“How’s the ear today?” he asked.
“Better.” She inhaled. His scent was fresh but also musky. He must have assisted with the horses. Mingled together, the aroma was distinctly… him. “How long have we been stopped?”
“A few hours. The horses needed to rest.”
“You don’t need to carry me, really,” she protested weakly.
In her new quest for independence, she ought to insist he put her down. She ought to ask where they were. And yet, she was content to rest in his arms.
He felt safe.
Due to an abnormally powerful sense of honor, especially for a known rake, this baron had decided to help her.
He could have abandoned her to her own devices or returned her to her father’s house, but instead, he’d made arrangements to get her out of London. And now he was carrying her so she did not have to walk in the mud, and then through a rowdy taproom and up a narrow staircase. He’d said they must marry but had mentioned that she would have a choice.
She would trust him—for now.
“This is the one,” he said, not even out of breath when he finally stopped and lowered her feet to the floor. He kept his hand on her back until she nodded.
“No ringing? You don’t feel dizzy this morning?”
“I’m fine.” She wasn’t used to this sort of concern—not even from her mother.
“All right, then. I’m going to leave you here alone, but you must promise me one thing.”
“I won’t cry,” she promised, remembering his request the day before. She even managed a wobbly smile.
He grimaced. “No. Well, I appreciate that, but that’s not what I’m concerned with presently. You’re not to leave this room until I collect you.”
Nia raised her brows.
He cleared his throat. “I’m asking you,” he amended. “To please stay put until I return. This staging inn is teaming with vagrants and ruffians. It’s no place for a lady, or any female for that matter, to be without protection.”
“Is it as dangerous as the Emporium?” she asked.
“Far worse.” Scowling, he opened the door and nudged her inside.
“Since you asked so nicely,” Nia said. “But how long until you collect me?”
“The horses require another hour’s rest.” He made a small bow and then closed the door. “Lock it,” he ordered from the opposite side.
Nia slid the metal into place loudly enough he’d have his answer and then turned around, appreciating the sense of safety and privacy she’d long taken for granted.
On the bed, two gowns had been laid out for her—one a lovely rose, the other lemon colored—along with short stays, a nightrail, a dressing gown, stockings, a few hair ribbons, and a practical-looking pair of half boots. In the corner of the room a wash bin and pitcher sat atop a well-worn vanity. Beside those, soap, a brush, toothpowder, and clean linens.
And on the floor, a lovely new valise. Pink, with flowers painted around the handle.
Nia rushed to put everything to use, wanting to take full advantage of the room before he returned, and well within the allotted time, she felt a little like her old self.
Everything fit perfectly, and she’d even managed to braid her hair and tie it up into a respectable coiffure.
But as she stared into the mirror, it dawned on her. The items she’d brought along to use to gain her independence remained in the carriage. Everything she wore, right down to her undergarments, had been purchased by a man.
She was not independent. She wasn’t even close. And from what they’d discussed the night before, such a state was nigh impossible for four more years.
If she wished to be safe from her father before then, her only real choice was to marry. The only thing different from yesterday’s predicament was the identity of her prospective groom.
The thought was a discouraging one, to say the least.
