She was asleep, worn-out. He shifted slightly to pull the sheet and blanket over them, and she only sighed and nestled more closely into him.
Yes. Let her sleep. She carried a burden few other women did and that few other women would be capable of carrying. And unlike other female rulers, she had no help. Or very little help, he amended, thinking of Mags and Duncan.
He couldn’t carry her burden for her. That was impossible. But he could let her sleep.
She slept for an hour or so, and Jack felt completely at peace during that time, holding her and holding still.
She wasn’t angry when she woke, but she was anxious. Wanting to dress quickly and get back to Mags and Duncan. Not wanting to lie in his arms and let him enjoy himself with her again, as he had hoped she might. She wouldn’t even allow kisses on her lips and innocent caresses of her back. She likely knew what it would lead to. And she exerted her will with a barked “Stop, Jack Pike,” and he complied like she was an admiral and he was a midshipman. He didn’t want to ruin what had passed between them.
But once dressed, she hesitated. She shoved her parcel at him. “Here. I think ye wanted to do something with this.”
He ripped the paper. It was her brown dress. He grinned. She grinned back, and he was back in her keep again, in front of the fire, her taking his pound coin from him and telling him he was easier to look at than Reeves.
He was sorely tempted to take her back to the bed despite the fact she had refused him just minutes ago.
He lit the coals in the grate in the room and threw the parcel in it. They stood in front of the grate together. He reached out for her hand as they watched the flames, and she laced her fingers with his.
But outside the inn, on the pavement, she didn’t take his arm. He was looking up and down the street, searching for a hack so they could get back to the rooms as quickly as possible to assuage her worry about Mags and Duncan, when he heard his name.
“Jack!”
It was Phineas, bright as a button, eyes dancing, a grin on his face.
Jack spoke quickly. “The Countess of Kinmarloch, this is the Earl of Burchester. Phin, you call me Jack, but Lady Kinmarloch likes to call me Jack Pike. Both names. It’s a peculiarity of hers. Or it’s a Scottish thing. But in those parts, I’m known as Jack Pike.” He raised his eyebrows at Phineas meaningfully, hoping Helen wouldn’t see him. And she didn’t. She was curtsying even as Phineas was bowing. Phineas tucked his chin to Jack and Jack hoped that meant Phineas understood. He was Jack Pike. Not His Grace, the Duke of Dunmore. Not John MacNaughton.
“Very pleased to meet you, Lady Kinmarloch.”
“And I am pleased to meet ye, Lord Burchester.”
A hack was coming down the street, and Jack waved it down frantically.
“We have to go, Phin. I’ll see you at the club.” He helped Helen into the carriage and sat across from her, wanting to see her face, wanting to make sure she had not thought the oddly worded introduction too odd.
She folded her hands in her lap. “I was glad to meet someone ye know, Jack Pike. An earl. An important man. I thought ye might be ashamed of me. But maybe my new dress helps.”
“I would never be ashamed of you, Helen. And a countess in her own right has the same precedence as an earl. You are an important woman.”
“Yesterday, at yer house. I thought ye wanted to get rid of me.” A little pain leaked out there.
“I have a reputation, and a proper lady wouldn’t call at my house, even with an honor guard and a chaperone. I didn’t want anyone to think less of you.”
“As they might if they saw me coming out of an inn with ye?”
“Phineas will be discreet.”
She mouthed the namePhineas, learning it. She smoothed her dress. “I widnae want the duke to hear of anything improper.”
There it was. She had done it. Jack was glad, for a moment, that at least he had not been the one to ruin it.
And then he was angry. At her. For reminding him she was like every other woman, wanting a title and money rather than a man. He said nothing else to her for the rest of the ride back.
She also said nothing. After all, she had erected the wall between them by mentioning the duke. She must want it there.
Twenty
The dressmaker’s—no, the modiste’s—overwhelmed Helen. She had not known there were so many different kinds of dresses and so many different kinds of cloth for making dresses. And she had worn her brown woolen dress into that place full of ivory silks, cream brocades. Yellows, blues, greens.
Jack didn't like the pink dress. She thought it was pretty. Of course, she wasn’t pretty in it. She wouldn’t be pretty in anything, but the dress seemed like something a princess might wear. And surely a countess?
