He led them through a crowded tap room and up to a long counter. “Two chambers, please.” He leaned his elbow casually along the well-worn rail. “One for me and one for my… sister.”
She wasn’t sure if she wanted to thank him or swat him.
“Heading north, I take it?” A weathered old man leered in her direction before turning to assess the keys hanging on the board behind him.
Marcus placed a hand upon her shoulder. “Can’t miss my cousin’s wedding.” He winked. This man was outrageous. And yet she wanted to sidle up closer to him, feel his strength along her side.
Except that wouldn’t be appropriate, even if they weren’t pretending to be siblings. “Elizabeth would never let us hear the end of it.” She glanced toward Marcus and finally met his eyes. She might as well participate in this little charade of theirs.
Marcus watched her and then one corner of his mouth tilted up. “Good old Lizzie would have our hides for certain.” But as he held her gaze, she couldn’t help but imagine what he’d done with his mouth. What he’d seen with those thunder-gray eyes…
“Right then.” The innkeeper obviously didn’t believe them. “All I have is the one room left, though. It has a trundle. I’m sure your brother won’t mind taking it.”
Emily bit her lip, and her heart raced. “I’m smaller.” She knew Marcus would suggest they travel farther, but it had already been a very long day. “I’ll sleep on the trundle.” And she meant it.
She would see if she could find something to read. He could take in a pint or two. And then she’d sleep.
No problem.
“If you’re sure, sis.” He raised his brows in her direction and she nodded.
“We’ve managed before.”
“We could have traveled farther,” Marcus practically growled as they climbed the stairs behind a small dining area.
“I know,” she responded sharply. “But it isn’t necessary. John is tired and so are you. It’s not as though we’ll be sleeping in the same bed.”
Marcus grunted. “You aren’t sleeping on the trundle.”
Emily tried to imagine his large frame on the tiny bed most inns kept for servants and children. “We’ll see.”
Antidotes for a Bad Dream
Meggie smiled upat Marcus, her full lips and dazzling green eyes aglow. She then took hold of his hand and placed it over her flat belly. “Your child. Your child is inside of me.”
He’d known a myriad of emotions at that moment. Dread, regret, fear, and overpowering them all, joy. He loved her. He’d figure something out. And if he didn’t, then, ah well. Even at seventeen, he knew the power of the barriers that existed between classes.
He placed his hand on her abdomen, massaging her taut skin. And then, unable to help himself, he slid his hand lower until his fingers dipped into her silky heat.
Marcus knew his father would never approve of her, knew deep inside that she’d never be accepted into his world, but he didn’t care.
Meggie had given him, a seventeen-year-old man, her voluptuous, amazingly responsive body. And she’d done things to his that he’d never even imagined. She’d brought his fantasies to life.
Marcus kissed her, plunging his fingers in and out. He loved the smell of woman. He loved the taste of woman. Except as he drew his hand upward, the coppery scent of blood engulfed him. His entire arm glistened reddish black. The warm lips he’d been kissing turned cold and dry. Teeth sank into his lips and she snarled like a devil.
When he drew back, the woman was no longer Meggie. Green eyes were now brown. Red hair now brown, with golden highlights. “I love you,” she said… but she was no longer Meggie.
She was Emily.
“Get off of her, Marcus,” his father demanded. Marcus didn’t want to move but he obeyed his father’s command. He stepped away and Emily sat up.
“Why didn’t you enjoy it?” she asked him. She was covered in blood.
Her father jerked her spectacles from her face and snapped them in two. Emily wrapped her arms around her middle. “Don’t hurt my baby.”
Murmurs echoed behind him.She’s not worth it. She’s a whore. She’s a dowdy little bluestocking. Ugly mousy chit.
His father lifted his arm with a menacing expression. And then Marcus saw the pistol—pointed directly at Emily. “Don’t hurt her, Father. I love her.”
