He eased back in his chair that felt too small to accommodate his big body. “No, I couldn’t.”
She rolled her eyes. “I wasn’t going to ravish you the moment the door closed behind us. I’ve been brought up as a lady, you know.”
“I know.” He took a bite of his stew and found it quite delicious. He took another, but he wasn’t looking at his plate. His gaze, assessing as a hawk’s, was trained on Lettie.
“You do?” She opened her sweet lips and took a bite of stew.
“It isn’t you I’m worried about.”
Lettie coughed, swallowedhard, and swallowed again. Her eyes grew wide and she grabbed Brynne’s cup of mulled wine and gulped it down. Mercy! He was referring to himself, afraid of what he might do if left alone with her!
So, Brynne had a heart after all.
And he was afraid of losing it to her!
She considered leaping out of her chair and twirling about their cozy, private dining room while she bellowed a victory chant. But she was a lady, after all, and it wouldn’t be seemly for her to put on such a display.
Nonetheless, she felt a warm, conquering pride steal into her heart. In truth, she felt warm all over because she’d drained that cup of wine much too fast and she’d never done anything like that before. “We were together for hours in the carriage. You didn’t appear concerned then.”
His dark eyes gleamed as hot as embers. “It was different.”
She tried not to melt under the smoldering heat of his gaze. “How?”
“No one was referring to you as my wife.”
“I see.” She heard the ache in his voice, the same helpless ache she’d felt for years. “It sounded nice, didn’t it? As though we were destined to be together.” She wanted to reach out andtake his hand, but knew by the tense shift of his body that his control was about to snap.
She wanted the stubborn man to lose control, but not here and not now. He’d never forgive himself if he kissed her here.
He’d be too angry and disgusted with himself by the time they reached Wrexham. She knew him well enough to understand what would happen then. He’d drop her at Aunt Frances’ door and ride off without ever looking back.
So, as eager as she was to be in his arms, to feel the heat of his lips on hers, she backed away.
Indeed, she physically pulled away, scraping the floor with the chair legs in her haste to rise. “Jeremiah says they make an excellent plum pudding here. I’ll catch Meg’s eye and ask her to bring us some.”
She had taken no more than a step before Meg herself rushed in carrying the very dessert she had just commented on. “I set aside some of this pudding for you before the wolves in the common room devoured it all. Mrs. Fenwick made it for the inn’sbetterguests.” She turned toward a cluster of noisy men seated on benches beside several large kegs of ale, and frowned when one of them burst into loud song. “Drunken louts.”
“Is Mrs. Fenwick the cook here? She’s very good,” Lettie said. “The stew was heavenly. Both of us thought so.”
As she engaged the maid in idle talk, Brynne rose from his seat and now stood by the window with his arms crossed over his chest while he glanced out of the fogged panes. “Has the rain stopped?” she asked.
He didn’t immediately answer.
She continued to look at him, awaiting a response, and took the opportunity to study him while he stared out the window. For the first time, she noticed that his clothes were well made, but surprisingly simple. Brynne never wore bright colors or added frills to his collar and sleeves. His jacket was a dark, coalgray and his trousers were a lighter gray. His cravat was a dark forest green, almost the same color as her gown.
They unwittingly matched in their grays and greens. Had he noticed? She knew that it would rankle him. “Shall we be on our way as soon as we finish this divine pudding?”
She much preferred to be trapped here for a night of scandalous ecstasy, their clothes tossed aside in a gray and green heap while they behaved quite wickedly. But Brynne had walled off his heart once again and there would be no scandal and no ecstasy for either of them this evening.
Too bad. She was curious to find out precisely what that word– ecstasy– meant. It sounded special, the sort of thing that she could share with Brynne alone and no other man. Certainly not that toad of a marquis, Cuthbert Rampling, who’d tried to explain it to her last Christmas. He’d been in his cups at the Beresford Christmas gathering and trapped her in the butler’s pantry. She’d had to crack a tureen over his head to escape his unwanted advances.
Brynne uncrossed his arms and strode toward her. “It’s stopped. Yes, finish your pudding, Lettie, and let’s go. We only have three hours of daylight left.”
And then he’d be gone from her life forever.
Jeremiah! Do something!
Chapter Four
