Chastity propped up a wall, and enjoyed the dirty looks she got from
the clerks for this behavior. They soon bowed down over columns of
figures again, however, doubtless anxious to finish and be off home for
the day.
In a little while Cyn was bowed and scraped out again. He collected
Chastity and headed on to the Three Balls. He radiated ill humor.
“What’s the matter?” asked Chastity mischievously. “Wouldn’t they give you any money?”
“They’d have given me the bloody keys to the vault,” he said curtly. “Sometimes I hate being a Malloren.”
“But you used it to get in there.”
He looked at her coldly. “In your cause.”
Chastity felt abashed. “Yes, of course. I’m sorry.”
He sighed. “I shouldn’t take my ill humor out on you.”
“How is it they know your name?”
“Know my name! Hell, old Darby dandled me on his knee. The Abbey’s
not twenty miles from here and my damned brother’s on the board.”
Chastity had a number of questions but knew from his tone that silence would be wiser. The questions plagued her all the same.
Why was it that every time his brother’s name came up Cyn Malloren
lost his lightheartedness? If the Abbey was so close, wouldn’t it have
been simpler to take refuge there? Even the Earl of Walgrave wouldn’t
try to ride roughshod over Rothgar. Did Cyn really think his brother
would hand them over to their father?
They arrived back at the inn with these questions unasked and
unanswered, but Chastity resolved to seek some answers before they
parted. This rift with his brother seemed to be the only cloud in Cyn
Malloren’s life, and being in love, she would do what she could to lift
it.
The innkeeper was dealing with the young man who had scrutinized
their arrival. Mine host smiled and bowed, but as soon as the man left
he spat into the hall fireplace. “Bloodhounds. Nothing but trouble.”
“On the hunt?” queried Cyn. “What villain is loose?”
“Oh, no villain, milord. Just some poor young woman lost her wits
and wandering. But that one’s been hanging about all day. Don’t they
think I’d tell ‘em if she came here? Apart from the reward, it’d be a
kindness, wouldn’t it? Now, sir, your room is ready and a tasty dinner
will be on the table shortly. I assure you my wife is a fine cook.”
He led the way toward the stairs.
“I have decided to keep my groom with me,” said Cyn. “You have a room for him?”
The innkeeper nodded. “There’s space above the stables with your coachman, milord.”
Cyn flashed Chastity a guarded look. “I prefer that he sleeps close to me. He also serves as my valet when I need one.”
“Oh, right, sir. There’s a truckle under the bed.”
Again a meaningful look. Chastity kept her face as blank as her mind. She hadn’t considered this possibility.
“I would prefer separate rooms,” said Cyn. “He snores.”
“Lord, sir,” said the innkeeper in some distress, “I don’t have
another room. This ain’t a big place, and I just have the three, all
taken. It’ll have to be the truckle or the stables.”
Cyn looked at Chastity as if giving her an opportunity to choose.
Her brain had gone numb, however. She knew she should do anything to
avoid sleeping in the same room as a man, especially this man…
Cyn turned back to the innkeeper and said, “No, I’ll take the lesser
of the evils. He can use the truckle. And provide an extra plate.
Charles may as well eat with me.”
Within moments they were in a small room made smaller by the sloping
of the roof. “Do try not to snore, young Charles,” drawled Cyn, “for if
you wake me I promise to wake you in turn.”
Chastity looked around the cramped room and knew a wiser woman would
have avoided this, but she couldn’t regret her folly. For all its
limited space, it was a lovely chamber warmed by a well-built fire. The
solid bed was made up with crisp, clean sheets. No speck of dust marred
the mellow furniture, or the polished oak floor. A vase of dried
flowers sat on a small table before the window, and potpourri scented
the air. A washstand was set behind a screen in one corner, and a table
was ready for the meal.
Once the truckle bed was pulled out the floor space would be almost
gone, but otherwise it was charming. Chastity found herself imagining
what it would be like if this were her wedding night, this her bridal
chamber. It would be lovely. Perfect.
But if Lady Chastity Ware had just married Lord Cynric Malloren,
they would be somewhere much grander. Here they were just master and
groom, and she must keep it that way.
The innkeeper and a maid came in with the meal. Cyn said that they
would serve themselves, and soon he and Chastity were settled before a
princely repast. They had soup, sole, a pork pie, and a chicken. To
complete the meal, there was cheese and apple tarts. Chastity ate for
something to do, and found she was genuinely hungry.
After an interval Cyn said, “The innkeeper is correct. His wife is an excellent cook.”
“Yes, indeed. And the whole inn seems well kept.”
“A gem, in fact. Perhaps I should mention it to Rothgar. He can bring it into fashion.”
Chastity chewed a mouthful of tender chicken. “Why does your voice
have such an edge when you speak of Rothgar? Rumor says he is a devoted
brother.”
She thought he would give her a sharp set-down, but he merely said flatly, “He is an extremely devoted brother.”
“Then why do you speak as if you hate him?”
His look was as piercing as a blade. “You’re an impudent stripling. I do not hate my brother.”
Chastity gathered another piece of meat onto her fork. “But you are angry with him.”
He dropped his knife and fork on his plate, and for a moment she
thought he would lay hands on her. He grasped his wineglass instead and
took a deep draft of the burgundy. “I am at odds with him because he
does not want me to return to my regiment. It’s typical of his bloody
interference, but I am no longer a child. It is merely a matter of
persuading him that I am healthy.”
Chastity also abandoned eating in favor of wine. Her nerves were on
edge, but she felt it important to continue the conversation in order
to help him. “I can understand that he might be anxious if you were as
sick as Mrs. Garnet says.”
He shrugged. “I suppose I was. I have very little recollection. But
I am perfectly well now. Soldiering is my life, and he will not keep me
from it.”
Chastity felt a great deal of sympathy for the Marquess of Rothgar.
She too would keep Cyn safe at home if she could, but she knew he was
not a tame spirit able to settle to farming, preaching, or the law.
“Surely he has no power to keep you from the army if you are
determined.”
He gave a sharp laugh. “You don’t know Rothgar. With his combination
of wealth, charm, and ruthlessness there are few in England willing to
cross him. As long as he tells the Horseguards I am unfit, all I can
hope for is an ornamental position well away from action. I’ll not
settle for that.”
“If he’s as concerned as you say, he’ll be after you.”
He refilled their glasses. “I’m hoping the fact Hoskins is with me will allay his fears, but you’re doubtless right, damn him.”
“Horrible Henry, his henchmen, Father, and Rothgar. I’m amazed we’re still on the loose.”
He suddenly grinned and raised his glass. “But we are, and I intend
to keep it that way. Don’t worry, young Charles. We will succeed.”
They clinked glasses and drank, then fell to eating again. Chastity,
however, was thoughtful. A good part of Cyn’s motivation for helping
them was wrapped up in his tangled feelings for his brother. What would
happen if Rothgar caught up with them?
Cyn began to talk again, this time of military life— the lighter
side of military life. His stories filled out her picture of him, but
in no way lessened it. He wasn’t boastful, but his courage, compassion,
and resourcefulness rang through. He made her laugh, and once almost
made her cry.
Then he switched to stories of the wonders of the New World, and
carried her off to deep forests and magnificent rivers; described
strange Indians, and abundant wildlife.
It was dangerous, this intimacy, and Chastity knew it, but she could
not resist it. It was deliciously as if they were married and at ease
with one another, as if this were in fact their wedding night.
She slid a wanton look at the inviting bed…
Stop it, Chastity.
She couldn’t. She was entranced by his hands on cutlery and glass,
and grew light-headed on their slender, tanned strength. She noticed
for the first time a dimple which appeared in his right cheek when he
smiled, and the way his eyes changed from green to gold according to
his mood.
Her body grew hypersensitive, even to the movement of her own
clothes. Everything played on her senses: the tang of apple wood on the
fire; the clatter of wheels in the street; raucous singing in the
taproom; Cyn’s voice rich and pleasant across the table…
He broke off what he was saying. “You’re not eating, Charles. Are you finished?”
Chastity looked down at the cutlery in her limp hands, and set it down. “I think so.”
“What, no dessert?” he teased, and picked up a tart. “You can’t pass on these. They’re superb.”
He held it in front of her. “Open up.”
Chastity looked at the apple tart. It was covered with a glistening,
golden glaze, and edged with a frill of rich, yellow cream. She licked
her lips, then slowly opened them. He put the tart between her teeth
and said, “Bite.”
His eyes captured hers over the pastry. She remembered a biscuit in Shaftesbury…
She sank her teeth through soft sweet fruit and crisp, crumbly
pastry, absorbed the burst of flavor. As she chewed, she licked her
lips, and felt the gloss of cream on them. She chewed on dizzily, still
captured by his approving gaze. Man to woman, this would be flirtation…
No. man to woman, this would be seduction.
Was he trying to seduce
Charles
?
“It’s very good,” she said nervously.
“Is it?” he asked softly, and turned the tart to bite from the spot
where she had bitten. He savored, and swallowed. Mmm,“ he murmured. ”A
work of art.“ He slowly licked some golden crumbs from his lips. He
took another bite, then extended the tart to her with a questioning
look.
Chastity thought of Adam and Eve, and apples, and Paradise…
She hastily shook her head. She pushed to her feet, turned her back
on temptation, and sought the cool of the window. That was an excellent
meal,“ she said gruffly, ”but I’m full.“
“There are occasions for sheer wanton indulgence, my dear Charles.
This may be one of them.” A concerto of meaning attended the simple
words.
“That would be wicked.”
“And are you never wicked?”
His power over her was not diminished by lack of sight of him. Her
heart pounded. Her nerve endings shivered for a touch. “I try not to
be,” she said huskily.
Cyn watched her, almost dizzy with desire. When she’d insisted on
accompanying him, and blithely agreed to share his room, he’d been sure
she was a wanton. He was more than willing to play that game if she
wished.
Perhaps a brief, lusty episode would rid him of his besotted affliction.
He’d amused himself wondering just when and how she would confess
her femininity, and decided to leave the progress in her experienced
hands. He’d relaxed too much, however, under the influence of good food
and wine and her attentive gaze. The next thing he knew he was baring
his soul, then flirting with her in the most blatant way.
And she’d confused him.
He feared his first impressions had been correct. She was an
innocent who had made just one disastrous error. Though in that case,
what had possessed her to come here with him tonight? Perhaps innocence
of truly cataclysmic proportions.
Knowledge of her innocence created a desire in him that was brutal
in its need, at the same time as it commanded him not to touch. His
hand shook as he reached for his wine.
He studied her over the rim of his glass. He could see through her
bulky layers of clothes as if she were naked. He ran his eyes down the
pure line of her straight back, the rounded firmness of her buttocks,
the shapely length of her legs. He ached to disrobe her slowly, to
gently explore every inch of her silky skin, to taste the salt of it
and drink in the musky perfume of her most intimate places. He longed
to watch that bewildered naivete turn to wonder.
He stood abruptly. “We had best get to bed if we’re to be on our way
early in the morning. There’s a necessary in the yard. I’m off to use
it.”
Chastity turned to see the door close behind him. She blinked with
surprise, but let out a long sigh. She knew they had both just had a
narrow escape for which she should be very grateful. She wasn’t
grateful. She felt raw with need.
She sighed. Perhaps a name was predestination. Verity, after all,
could not tell a lie. Perhaps being called Chastity meant she could
never be wanton.
She straightened her spine. They had escaped that moment of danger,
and she must make sure there would be no more. If she didn’t think she
could accompany him without shattering her disguise, then she must go
to Mary Garnet’s now.
She assured herself it would be all right. This would be the last night on the road, for they would make Maidenhead tomorrow.
She hurried behind the screen and used the chamber pot. She quickly
shed her outer clothes, keeping on her good-quality shirt and breeches.
Then she pulled out the narrow truckle bed and snuggled under the
covers, pretending to be fast asleep.
It was a long time before he returned. She began to grow concerned
about his safety, but there seemed nothing untoward when he finally
appeared. Chastity watched him prepare for bed through slit lids,
knowing it to be an intrusion but unrepentant. To her disappointment,
he changed and washed behind the screen, emerging in a nightshirt to
climb into the bed. She lay listening to his quiet breathing.