Gripping his hand tighter, she put her head down, not wanting him to see the effect he had on her. But she wasn’t willing to break the connection between them. Not yet.
When they topped the next hill, he relaxed his hold on her hand. Reluctantly, she let her arm fall back down to her side as she looked down at the small cottage nestled in the wooded area.
They began the descent toward the lodge. Isabella stumbled as she stepped into a hole, but quickly regained her footing and hurried forward. He looked back inquiringly at her, but she shook her head.
He slowed as they approached the small clearing around the house. He gently pushed her behind a large tree and put a finger to his lips. “Stay here until I’ve determined whether it’s safe.”
She started to protest but he held the tips of his fingers over her mouth. “Don’t argue this time. Just stay here so I can take a look around.”
Finally she nodded and he moved quickly away. She watched as he crept around the house and peered into a window. Then he disappeared around back. A few moments later, the front door opened, and he motioned for her to come.
Needing no further encouragement, she raced for the inside, grateful to be out of the snow. Her boots left wet prints as she stepped onto the dusty wood floor. It smelled musty and stale, but more importantly, it was dry.
“I’ll start a fire,” he spoke up. “You see if there is anything we can eat.”
“Oh yes, I suppose a chicken will magically fall from the sky into a pot,” she said dryly.
He gave her a look that suggested he was unimpressed with her wit. “You could at least see if there are any staples we could prepare something with. Even bread is better than nothing.”
“I hate to be the one to impart such grievous news, but unless you know how to prepare bread, or anything else for that matter, we are doomed to starve.”
He looked at her for a long moment. “I am not a complete failure in the kitchen, but I suppose that was rather silly of me. I tend to forget your station, Your Highness.”
Regret dampened her mood. She much preferred his relaxed manner to the stiff demeanor he presented now. If only she hadn’t reminded him of her royalty.
She busied herself taking stock of the small kitchen. But other than dust and a few utensils, it was completely bare. After a moment’s contemplation, she reached into her pocket and fingered the napkin she had wrapped the remainder of the food in from earlier.
Drawing it out, she approached Merrick, who had just stepped away from the fire he had started. “I saved this for you,” she said holding out her hand.
He took the bundle with a questioning expression then opened the cloth. “I can’t take this. You need it far more than I.”
He held it back out to her but she shook her head.
“I already ate my share,” she lied. “While I was in the kitchen.”
She prayed her stomach wouldn’t betray her by doing something as unladylike as growling.
A look of suspicion clouded his eyes. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, of course. I brought enough for us both.”
“Thank you then,” he said, picking up a piece of bread and stuffing it into his mouth. “That was excellent thinking on your part.”
She turned away to the fire and stuck out her hands, not wanting to watch him eat. He had been far too concerned over her for her not to return the favor. And besides, she was used to going without food.
A heavy scraping sound drew her attention away from the flames. Merrick pulled one of the rickety armchairs over close to the fire and gestured for her to sit. “You need to get those wet clothes off and lay them by the fire to dry.”
Her eyes widened in shock. “But…”
“I’ll look for something you can cover yourself with. But I won’t have you catching your death of cold.”
He disappeared into what she assumed was the bedchamber, the only other room in the cottage. She looked down at her soaked clothes knowing Merrick was right, but not relishing the idea of unclothing in front of him no matter what he found for her to cover herself with.
She reached up and pulled off the hat, uncoiling her damp hair as she did. Shrugging off the coat, she laid it aside and moved closer to the fire. The imprint of her nipples showed clearly through the wet material of her shirt, and she crossed her arms over her chest in a protective measure. In her haste to dress in London, she hadn’t bothered to bind her breasts again. And now out from under the bulk of the coat, her every curve was outlined in stark detail. Maybe getting out of her wet clothing wasn’t such a bad idea after all.
Merrick returned moments later and thrust a man’s nightshirt at her. “It’s all I could find,” he said. “But it will do until your clothes have dried.”
He turned and strode toward the door. Without looking back, he said, “I am going out to collect some wood for the fire. You can change while I am gone.”
