Princess Charming (18 page)

When his host readily agreed, Ash used the innkeeper’s own rooms to quickly don dry clothes and then sat down before a warm fire to compose a note to Katharine—saying that he was taking good care of her friend and not to worry about them, but including some specific instructions for his coachman and two of his grooms.

It took him three times as long to pen a more complex missive to Bow Street. The Bow Street Runners were a private police force, and Ash intended to hire the elite company of thief-takers for his own purposes. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise him if Deering had already engaged the Runners to search for Maura and her stallion.

She would be furious at him, Ash knew, but he needed to force her hand and bring an end to her mad flight as quickly as possible. If she kept on this path, she could very well ruin her life.

Moreover, he was taking destiny back into his own hands.

And finally, Ash admitted, his actions would give
him greater leverage over Maura, which he needed to gain her agreement for an even more ambitious plan he was concocting.

His private feelings for her—which were becoming rather complicated—would have to wait to be sorted out. And so would helping her to regain legal ownership of her stallion.

For now, Ash vowed, he simply intended to save Maura from herself.

The storm was
still raging when Beaufort returned, sinking Maura’s spirits yet again, despite the fact that she was now clean and mostly dry. She had finished bathing and was sitting before the crackling fire, combing out her freshly washed hair. For warmth, she’d draped the blanket around her, over the modest gown the innkeeper’s wife had loaned her.

Beaufort wore modest attire also, Maura saw, noting his linen shirt, fustian breeches, and leather slippers.

“Have you eaten?” he asked.

“No. They brought dinner a moment ago, but I waited for you.” She gestured at the small table by the window, where a tray of covered dishes lay.

“Come,” he suggested.

There was only one chair at the table, since Maura had dragged its twin before the fire. When she rose to relinquish hers, Beaufort carried it back across the small room.

While he inspected the various dishes, she went to the window and restlessly peered out.

“It is frustrating that I must stay in hiding,” she muttered.

“You brought it on yourself,” he said without much sympathy.

“True.”

“Come and sit down. You will feel better after you have eaten a decent meal.”

He was holding out her chair for her and clearly wouldn’t sit until she did. With a sigh, Maura joined him and let him serve her rabbit stew and bread pudding. But even though the fare was tasty, she did not have much of an appetite.

“You are right,” she observed, picking at her stew. “The storm may not let up soon. And even after Emp’s shoe is replaced, he could still be too lame to travel.”

“Yes. We may have to remain here tomorrow or even longer.”

Beaufort seemed too cheerful to her mind. “You are gloating because you managed to get your way after all. If I didn’t know better, I would say you arranged the storm somehow.”

“I don’t have any such magical powers or I would have used them to better purpose. Certainly I would have persuaded you to take shelter here before we were drenched.”

When she started to argue, Beaufort startled her by snatching her fork and shoveling a bite of pudding into her mouth.

“Now, be a good girl and chew. You need to stop moping over what cannot be changed.”

Maura shook herself, knowing that he was right again. She reclaimed her fork, suspecting that he would forcibly feed her if she wouldn’t do it herself.

When they finally finished the meal, she did indeed feel better, not so much because her stomach was full, but because Beaufort had somehow managed to lighten her mood. He would not allow her to despair, she realized, torn between gratitude and unwilling humor.

When two inn servants came to take away the dishes, Beaufort asked for more hot water to be brought for his bath.

Once they were gone, he turned to Maura. “I trust you don’t mind if I shave and bathe,” he said, rubbing his stubbled jaw with a grimace of distaste.

“Of course I don’t mind,” she murmured, although she wondered how she would deal with him in such close quarters. The small bedchamber was crowded, what with the table and two chairs, a bed and nightstand, a washstand, and now the round wooden tub at one side of the hearth. The thought of him naked in that tub was most unsettling.

While the servants brought more buckets of hot water, Beaufort went to the washstand and began lathering his face with soap. Maura retreated to the window but found herself watching him in fascination as he used a straight razor to scrape off his growth of whiskers.

“Does that hurt?” she asked curiously.

“Not unless I cut myself.”

When he finished, he rinsed the soap from his face and drew his shirt over his head. Maura was unprepared for the shock of heat that flooded her at the sight of his smoothly muscled torso.

Beaufort started to remove his breeches, but when he caught her staring at him, his hands stilled on the waistband.

“I should have warned you I am about to undress,” he said with a grin. “You are welcome to watch me bathe, if you like.”

Cheeks aflame, Maura quickly turned away.

Behind her, Beaufort finished stripping off his borrowed clothes. When she heard him step into the tub, she couldn’t help glancing over her shoulder.

His back was to her, but the golden glow of firelight highlighted his naked beauty. He was starkly masculine, with broad shoulders, narrow hips, taut buttocks, and sinewed thighs and calves.

Her stomach tightening with awareness, Maura averted her gaze and did her best to ignore the ripples of sexual attraction that were coursing through her.

She heard him sink into the water, then splash as he soaped his body with a cloth. It was perhaps five minutes later when he stood and stepped out of the tub. Her gaze was unconsciously drawn to him again as he reached for a linen towel to dry himself.

A small gasp escaped her when she caught sight of his body in profile. She had never seen a nude man before other than sculptures or paintings. Her fascinated gaze followed the line of wet dark hair trailing down his belly and settled on his loins. He was completely aroused, Maura realized, her throat going dry.

He seemed not the least embarrassed by her scrutiny, yet his smile was wry when he spoke. “You do have a certain effect on me, I confess.”

He had an unmistakable effect on her as well. His presence was powerfully seductive, even across the room.

She couldn’t find her voice to respond, though.

“Why do you seem so startled by my appearance?” he asked as he moved toward the fire and used the towel to rub his hair dry.

“You are not … what I expected.”

“What did you expect?”

His form was that of a Greek god’s, Maura decided, but in one respect, he was built very much like a stallion. His shaft was thick and long—although the nest of dark curling hair that cradled his phallus was somewhat different from a male horse’s.

“I thought your male … extremities would resemble a statue, not a stallion.”

“I shall take that as a compliment,” he said, humor lacing his voice.

“My observation was not intended as flattery,” she protested. “I was merely comparing facts. You have hair there … where a stallion does not.”

He laughed softly. “I can see how your knowledge of male anatomy could be warped by all the time spent in your breeding stables.”

Maura lowered her eyebrows at him. “You think my naïveté humorous?”

“No, darling, I think your naïveté charming. As a gently reared young lady, you are expected to have limited sexual experience.”

He was ribbing her, although gently, she realized. “I am not completely ignorant,” she professed. “I know how horses mate. And I must admit, it does not look pleasant.”

“How so?”

“A stallion mounts a mare from behind, and there is a great deal of grunting and squealing. While it
might be gratifying for
him
, I doubt the mare finds the procedure very enjoyable.”

“Procedure?” Amusement danced in his eyes as he turned fully to face her. He had wrapped the now-damp towel around his lean hips, but the sculpted muscles in his chest and shoulders and arms still proved a distraction. “Lovemaking between humans is hardly a ‘procedure,’ ” he said. “And we people usually prefer to face each other when we make love.”

“I realize that,” she murmured. She might know little about carnal relations, but she’d had enough whispered discussions with her friends to understand the rudimentaries of lovemaking.

“I assure you, a frontal coupling can be exceedingly enjoyable,” Beaufort added, “although varying positions can add spice.”

Maura gazed back at him mutely, her feelings an odd mix of embarrassment and confusion, intrigue and yearning. Doubtless it was shameful even to be discussing the subject of sexual positions, but she had always been highly curious about lovemaking beyond her pragmatic knowledge of equine breeding.

“My offer still stands,” he said, his tone a degree more serious.

The offer to become her lover, he meant.

Maura slowly shook her head, although with a large measure of regret. “I haven’t the luxury of expanding my limited sexual experience. Without benefit of marriage, I intend to remain a virgin.”

“There are other ways to make love that don’t involve penetrating your body or breaching your maidenhead.”

She hesitated. “Is that so?”

“Yes. I can give you pleasure without taking your innocence.”

When she was silent, his timbre dropped even lower. “Shall I show you, sweetheart?”

A shiver of raw sensation slid down her spine as she stood debating.

Beaufort must have noticed, for he held out his hand to her. “You are cold standing there by the window. Come here and let me warm you.”

Did she dare go to him? Maura wondered. She was indeed a little chilled, despite her blanket. And there was a blazing fire a mere few steps away, along with a man who could create a blazing fire within
her
. She knew what could happen if she crossed to him.

She knew what
would
happen between them.

Without conscious thought, Maura found herself moving closer. Then she was standing before the fire, staring up at Beaufort, at his sensuous mouth, the strong planes of his face, the sheer intensity of his eyes. She saw warmth there in his gaze … the promise of something thrilling. His expression seemed unbearably intimate, as if he could see into her very heart.

Perhaps he could, she thought when he murmured, “Do you want me, love?”

If she were honest, she had to answer
yes
. He aroused something fierce and passionate inside her. No doubt this wild desire she felt was madness, but just now she wanted to surrender to his spellbinding enchantment.

Even the practical, sensible side of her wasn’t protesting. He was right; she could act on her desire with relative impunity. After journeying across England
with him and spending their nights together, becoming Beaufort’s lover could hardly taint her reputation any more.

Maura closed her eyes, knowing her decision was already made. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to step into his arms and let the heat of his body banish her remaining chill. As she pressed her face into his bare shoulder, she could smell the clean warmth of his skin, feel the silken texture against her cheek.

He held her that way for a short span. Then bending his head, he put his mouth against the side of her neck, where her pulse raced wildly.

“Do you want me, Maura?” he repeated more firmly, although still leaving her the choice.

She took a deep breath and lifted her face to his. “Yes,” she whispered.

He hesitated for another heartbeat, searching her face for any sign of reluctance. He must have been reassured by her expression, for he lowered his head and captured her mouth with an urgency that caught her by surprise.

Holding her against his fully aroused body, he kissed her hard, his mouth hot, wet, open against hers, giving her a tantalizing taste of his need, compelling her to respond.

Just as suddenly, he broke off the kiss and caught her arms, then stepped back, as if forcing himself to slow down.

“You will be the death of my willpower,” he muttered, his tone softening to rough gravel.

He had already annihilated
her
willpower, Maura
thought dazedly. She could hear the racing thud of her heartbeat as he smiled faintly at her.

“We need to go slowly,” he said, more to remind himself than her, she suspected.

His first step was to cross to the bed and fetch a pillow. Returning to her side, he slipped the blanket off her shoulders and spread it on the floor before the hearth, with the pillow at one end.

Then he undressed her, removing her stockings and gown. When she stood naked before him, he unfastened the towel around his waist and let it fall to the floor. Maura’s breath faltered at his magnificent male nudity. The hiss and crackle of the fire seemed loud in the hushed silence as he drank her in with his eyes and she did the same with him.