“I’m glad now that I arranged for Robby to drop off a bag for us,” Ridge muttered. “We can take a few moments to change clothing and warm up before we leave.”
India nodded, grateful she would soon be out of the clothes that were sticking to her like a second skin. As Ridge conversed with the stablemaster, the burly man eyed her speculatively.
She shivered and wrapped her arms tightly around her breasts in an effort to maintain some semblance of modesty. A few moments later, Ridge collected a small valise and motioned her inside the inn.
They trudged up the stairs, leaving damp footprints on the dull wood. Outside the door of one of the rooms, Ridge produced a key.
“You go in first and change. I’ll wait by the door.”
She took the bag from him and waited as he unlocked the door. A blast of warm air greeted them as the door swung open, and she hurried inside.
The room was modest. Small and sparsely furnished, but an inviting fire burned in the hearth. She wasted no time stripping the soggy clothes from her body then she stood nude in front of the fire, extending her hands.
Remembering Ridge standing in the hall, still very wet, she reluctantly turned from the fire and dug through the bag for a pair of breeches and a shirt.
She ruffled her hands through her hair, shaking the water from the short strands then smoothed them behind her ears. She grimaced when she realized they had no dry shoes.
Bending over, she collected her still-wet boots and placed them directly in front of the fire. Then she walked to the door and opened it to let Ridge in.
As he shouldered past her, her eyes skittered over his chest, clearly outlined by shirt melded to his contours. For one brief moment, she imagined peeling his shirt off for him and allowing her fingers to roam over his firm muscles.
She blinked rapidly, her cheeks growing warm at the direction of her thoughts.
“I won’t be but a minute. Then we can sit in front of the fire and wait for our boots to dry,” he said as she started to close the door behind him.
She nodded and quickly retreated into the hall. Long seconds passed as she stood shivering in the hall. She looked down at her bare feet and flexed her toes. On the other side of the door, Ridge was likely disrobing.
Fleeting curiosity flickered and sprang to life. The naked body wasn’t a mystery to her, but never in her life had one affected her as much as the viscount’s.
Her one encounter with a man could hardly constitute a wealth of experience, but she had decided the art of lovemaking was highly overrated. Until now.
Desire warmed her veins, her shivering ceasing. She found herself wanting to explore Ridge’s body, run her hands over his abdomen, find out if it was as tight as his chest. Would his chest be smooth, or would hair roughen the surface?
A low growl of frustration escaped her, and she rolled her eyes heavenward. Her torment must cease, and she mustn’t let her attraction for the viscount compromise her objective. It would be far too easy to be swept away in the tide of emotions he inspired. And the more she grew to like him, the more guilt plagued her.
The door rattled open, and she stood straighter. Ridge stuck his head out and motioned her in. She hurried forward, grateful to be back in the warm confines of the room.
He pulled a rickety chair from the small desk in the corner and slid it closer to the fire. “Sit here and warm up,” he directed.
She didn’t argue and perched on the edge, rubbing her hands together in front of the flames. The warm spring day had gone by the wayside after a dip in the Thames. She felt chilled to the bone.
She jumped when Ridge’s hands closed over her shoulders. A prickle of goose pimples raced down her spine as his hands began a slow up and down movement from her shoulders to her elbows.
In a matter of seconds, warmth encased her body, the chill long forgotten.
“Better?” Ridge murmured above her.
She nodded, unsure of whether she could even find her voice. His hands left her and she nearly protested aloud. He moved to the side of her and hunched down in front of the fire.
“If we encounter no further difficulties, we’ll be in Brighton tonight.”
And on their way to Spain by the morning.
It was on the tip of her tongue to confess everything. There was still time. But what if he refused to help her? He would be understandably angry with her. She must travel to Spain, and without the viscount, she had neither the means nor the funds to do so. And her father would meet certain death.
If he was even still alive.
She closed her eyes against the hurt such a thought provoked. If she could bear her father back to England, maybe, just maybe he would give up his adventuring life. And they could be a family. With a real home, real meals together and stability.
