She lilted her head and blinked, looking at him owlishly. He squeezed her arm again. She was about to protest when she realized he was signaling to her. What was he saying? Something about patience? She shook her head, her brow furrowing. Deveraux swore and didn’t attempt any further conversation until he got her past a particularly rocky outcrop and a small rabbit snare with a rabbit caught, staring at them with a soft brown eye.
North grunted in satisfaction and told them to wait while he dismounted and removed it from the trap. “Dinner,” he said succinctly.
Leona sagged at the mere mention of food. She hadn’t eaten all day. Deveraux caught her, his arm more closely around her as he supported her weight. He pressed her right arm in closeto her body, bending it so the pistol rested against her stomach. “Patience,” he said again.
She nodded as his meaning percolated into her tired brain. Truthfully, she was too tired to try anything. Holding the pistol became a habit, her fingers too numb to let go even if she wanted to. She remembered her earlier bravado with wry disgust. She was always cocksure of herself, wanting to stand alone and damn the world. Deveraux was right. Sometimes one had to let go and be able to share burdens or let others carry them. It was not a weakness to know one’s limitations. It was strength. She’d never been one to acknowledge personal limitations. She was feeling that sorely now. Calling herself every kind of fool, she gathered her diminishing strength to press on a bit longer.
Deveraux kept his arm closely about her as they trudged through the fields and then into the forest that banded a portion of the Lion’s Gate estate. By the time they reached the narrow road that led to Rose Cottage, he was nearly carrying her. Behind him, even Jewitt and North were quiet, morosely suffering the cold rain. Deveraux wasn’t sure that he and Leona weren’t better off moving rather than sitting in a saddle. North’s muscles could be stiff and slow. He felt Leona stumble again. His mouth compressed into a grim line. It didn’t matter what state North’s muscles were in. He didn’t dare try anything with Leona in this weakened condition. He’d bide his time.
Rose Cottage appeared like a heavenly vision before Leona’s tired eyes. Eagerly she started for it, only to stumble again in weakness. It was so close, yet somehow now it seemed so far away, like in a dream. She looked up at Deveraux in the gathering gloom of late afternoon, her eyes pleading for something, but she didn’t know what. Without a word, he swooped her up in his arms and carried her the rest of the way to the cottage.
"Hold up there!” North ordered. He slid from Nuit’s back, pulled the spare pistol out of his breeches where he’d tucked it, and handed it to Jewitt. “I’ll take the horses around back and see to them. You take these two inside and lock them in some room together.” He grinned wolfishly. “That ought to keep their minds off trying to escape.” Jewitt led them into the cottage. She sniffed arrogantly as she looked around. “I grew up in a house better than this!”
Deveraux edged past her toward the stairs.
“Hey! Where do you think you’re going?”
“To find a bed to lay her down on. She’s exhausted.”
“I’ll choose it. Move out of the way.” She pushed past him on the narrow staircase.
Deveraux followed behind slowly. Anytime he could have overpowered the woman, but with Leona unable to fend for herself, he dared not try. He waited while Jewitt poked and prodded in both bedrooms. Finally, she waved the pistol in his face and motioned him into one of the rooms. After he entered, she shut the door behind him and locked it.
The room was almost dark. He stood for a moment, allowing his eyes to adjust to the gloom. Only a faint light from the last of the day’s sun came in the dormer window. Carefully he set Leona on her feet, his arms around her to keep her balanced. He had to get her out of the wet clothes before he laid her on the bed. Murmuring vague, soothing phrases, he unclasped the cloak, allowing it to fall in a wet heap on the floor. He was relieved to discover that her habit, though wet, was not soaked like the cloak.
He pried her fingers loose from the pistol butt and reached over to yank a drawer open in the dressing table and drop it inside. His lips against her temple, he murmured her name and a hundred other little endearments as his hands moved to unbutton her jacket, stripping that from her arms, and thenthe habit. She made a little mewl of protest, batting weakly at his hands when he pushed the habit sleeves off her arms. He was glad to hear it. It meant she wasn’t totally lost to him. He murmured more soothing, coaxing words as he removed her chemise and stockings, and she stood naked before him.
His body betrayed him. A subtle sheen of sweat glistened on his cold brow. Damn. He should be too cold for this.
His fingers shook as he touched her. His mouth tightened into a grim line as he ordered his body to obey his mind. He groped in Maria’s drawers until he found a flannel nightdress. He tossed it over Leona’s head, coaxing her arms into the sleeves, then carefully buttoning the front buttons to her neck. His breath came easier with her covered again.
He threw back the covers of Maria’s narrow bed and gently laid Leona in it. She shivered, drawing herself up into a ball. The sheets were like ice. He waited a moment, looking her, but her shivering didn’t stop. The cold rain sapped her body of warmth. She could not generate the heat to warm the sheets and herself, and it was a certainty that North and Jewitt would not offer a bed warmer. She was perilously near to taking ill. She needed warmth.
An oath caught somewhere deep in his throat. Quickly he shed his rain-soaked clothes and carefully laid them out to dry, then crawled into bed next to Leona, drawing her close to him, cradling her in his arms as he used his body heat to warm her and the bed. He only intended to stay there long enough to ease her shivering, but a strange lassitude overcame him. His limbs felt heavy. His last coherent thought before he fell asleep beside Leona was the hope that neither North nor Jewitt would come upstairs to check on them. Leona, he thought to himself with a chuckle, would be mortified.
Leona drifted into wakeful consciousness. With her eyes closed, she savored the envelope of warmth that enclosed her.Her brow furrowed. She’d been so cold. She thought she’d never be warm again. At the memory, a shiver convulsed her body.
But now she was warm. Deliciously warm. She smiled as she stretched languidly. Then she froze, her eyes flying open as her arm touched something warm and solid. A muffled grunt greeted her touch. Slowly she turned her head, and her heart lodged in her throat. In the gray, drizzly dawn light just beginning to come in the high dormer window, she saw black hair springing up from a tangle on a bare masculine chest. Her gaze tentatively inched upward. She blinked, her mouth suddenly gone dry.
No. It couldn’t be. This had to be part of her dreams, part of the deliciously sensual feelings that lingered like wisps of smoke in her mind.
Brilliant blue glittered from beneath a veil of dark lashes. A slow smile revealed strong white teeth. “A man could get used to this.”
Deveraux’s voice rumbled along Leona’s nerves. Bright color stained her cheeks. She edged backward, but the bed was too narrow to put space between them.
Staring up at the ceiling, he sighed heavily, his expression twisting into one of disgust. “I knew it was a mistake to fall asleep.” He turned his head to look at her. “Last night you were dangerously cold. I had to get you warm again. Sharing my body heat was the only way to do that.” His voice was matter-of-fact and strangely distant.
She nodded once, jerkily.
Angrily he threw off the covers and sat up. “Egad, woman! Must you look at me like some frightened rabbit about to be pounced on by the fox? I assure you your virtue is intact!”
Leona’s eyes widened when she realized he was entirely nude. Swiftly she closed her eyes and buried her face in the pillow. Her face burned with the force of her blush.
Deveraux grabbed his shirt and breeches. His shirt and stockings were dry, but the breeches were clammy. He struggled into the damp breeches, swearing under his breath. Damn, they were cold. He picked up his coat, but the heavy wool material was too wet to wear. Regretfully he laid it down. The shirt was too thin to offer much warmth, and the room was freezing. He began opening and shutting drawers.
Tentatively, Leona raised her face out from the pillows. “What are you doing?” she asked.
He glanced at her, his face a set mask. “Looking for a blanket to wrap around my shoulders.”
