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Lord Hollings seemed to stay away for hours, although in truth it couldn’t have been long. It was just that his absence left Jane with nothing to do but roll over and over again in her head the unquestionably stupid situation she’d put herself in.
While she waited for his return, she fanned her hands out in front of the fire, casting glares over her shoulder at the bed. Glower though she might, she had no one to be cross at except herself, for she was the one who’d suggested they travel together. When she’d proposed the plan, she hadn’t once thought about the fact that it might thrust them into close proximity in private. She’d simply assumed that Lord Hollings would play the gentleman and find her a second room. She hadn’t counted on a storm or a local wedding. She hadn’t counted on having no walls to separate them while they slept.
Over the years, Jane had been propositioned several times. A reprobate cousin of Lord Rawson had once chased her around the schoolroom until he nearly collapsed from the exertion. There had been friends of the earl, bold enough to flaunt her position as a member of a powerful man’s household, and once the earl himself when he’d returned from his club so deep in his cups it was a wonder he could climb out the next day. She’d run into him while fetching a book from the library, and he’d made a grab at her hip but come away with only a handful of dressing gown. Jane had received no apology, but she noticed that Lord Rawson never again allowed them to be in the same room alone.
Fending off the advances of men who looked to take advantage of a young, vulnerable woman was a part of her position that she hated, but she’d remained vigilant over the years. What made this situation different wasn’t the fact that she was alone with a man she hardly knew and in an inn without a friendly soul around. It was that she liked this man.
It was his manner that was seductive. He was attentive, caring, and perhaps even a little tender. No matter how much he might grump, he was always at her side when she needed to dismount. When they’d walked in and out of inns from Flore to Crick, he’d taken care to escort her, and he’d run down a boy in Yelvertoft to make sure that she had a proper place to sit and eat her luncheon. Lord Hollings seemed to forget that the woman he was with was a governess, instead treating her as the lady she’d never been.
And then there was the air about him that made her want to depend upon him. Misguided or not, it was pure instinct, and she hoped she was right about his decency.
But for all she trusted Lord Hollings to play the gentleman, she couldn’t help the voice in her head that asked if she trusted herself.
A gentlewoman—or a governess, for that matter—wasn’t supposed to have lascivious thoughts about anyone. She was supposed to be demure and delicate, wilting like a stiff collar on a hot summer day at the thought of anything untoward.
And Jane’s thoughts were anything but innocent.
As they’d ridden north, she couldn’t help but steal little glances at Lord Hollings. He was a wonder, sitting straight-backed in the saddle, his arms flexing in little intricate movements to guide his horse. Watching him had made her imagine what it would be like if he cast off his jacket and pushed up his sleeves so that she could see the small twitches of muscle in forearms she already knew were strong enough to lift her with ease. Then, because she was cursed with a rather active imagination that wouldn’t be stopped, she thought about what it would be like to watch those arms engaged in an entirely different action—reaching for her, fingers skimming up her arms to her elbows and then her shoulder and then to the little exposed patch of skin where her collar met her neck.
She touched the spot delicately. The heat of the blood just under her skin was seductive, but the steady thump of her pulse grounded her like an anchor to reality. Her imagination had her caught somewhere in the uncomfortable middle—wanting what she couldn’t have and yet dreaming of lips and hands and touch and taste.
A rapid knock on the door made her gasp.
“It’s Hollings,” came the muffled call from behind the solid wood planks. “Your husband.”
Her husband. The very thought.
She smoothed her skirts with hands still trembling from the need to touch and then went to open the door. He filled the doorway, the lamplight picking up the sun-stained gold of his hair.
“I wanted to be sure it was safe.” He lifted a bottle of some amber liquor and two glasses. “I brought provisions.”
“Provisions?” she asked with an arched brow as she stepped back to let him into the room and swiftly shut the door.
“I hope you don’t object to a little brandy,” he said, setting the glasses down and pulling the stopper out of the bottle.
“Not for medicinal purposes, no.”
He glanced up at her as she came around the other side of the table. She couldn’t be sure if candlelight or roguishness lit his eyes. “Will making sure that we don’t freeze to death count for medicinal purposes?”
She could feel the start of a smile lift one side of her mouth. “I think so.”
He handed her a glass. “Well, then, here you are.”
She took it and tipped her nose into the bell of the glass. The brandy smelled sweet and strong. She raised it to her lips for a dainty sip, aware that he was watching her. It burned in the most pleasant way.
Lord Hollings scrubbed a hand over his mouth and cleared his throat as though he’d been the one swallowing the fiery liquor. “How is it?”
“Very good, although I don’t have much to compare it to.”
“Never stole sips of your father’s liquor when he wasn’t looking?” he asked before taking his first drink.
“I don’t really remember my father.”
His hand froze in midair and the smile slid from his lips. “I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.” She tipped her brandy and watched the legs of alcohol cling to the glass. “In London I have two friends, Mary and Elizabeth, who used to be governesses too. Mary’s always wanted us to sit down with a bottle of whiskey and see what all the bother is about.”
He chuckled. “Mary sounds adventurous. What does she do now that she’s not a governess?”
