“I did not mean to. I’d much rather have crawled into the bed with you, held you in my arms all night. Woke with your touch.” His last words lost in a yawn.
She would have liked that, to wake in his embrace, his breath hot on her neck. How safe it would have felt, how right. She hurried away from him, busying herself packing her satchel, beating back the wanton heat coursing through her with the practical details of travel. “It’s a beautiful day for a journey, Your Grace.” Why could she not face him? How had it been easier to lay naked before him in the firelight than to stand fully dressed before him in the light of day?
“Beautiful?” he grumbled. “Looks like rain. Hm. That’s not good.” He stood and stretched and watched her.
She felt his consideration, the heat of it, the questions he did not ask. They were like bricks piled heavy across her shoulders.
“Emma.”
“Yes?”
“What can I do?”
“What can you do… for what?”
Somehow he was right beside her, tugging at the hem of her sleeve, head bent low over her, consuming her. She dared not look up into his downturned face.
“To get you to call me Samuel?”
“I…” She nodded. “Samuel.” Why was it so difficult? Was it because she wanted him so badly, with everything she was, and having him seemed so… possible? Breathing might break it, speaking his name might push him away.
He tipped her chin up, dropping a kiss to her lips that banished all doubt. “Better.” The word a growl, a promise.
They had no time for such delightful dangers.
She pulled away from him and returned to the window. Clouds had moved over the sun, and they hung low, gray, ominous over every inch of the visible sky. “It will move on. Or be a quick shower.”
He shrugged into the waistcoat from yesterday and pulled a rumpled cravat from his satchel. Soon, he was dressed well enough, though considerably less polished than usual, and he made for the door. “I’ll go see about the coach, let Michaels know we’re leaving as soon as can be.”
“I’ll speak to the innkeeper about something to break our fast.”
He nodded and disappeared into the hallway. The door closed with a boom that rattled across the sky. Not the door.Thunder. And beyond the window, the slow beginning of a steady rain.
“Curses.” But she prepared to leave, anyway. They must brave bad weather if they were to catch Felicity before she made it to Gretna Green. Yesterday’s clothes in the satchel. Samuel’s in his. Clean her teeth and hide the book—
The book.Where was it? She gazed wildly about the room, found it lying near the window, near where Samuel had slept, within easy arm’s reach. But she’d dropped it beside the tub…
Oh, no. No!
The rain fell harder, faster, pattering across the roof and on the glass panes.
She snatched the book up and stuffed it into her satchel. If the book was near the window, Samuel had picked it up. He knew she had it, knew she’d been reading it. What would he think? She knew as well as any woman, perhaps better, how even a false hint of promiscuity could ruin a lady’s reputation. Had he seen it last night, before they’d…? Was that why he’d…?
And why was she worried about a book when she’d let him touch her? Everywhere. Kiss her. Everywhere. The whispers in Edinburgh had hissedharlot. Was she?
She dropped to the edge of the bed. Breath came difficult, halting, her lungs too tight, her heart beating too quickly.
The door creaked open, and Samuel stepped in, his hair soaked and plastered to his forehead, the shoulders of his jacket soaked, too. “Emma?”
The fire had died long ago, and the gray black ashes lay lifeless in the grate, not a single spark alive and bright.
“Emma?” The mattress dipped and his warmth settled beside her. “What is wrong?”
The room had gone a bit foggy; that’s what was wrong. And the sound of rain on the roof and windows had somehow seeped inside her body, beating along with her pulse.
“Breathe, luv. What’s happened? God, you’re freezing.” He left, then returned, draping his greatcoat around her shoulders. She hunched into it, slipping her arms into the sleeves and then into the pockets, hugging the whole thing around her tightly. It smelled of him—citrus and sage.
She spoke into the coat’s collar. “I’m not… I’m not… I’m not…loose. I mean, I know last night. And the book. And—”
