Her husband looked at her as though she were simple. “The blacksmith. Quiet bloke, but capable. We’re taking him as far as Saltford in lieu of payment.” He patted his pocket and grinned. “Saved us a pretty penny, I did.”
He’d also saved them a pretty penny by insisting on driving the carriage himself, resulting in a nausea-inducing first day on theroad. She wasn’t certain she could survive too many additional hours in the conveyance.
“Won’t that take us out of the way?” she asked. Lord Clements had planned their wedding ceremony for the following Saturday, and they’d already lost a day of travel to poor weather.
Mr. Bumbletwit shrugged. “A bit, but it won’t cost us more than half a day. We’ll arrive in Barrington with plenty of time before your nuptials. Shall we?” He didn’t wait for a response before slamming the door shut.
A small thrill coursed through her with the knowledge of the blacksmith’s continued proximity. Perhaps she could speak to him tonight at the inn, maybe even touch thosehands—
The men she danced with at balls always felt spindly, as though they’d snap in half if she turned too forcefully. She wondered if the English didn’t have sufficient nutrition as children and thus grew to occupy as little space as possible. Her father was the grandson of German farmers and had the frame of a man who belonged behind the plow. Unfortunately for her modiste, Adelaide took after her broad and stocky sire and not her willowy mother.
The blacksmith looked like he wouldn’t hesitate to put his hands on her waist, to lift her and toss her around a bit. But she would never learn how his touch felt, nor the touch of desire from any man. A twist of regret stirred in her belly, but she ignored it. The elation she’d feel when she helped women achieve equality with men would extinguish any remorse she may experience in a passionless marriage. She had every intention of being faithful to her future husband.
But she wasn’t married yet, and Adelaide intended on enjoying the next three days to their fullest.
Chapter 2
I’ve never seen amore perfect arse in my life.
Admittedly, Will’s experience wasn’t as extensive as it could have been, as he’d only ventured outside his home village of Wilmslow half a dozen times, and none of those were for arse-appraising. But this one, the round, plush globes covered in some pale blue fabric that looked like the dressmaker had stripped it from the sky itself, had to be in the top twenty in the nation.
He had better things to do, as they’d finally arrived at the inn for the night, and he needed sleep before starting his apprenticeship the next day. He’d descended from his makeshift bed in the inn’s stable loft when he heard someone rummaging about, expecting to find a drifter searching for something of value in the carriage.
Instead, he’d discoveredher.
The woman rummaged around the plush coach, oblivious to his existence as she huffed her frustration. He was a lecher to watch like this, with only the low light from his lantern illuminating the empty stable. But the Bumbletwits were apparently lax in their supervision, and someone needed to be responsible.
He should say something, alert her to his presence, but the perfect arse wasswaying, for heaven’s sake, shifting around as the lady kneeled on the bench of the carriage. Good lord, now he was thinking about her on her knees, and he waswithout doubta lecher, observing England’s Most Perfect Arse and sporting a cockstand.
Will shifted on his feet, clasped his hands in front of his tented breeches, and thought of his grandmother’s false teeth. Mucking out the stalls. That time he helped his neighbor deliver a goat.
There, now he was under control again. He’d need to converse with his cock later about the best times to make its presence known. He cleared his throat.
The woman looked over her shoulder with a start, and Will’s knees nearly buckled.
If her arse was one of the finest in England, her face may be the most enchanting in the world.
A slow smile spread across her full lips, a dimple popping in her plump cheek. “Hello, there.”
He croaked, winced and coughed, then spoke again. “I’m Will, Will Shipley, the blacksmith who—”
“I know who you are.” She turned, then leaned back on her heels so her thighs pressed against the fabric of her gown and grinned. He nearly lost consciousness. “I’m Adelaide Kimball.”
Good lord, she was a vision. Her eyes seemed to absorb the gentle lantern light, the irises sparkling. The hue fell somewhere between ocean blue and the green of a summer meadow, shot through with gilded bands. A lock of hair trailed around hercheek, teasing the soft flesh. He wanted to capture the luster he saw, cast a trinket of gold, copper, and garnet, then pin it above her ear.
Once, when visiting a friend in Bristol, he’d lingered at the window of a fine jeweler, delighting in metalwork’s delicacy, the shine of precious jewels. One in the center had held his attention captive, an oval lapis lazuli set in a simple gold setting. The stone didn’t require any filigree to enhance its beauty; such ornamentation would only detract.
Her gaze trained on his was like holding the lapis in his hand. He could set sail in those blue irises, brilliant and deep and so unattainable she may as well be behind a thick sheet of glass.
He cleared his throat again. “You shouldn’t be out here alone. It’s not safe.” The sun had long since descended, and she should be in her room by now, most likely the finest in the establishment. Not poking around the stables.
“I’ll only be here a moment. I’m searching for something, a book.” Her lips twisted as she blew out a breath. “I was reading it earlier, but I can’t find it now. I wondered if it fell between the cushions.”
He paused, tilted his head. He’d never heard an accent like hers. Hints of clipped London consonants between stretched American vowels. If he didn’t intervene, she might be out here until dawn, that perfect arse in the air, and he’d have to stay up all night staring at it, and that would be…
Bloody delightful, actually.
“Let me get it.”
