horses, leather, soap, fresh air and the lean strength of his body. The muscles under her hands were hard, even through his thick clothing.

She'd forgotten how powerfully he affected her. And the pity of it was that it would take her too long to forget again. He made every other man she'd met pale into insignificance.

It was vilely irritating.

The landlord greeted them at the door, clearly overwhelmed to have the quality staying. The tap room was crowded 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. Alicia drew her hood around her face before she moved closer to the blaze. The sudden warmth penetrated her frozen extremities with painful force. Even holding tight to the radiating heat of 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 at her side. He spoke in a low voice to save them from eavesdroppers. "My Lady, there's a difficulty."

Blinking, trying to return to alertness, she slowly turned to face him. "I'm happy to accept any accommodation. Surely you don't intend 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 get worse before it gets better. And my horse needs the stable. There isn't another village for miles."

"Then of course we'll stay."

"There's only one room."

She drew away in dismay. "Surely . . . surely you could sleep in the tap room."

She felt like the world's most ungrateful creature the moment she made the suggestion. Her husband had rescued her in extremely good spirit, given the compromising circ.u.mstances. He was as tired and cold and hungry as she. It wasn't fair to consign him to a hard floor and the company of a parcel of rustics, not to mention the vermin that flourished on their persons.

His lips twisted in a wry smile. "As you can see, there's no s.p.a.ce in the tap room. Even if there was, I won't leave you on your own with the place full of G.o.d knows what ruffians."

Aghast, she looked at him fully. She'd suspect him of some design, if she didn't know he too must recall the wretchedness of their lives together. He must be as eager as she for this unexpected meeting to end so they could both return to their separate lives. "But we can't share a room."

His eyes glinted with sardonic amus.e.m.e.nt. "I don't see why not. You're my wife. It's too late to play Miss Propriety. After all, you were about to hop into bed with Herbert."

"Harold," she said automatically, a blush rising in her cheeks.

"I hope to h.e.l.l he hasn't sampled your favours already or I'll think even less of his stalwart behaviour."

"We hadn't . . . we hadn't . . ." She stopped and glared at him. "That is none of your concern, My Lord."

She didn't imagine the sudden smugness in Kinvarra's expression. Curse her for admitting that she was still to all intents faithful to him.

The cad didn't deserve it. He never had.

"Can't we hire a chaise?" she asked on a note of desperation.

Suddenly the prospect of a night at the inn wasn't so welcome. Tonight had left her too exposed. Easy to play the indifferent spouse when she met the earl 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 spoilt young man she recalled from their brief cohabitation.

At least he wouldn't touch her. She was safe from that.

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 wedlock for the night. I'm sure you'll survive the experience."

She wasn't so sure. Leaving him ten years ago had nearly destroyed her. All this propinquity now only reopened old wounds. But what choice did she have?

She raised her head and stared into his striking face. "Very well."

"I'll tell the landlord we'll take his last chamber." He bowed briefly and strode away with a smooth, powerful gait. He'd grown into his power over the last years. As a young man, he'd been almost sinfully beautiful with his black hair and eyes, but the man of thirty-two was formidable and in command of himself in a way his younger self had never been.

She 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 admit 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.

She hated to say it, but she was glad Kinvarra had arrived to rescue her from that ditch. Harold would have left everything to her. They'd probably still be standing by the roadside.

Given the shambles downstairs, the bedchamber was surprisingly clean and wonderfully snug to a woman shivering with cold. A troupe of maids delivered hot water and a substantial supper, then disappeared.

Silently, Alicia removed her gloves, slid her 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. She tried not to look at the ma.s.sive tester bed in the corner. Did he mean to share that bed with her? If he did, what would her response be? She shivered, but whether with nerves or antic.i.p.ation, she couldn't have said.

Kinvarra poured himself a gla.s.s of claret and took a mouthful, then turned to watch her lower herself gingerly into an oak chair with heavy arms. He strode towards her, frowning with concern. "You told me you weren't hurt."

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 so long, 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 she reluctantly admitted, "And we were quarrelling."

"You? Quarrelling with a man?" Without shifting his gaze from her face, Kinvarra dropped to his knees before her. Clearly he meant to help her remove her boots. "I find that hard to imagine."

Her lips curved upwards in a smile as she looked down into eyes alight with sardonic amus.e.m.e.nt. n.o.body had ever teased her. Even Kinvarra when they'd lived together had been too intense at first, then too angry. She found she liked his playful humour.

"Shocking, isn't it?"

He extended his half-full gla.s.s and she accepted it. His focus didn't waver when she raised it to her lips. Warmth seeped into her veins. From the wine or from the unspoken intimacy of drinking from the place his lips had touched? It was almost like sharing a kiss.

Stop it, Alicia. You're letting the situation go to your head.

"What were you quarrelling about?" Kinvarra asked with an idleness that his grave attention contradicted.

Still smiling, she returned the gla.s.s. "I decided I'd been reckless to take up Lord Harold's invitation to visit his hunting lodge. I was trying to get him to take me back to York."

She prepared to suffer Kinvarra's triumphant gloating. He didn't want her. But she'd always known he didn't want her sharing her body with anyone else either.

Her husband's serious, almost searching expression didn't change. "I'm glad to hear that," he said quietly.

She tried to sit up and glare at him but the effort was beyond her. Instead she tilted her head back against the chair. She closed her eyes, partly from weariness, partly because she didn't want to read messages that couldn't possibly be true in his dark, dark stare.

"He wasn't worthy of you, you know, Alicia." Kinvarra's soft voice echoed in her heart, as did his use of her Christian name. He hadn't called her Alicia since the early days of their marriage when they'd both still hoped they might make something good from their union. "Why in G.o.d's name choose him of all men?"

Shock held her unmoving as she felt Kinvarra's bare hand slide over hers where it rested on the arm of the chair. His palm was warm and slightly calloused. Harold's hand had been softer than a woman's. She cursed herself for making the comparison.

She opened her eyes and stared into her husband's saturnine face. Into the black eyes that for once appeared sincere and kind.

And she chanced an honest answer.

"I chose him because he was everything you are not, My Lord."

Even more shocking than the touch of his hand, she watched him whiten under his tan. She hadn't realized she had the power to hurt him. It seemed she was mistaken about that too.

He drew back on his heels, removing his hand from hers. She tried not to miss that casual, comforting touch. The distance between them felt like a gaping chasm of ice.

"I . . . see." His voice was harder when he went on. "At least I'd never leave a woman alone to face down an angry husband with a snowstorm about to descend upon her."

Shamed heat stung her cheeks. She'd felt so brave and free and self-righteous when she'd arranged to go away with a lover. After ten barren years of fidelity to a man who hardly cared she was alive.

But in retrospect, her behaviour seemed shabby. Ill-advised. Bravado had kept her to her course until she'd reached York and that journey across the moors with no company but Harold and her screaming conscience. She hadn't wanted to feel guilty, but she had. And with every mile they'd covered, she'd become more convinced she'd made a horrific mistake in succ.u.mbing to Harold's blandishments.

"You wouldn't hurt me," she said with complete certainty.

"No, but Harold didn't know that."

She noted that he was upset enough to use Harold's correct name. She tried to make light of the subject but her voice emerged as brittle and too high. "Anyway, no harm was done. I'm still the impossibly virtuous Countess of Kinvarra who doesn't even lie with her husband. You can sleep easy in your bed, My Lord, knowing your wife's reputation remains unblemished."