Princess Charming (17 page)

He must have noted her appearance as well.

“You look uncomfortable again, vixen.”

“I will survive. But Emperor has begun to sweat, so the sheen is returning to his coat. Will you hold his reins while I apply more mud?”

Beaufort did as she asked, positioning the horse on the swampy bank of the stream.

When she scooped up a handful of wet earth and began working it between her fingers to make a paste, he spoke directly to the stallion. “I trust you appreciate the sacrifices your mistress is making for your sake, big fellow.”

Emperor gave no indication that he understood the admonition, and at the first brush of mud on his skin, he tossed his head and sidled away from Maura’s touch.

“Easy, Emp,” she said soothingly. “I am sorry, but you look too much like a champion racehorse.”

The stallion instantly calmed at the sound of her voice and stood docilely while she covered him in mud.

Beaufort watched her quietly. “You have a magical touch with horses.”

“I suppose I was born with it. I love horses.” She
cast him a provocative glance. “Honestly, I like horses better than most people. Certainly better than most members of your class, my lord.”

“You are most assuredly an uncommon young lady.”

Maura smiled and wrinkled her nose good-naturedly. “I have been out for five Seasons, and I am hardly young—nor much of a lady, for that matter. I own a breeding stable, so I am no longer considered respectable. You wondered earlier why I am still unmarried; that largely explains it. I am not the kind of wife gentlemen generally seek to wed.”

“Your occupation has nothing to do with whether or not you are a lady. I find you refreshing—a woman ahead of your time. Indeed, your very uniqueness gives you more freedom to take a lover.”

A heartbeat passed before Maura fully registered his comment. Then she almost laughed at his persistence. “How plainly must I say it, my lord? I am not interested in taking you for my lover.”

“A pity. You don’t know the immense pleasure you are missing.”

She did laugh then. “Your vanity knows no bounds, does it?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Are you accusing me of vanity?”

Maura didn’t reply, but she couldn’t quell her smile as she finished muddying Emperor’s coat and turned away to wash her hands in the stream.

Realizing how lighthearted she felt just then, she shook her head in bemusement. It astonished her, not only how comfortable she was sharing her most intimate confidences with Beaufort, but that the desperation
and helplessness she’d endured for weeks had somehow abated.

A dangerous development to let down her guard so completely around him, Maura reminded herself, and yet she just couldn’t bring herself to care.

Maura’s light mood
lasted for several more hours—until her luck seemed to turn for the worse. Thus far they had met few people along their journey, but they made the mistake of riding across a field. When they emerged at the rear of a farmhouse, they were instantly greeted by a pack of barking dogs.

Surrounded by teeth-baring animals yipping at their horses’ hooves, Maura felt her throat go dry. Next, a rough-looking fellow stormed out from behind the nearby chicken coop, aiming a musket directly at them, and her heart gave a painful leap.

Beaufort swung his mount in front of her to shield her, but thankfully, his protection proved unnecessary. The farmer lowered his weapon and called off the dogs, before tipping his hat in sincere apology.

“Begging yer pardon, guv’nor. We’ve ’ad a spot of trouble with foxes getting into the coop, so I let the dogs run free in the yard.”

Maura swallowed her alarm, yet once again she was grateful to have Beaufort at her side.

She was still musing on her abrupt change of heart
when they came to the small village of Fawley. As they passed a modest inn, Beaufort proposed stopping there for the night, but Maura shook her head, preferring to ride another few miles before dark.

“We have enough food to last another day. And we need to press on if we hope to reach Oxford by tomorrow.”

“It would be infinitely more pleasant to sleep in a real bed tonight,” he reminded her.

“True, but I don’t want to risk Emperor being recognized. We only need to find a meadow with a stream and a few trees. A pile of leaves makes a comfortable bed.”

“Behold me in raptures,” Beaufort said, his tone dust-dry.

“It will not kill you to sleep under the stars,” she replied, smiling.

Beaufort cast a glance at the sky to the west. “I wouldn’t count on seeing any stars tonight. Those clouds look as if a storm is brewing.”

His words were prophetic, for a while later the wind picked up. Soon the gusts were making the horses nervous. Behind her, Emperor tossed his head and tugged on his lead, and even Maura had difficulty soothing him.

“We ought to return to the inn and wait out the storm,” Beaufort suggested.

“Perhaps the next village will have shelter,” Maura replied, hoping to ride as far as possible before they were forced to stop.

The rain began some ten minutes later, a dull drizzle that seemed bearable at first. But then the storm intensified, lashing them with icy fingers.

When the torrent had soaked through her cloak and drenched Beaufort entirely, Maura realized how foolish she had been to insist that they try to brave the storm. She was cold and shivering already, so she knew Beaufort had to be even more miserable with no cloak or greatcoat to protect him.

To make matters worse, a mail coach rumbled by, forcing them to the far edge of the road. It was all Maura could do to avoid sliding off the verge into a rain-swollen ditch.

Then disaster struck. Frip tripped in a rut and fell to his knees, almost spilling Maura from her saddle, which caused Emperor to rear behind her and yank the lead out of her hand.

Spinning on his haunches, the stallion plunged down the muddy bank, then stumbled as he scrambled up the other side of the flooded ditch.

Her heart in her throat, Maura guided Frip after him, slithering down the slick embankment and back up again. She could barely see through the sheets of rain, but at least Emperor had halted.

Murmuring a prayer, she flung herself off Frip’s back and ran to the stallion. She could tell he was favoring his front left foreleg, and upon inspection, realized that he had thrown a shoe, pulling off part of the hoof wall in the process, perhaps cutting into the quick or bruising the sole of his foot.

When she urged the stallion to take a step forward so she could judge the damage, he visibly limped.

Dismay and guilt welled up inside Maura as Beaufort dismounted behind her.

“That settles it,” he declared. “We are returning to the inn. This foolishness has gone on long enough.”

“Yes,” Maura agreed meekly. “We will need to find a blacksmith to replace his shoe.”

While Beaufort took the reins of their riding mounts, she carefully led Emperor back across the ditch. He was still limping, although not as badly, so that Maura doubted he would be permanently lamed by walking all the way back to the inn. Yet she still worried he might be recognized.

“The rain is washing off his disguise,” she called to Beaufort.

“In this downpour, no one will note his appearance. But you might be remembered in your peddler’s garb. When we arrive, keep your cloak and hood close around you and let me deal with the ostlers and innkeeper.”

They trudged slowly back to the inn and led the horses into the stables, where Beaufort arranged for their mounts to be cared for, including a new shoe for the stallion and a poultice for his injured foot.

When they entered the inn, accompanied by a burst of wind and rain, the innkeeper said regretfully that all the rooms were occupied but one.

“My wife and I will take your remaining room,” Beaufort told him. “And we require a hot meal and a bath as well.”

The innkeeper bowed deeply, evidently recognizing authority when he encountered it. But then Beaufort had the kind of bearing and self-assurance that proclaimed his nobility and commanded respect, Maura knew. He was dressed for the part as well, despite his stubbled jaw and sopping-wet clothing.

She, on the other hand, was hardly attired as his genteel
wife. When she hesitated to follow the innkeeper toward the stairs, Beaufort scooped her up in his arms.

Startled, she kept her face buried in his chest but lodged a whispered protest. “I am
not
your wife.”

“You are temporarily, if you want to protect your reputation.”

“If I hope to protect my reputation, I ought not share a bedchamber with you.”

“Don’t be an idiot, my love. It will be no more scandalous than sharing a barn loft or a bed of leaves in the woods. And you are shivering so hard, your teeth are clacking.”

That much was true, Maura acknowledged as another tremor shook her.

Upstairs, the innkeeper shepherded them into a small bedchamber that overlooked the stableyard. A fire was laid in the hearth but not lit—a situation the innkeeper quickly remedied before bowing himself out with the promise of a tub of hot water and a good dinner to follow.

Alone, Beaufort set Maura on her feet. When he started to remove her cloak, though, she tensed. “I can undress myself, thank you.”

“Never fear that I mean to ravish you, vixen,” he admonished, his hands still on the garment. “I am hardly in the mood for lovemaking, being cold and hungry myself, and you look like a drowned rat. None of which is conducive to passion.”

The gleam of humor in his eyes reassured her enough that she relinquished her cloak and watched as he hung it on a wall peg to dry. Then he surprised her by striding to the door.

“I will leave you to undress and bathe in privacy,”
he informed her. “Once you strip off your wet clothes, wrap yourself in a blanket and go sit by the fire. I’ll check on the tub and hot water, and I’ll try to scrounge up some dry clothing for us both.”

Observing his own drenched state, Maura was suddenly struck by another wave of guilt. “You should be the one to stay. You are soaked to the skin yourself.”

“To quote your own words, I will survive. I spied a fire in the taproom where I can warm myself. And I can visit the privy outside and leave the chamberpot here to you. You cannot be seen in public, remember?”

She hesitated to accept his generous offer. “It doesn’t seem fair that you should have to make any more sacrifices for my sake.”

Beaufort flashed her a grin. “I am willing to act as your prince just this once, Cinderella. Now, buck up. The situation is not as bleak as it seems.”

He must have seen her despair, Maura realized, judging by the sudden gentleness in his eyes. Feeling another swell of gratitude, she murmured as he turned again to go, “Lord Beaufort?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you,” she said simply.

That irresistibly charming smile appeared again before he let himself from the room.

Alone, Maura shed her wet garments and wrapped a blanket around her body, then went to sit before the now-crackling hearth fire. It was a measure of how much she had come to trust Beaufort that she was calmly waiting for her bath to be delivered.

Amazing
, Maura thought, shaking her head in awe and bewilderment. It was even more remarkable that
she would permit him to act as her prince, since she rarely leaned on anyone.

No doubt the growing intimacy between them had disastrously weakened her defenses. And now she faced a fresh dilemma. Being trapped in a bedchamber with Beaufort for an entire night would sorely test her willpower.

For a moment her mind returned to the hayloft that morning … to the memory of his heart-stirring caresses, the tantalizing feel of his kisses on her bare skin.

She had to fight his beguiling effect on her, Maura knew. Even though he’d said the choice to become lovers was solely hers, she wasn’t certain she could resist her desire for him much longer.

Ash had his own reasons for leaving Maura alone just then. The first was to take himself away from temptation. If he wanted to have a prayer of controlling his lust, he couldn’t remain in the same room with her while she bathed.

Just the thought of seeing her luscious body naked had the power to arouse him. He’d lied when he’d assured Maura of her unappealing appearance. She seemed to have no idea how exquisitely beautiful she was, and even wet and bedraggled, she could make his body yearn.

At the same time, her forlorn air had only heightened his protective instincts. He wanted nothing more than to make all her troubles magically disappear and then spend the rest of the day and night warming her chilled flesh and showing her just how much he desired her.

He couldn’t perform magic, Ash reasoned, but he could help Maura vanquish her troubles if she would only let him.

He wasn’t about to tell her his additional reason for wanting privacy for himself, though. Her gratitude would be short-lived if she had even an inkling of the betrayal he was planning.

Upon making his way downstairs, Ash sought out the innkeeper and requested changes of clothing for himself and his “wife,” as well as paper, pen, and ink. Then he offered to pay extremely well for a messenger to ride to London immediately with two letters.