“Send her away.” Flynn’s voice was hoarse.
She wanted to, terribly. But reality dawned like a splash of cold water. She was afraid. He was masterful and practiced at seduction, and this would lead to nothing but trouble. “No, Flynn. This is a fake marriage, not a real one.”
“Blast!” Flynn rolled away onto his stomach.
Althea left the bed, almost staggering as her knees gave way. She snatched up her dressing gown and threw it on.
“Come in, Sally.” She tied up her sash while Flynn rolled over and contemplated the ceiling with a scowl, a pillow across his stomach.
“I have brought your hot chocolates, my lady.” The maid entered with a tray as Althea drew back the curtains.
A heavy sensation nestled in her lower stomach, a sort of disappointed yearning. Convinced that Flynn felt even worse, Althea bit her lip. This was unfair on both of them. She would avoid such intimacy in future. “The rain has gone. A walk to the village after breakfast would be pleasant. Are we in accord, Flynn?”
“We may as well,” Flynn muttered ungraciously.
Sally curtsied and left the room.
“Come back to bed.” Flynn’s smile was inviting, and he lifted the covers.
She handed him a cup of steaming chocolate. “We need to find out where Cecil Hazelton lives, do we not? And I must question my servants as to what they will do after I close the house.”
He took a sip and shuddered. “Gad, that’s awful.”
“You don’t like chocolate?”
“Thick as mud.”
“Tea then?”
“I prefer coffee.”
“I shall arrange for you to have coffee at breakfast.” She watched his big hands around the cup. Hands that had cradled her face and touched her breast with gentle fingers. Her body felt heavy and warm. “Would you like bacon with your eggs?” she said in a placatory tone.
Flynn put the cup of chocolate down, barely touched. He pushed out of the bed. “Sounds good, Althea. I’ll bathe first.” He rasped his hand over his jaw. “And put on fresh clothes.” He looked rueful, but she was pleased to see a smile lurking in his eyes. “These trousers look as if they’ve been slept in.”
*
Flynn walked withAlthea to the village where she would question the vicar while he consulted his coachman, Ben, who had been sent to lodge at the Crown Inn, along with the carriage and horses.
Once Althea discovered where Hazelton lived, they would pay the man a visit, although what he might learn from such an exercise defied his imagination. The whole business grated on his nerves. He expected Barraclough’s men to have contacted him by now. Theymustbe in place to watch Owltree Cottage soon.
Perhaps he should apologize to Althea for this morning. But it would be insincere as he wanted to take her straight back to bed. His body tightened at an image seared in his brain of her delectable mouth, the pleasing shape of her soft breast beneath his hand, and the scent of a warm, aroused woman. She had wanted him, too. Who needed a bed? A field would do.
She was staring at him. “Flynn? I just spoke to you.”
“I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“What were you thinking about? I suggested we go on horseback to see Mr. Hazelton, instead of in your carriage.”
He caught the hint of disapproval in her gaze. “Do you need to know my every thought?” he responded, more annoyed with himself than with her. He didn’t understand this desire that drove him. He was behaving like a lovesick schoolboy. He was not one. He was merely a man suffering from a deplorable lack of sex while thrown too close to a delectable female. It could send a man to Bedlam.
“We must not allow ourselves to become distracted,” she said.
His gaze settled on her mouth. “I have no intention of it.”
“Are we talking at cross-purposes?”
He grinned. “It’s entirely possible.”
