Chapter Eight

It was ridiculous to feel anyway excited by the sight of Red trying to push the coach out of the mud. Ridiculous.

And yet Hannah's heart beat rapidly and this well of anticipation kept bursting at random intervals into her stomach. With his sleeves rolled up, mud covering his breeches and hessians and a few splatters on his shirt, he was quite the sight. Sweat trickled down his face, and his hair curled at the collar. His cravat was long gone.

She held her reticule tight against her chest. Their luggage sat at the side of the road and the stone lay carefully atop it. The four men had been trying to get the coach out for over an hour but to no avail. Meanwhile Hannah had to sit on a nearby rock and watch. Goodness, even she was beginning to perspire, and it certainly had nothing to with the weather. A brisk wind swirled about the hills, ruffling the lace of her bonnet. She tightened the ribbon about her neck to ensure it did not blow away.

Red stopped, placed his hands on hips and took a breath. She saw him shake his head and mutter something to the driver. He strode over to her, taking great big steps through the thick mud. He had been forced to lift her across the mud, and it had to be the strangest experience she had ever had. The only man to touch her so familiarly was her father. No other man had held her so, to be sure. Holding onto his arms and feeling the strength and heat of his skin through his shirt would linger with her for an eternity, she suspected.

"It's no good," he said, dabbing his forehead with his shirt sleeve.

Her mouth was dry. So dry. Like a desert. Or…or something even drier. There simply had to be something. Whatever it was, it made her tongue feel thick and useless. She merely offered some expression that hopefully portrayed a question—what would they do next?

"We can return on the horses."

She shook her head.

"I thought you might say that."

She did not bother to point out that she had said nothing so far. Instead she coughed to remove the awkward silence from her throat. "If we return, who knows when we shall be able to travel again. I do not think the weather will improve anytime soon."

He nodded. "These roads will take some time to dry out." He motioned along the dirt track. "We are not far from an inn, according to my driver. We shall have to abandon the coach and the horses will need to be returned—we'll have no use for them once we find alternative transport."

"If it is not far, that sounds the best option."

"We have little other choice. There is no sense in trying to bring other carriages through here. I doubt even my chaise can make it through this."

He glanced over his shoulder at the young, wiry footman who had been making an admirable attempt at trying to push the coach out of the mire. He looked the most exhausted out of all of them.

"Will you be needing me to carry your luggage, my lord?"

Red shook his head. "Mr. Greaves could do with some help returning the horses. There is no sense in you coming along. Get back home and you can help when they send up more men and horses to drag the vehicle out."

The young lad nodded.

Hannah eyed their luggage. "We cannot carry it all alone."

"That lad is about to drop. I have little intention of carrying an exhausted footman to the next inn. Besides, Mr. Greaves will need help taking the four horses back. They are about as exhausted as Harry."

She sighed. "As long as we get to London eventually."

"It is either this or we wait for the weather to clear at Whitechapel Hall."

"Your home, I presume?"

"Yes."

It was easier now, to picture him in a grand stately home, in spite of the mud slicked up his boots and splattered across him. His disheveled state might be far from gentlemanly, but it somehow worked for him. He at least made a little more sense to her. Why an earl would play pirate, she did not know, but his arrogance and well-groomed, crisp appearance were at least logical.

"I can leave the trunk. Perhaps you can have the men take it back and send it on once the roads are dry."

"I can do that."

"That only leaves my bag and the stone, though I shall have to transfer another dress or two to last me the journey."

"If I take only my satchel, we can carry it all easily between us."

Yes , she thought, eyeing those muscled arms that bulged against the seams of his shirt. He would have no trouble carrying the stone. A sigh escaped her.

"Never fear, Miss St. John, I shall protect you."

Protect her? Oh Lord. A swirl of sensation swept through her like gale, settling low into her stomach and threading through her legs. If she did not focus very carefully on keeping her knees locked, she might collapse all together. Red had not understood the reason for her sigh but had managed to make it twenty times worse. It was all entirely ridiculous. She could not fathom it, but for some reason, his offer of protection plucked at some delightful invisible string inside of her.

Ha. She did not even need protection. Hannah had travelled all the way to Cornwall alone safely. Simply because he had strong arms and a wide chest did not mean he could protect her any better than she could. Why, he might even attract trouble. She would have to be on her guard.

For trouble...and for him. Red could slip easily under her defenses, she feared.

Red arranged to have the luggage stowed in the carriage. They simply had to hope no one would come along and take it. The roads were so bad, she thought it unlikely. Once the men were sent on their way, she and Red began their journey west, following the grassy ledge at the side of the boggy road.

Hannah walked behind Red, who had opted to leave off his great coat, apparently still warm from his exertions. His shirt was untucked but through the linen she could see the outline of his rear. She had to admit, she had never eyed a man's bottom before. And there was good reason why. It meant she stumbled several times and nearly landed in the mud.

Wind whirled around her, picking up speed. She clutched her traveling bag to her as the gust breezed around her ankles and underneath her pelisse.

"Should not be far now," Red called.

She nodded but the hills were barren for as far as they could see. The coastline curved around, rising up sharply. Her shoulders were beginning to ache and she could only imagine how Red felt, although he continued on as though the stone and his heavy bag were as light as a feather pillow.

Clouds gathered as they reached the headland. Red paused and squinted into the distance. "Ah, see there."

Air escaped her chest. "Yes, yes I do!"

A lone, white building sat humbly in the distance. It would only take them another half an hour to reach. Thank goodness.

The wind continued to buffet them. So much so that Hannah had to lean forward to walk into it. Where they were, exposed on the hills, there was no shelter or release from it. It was like wading through the sea and just as tiring. She paused to set down her bag on a rock briefly and roll her arms.

"Not far now," Red assured her, following suit and setting down the stone and his bag.

She eyed the building. Indeed, they were closer, but not close enough.

As another blast struck them, her hat loosened and lifted off her head. The grips ripped out of her hair and even though she scrabbled to grab it, it was gone in a trice. She twisted to watch it lift higher then swoop down over the cliff edge.

"Blast."

"Long gone now, I fear," Red said.

She nodded. "Never mind. It was not even my favorite."

He gave a good stretch, and Hannah found herself tracing the length of his body with her gaze. Her father had always said the best way to learn about something she did not understand was to study it closely. She was also certain he was not referring to men. Yet she could not help herself.

Men had always baffled her, however. She only understood her father and that was likely because they had spent twenty years together. A few local men had paid her a little attention, but she had hardly understood how to converse with them and they did not seem at all pleased with her passion for history. It seemed to her, they all wanted a woman who would be interested in them—and only them. Unfortunately, none could hold her attention long.

Red could, though. She was still staring. A great deal. Too much, really. Particularly because he was now looking at her in an odd manner.

"What is it?"

She shook her head to clear it. "Nothing. Let us get moving before this wind blows me off the cliff."

He chuckled. "Yes, we cannot let that happen. I don't much fancy diving off a cliff to rescue you."

There he went again, playing her charming protector. She would almost rather he was being rude and arrogant. At least she knew how to deal with that.

The clouds above darkened further while they progressed toward the inn. Hannah narrowed her gaze at them. Do not rain, do not rain.

It appeared she had no more command over the clouds than she did the muddy roads. The first big, fat drop struck her nose and tickled down her face. She swiped it aside, but the clouds split in an angry manner, pouring their vengeance upon them. Whatever they had done to deserve it, she could not say.

Red motioned for her to hurry, but neither of them could move any quicker, encumbered with their luggage and the stone. Rain drops invaded under her pelisse and soaked her hair to a floppy mess. Dips in the road filled instantly, and it was near impossible to avoid them. Even her stockings could not avoid getting soaked. By the time they had approached the inn, she was certain there was no part of her that remained dry.

Red paused in front of the door and shoved his soaking hair back from his face. She heard him curse under his breath so she finally peered at the building through the sheeting rain. This was no comforting traveler's inn. At least not anymore. Once upon a time perhaps the windows had been lit with a reassuring glow or the door had been freshly painted and the windows had not been broken in places.

That time was no more, however.

"Oh no."

"It must have closed," Red said to her, his words almost drowned out by the heavy pattering and the occasional whoop of wind across them. "Let us look inside. We cannot stay out here."

He twisted the knob and pushed open the door. Hannah's insides gave a twist with it. She was hardly superstitious, nor did she believe in ghosts or anything of the like. There was always a logical explanation for these things to her mind. However, the dank, dark interior of the empty inn made her shudder. She could well have put that down to her rain-soaked garments, but there was nothing pleasant about stepping into an abandoned building.

The door blew shut behind her, and she screamed.

Red whirled and gave her a look that told her she had nearly forced him to keel over.

"Sorry."

He grimaced and eyed the interior. "It is hardly what we were hoping for but it will have to do for now. We can't continue on in that weather."

Hannah nodded, clutching her bag to her. They were in the main room. The bar remained, thick with dust. A few chairs and tables were scattered about haphazardly. One or two tankards sat upon the fireplace as if waiting for their owners to come and have a drink from them. The air smelled stale, and there was a slight shuffling sound coming from above them. Something had likely taken this battered old inn as its home.

Another shudder wracked her.

"You're frozen," he stated.

As if on cue, her teeth started to chatter. She nodded, unwilling to admit the shudder was caused more by the barren and ghostly state of the building.

"You should change. Slip into the other room and change there. I suspect I can rustle up enough wood for a fire from this furniture, and I have my tinder and flint with me." He picked up an old stump of a candle. "There's enough of a wick here for us to find our way around for a moment. Hopefully it's not damp."

She glanced at the door to which he had motioned. The slowly building lump in her throat grew. She shook her head.

He lit the candle after a few tries and set it into a dusty old stand. "Hannah?"

"I-I'm not going in there."

He peered at her, one brow raised. Damn him. With his hair damp, his jacket now removed and his shirt almost stuck to his skin, he looked more handsome and devilish than ever. Devilish should not have been an appealing thing to be, and yet it was.

And, of course, she likely looked as though she had been pulled through a ringer. She could feel her curls dropping down her neck. Why was rain so flattering to men and so utterly ruining to women?

"You need to get out of those clothes, Hannah. If you're worried for your safety, let me assure you, I have no intention of stealing a look or doing anything untoward."

She tried to clamp her jaw shut to prevent the chattering of her teeth and failed. "I-I did not assume you would."

His lips quirked. "How trusting of you."

"I am sure a man like you has no need for sneaking looks at vulnerable women. You probably have a new woman in your bed every night."

The tilt of his lips grew. "Sometimes two."

She sucked in a gasp. Why she had even said such a thing, she did not know, but she could not have him focusing on her vulnerability at present. It was far easier to deflect the attention back to him.

"W-will you just turn your back while I dress?"

He stared at her for too long. It made her skin itch as his gaze ran over her from head to toe. Finally, he nodded. He moved into the corner of the room and turned to face the wall. "Tell me when you're done."

Hannah hastily tugged open her travelling bag and pulled out a dry dress and shift. She eyed the door to goodness knows where and knew she had little choice. There was no chance she would go into one of the other rooms alone. The mere thought made her shudder.

She stripped quickly, pausing to glance at Red's back. He remained facing the wall, his arms folded across his chest, an image of pure masculine power—strong in stance, with his wide shoulders silhouetted by the damp linen of his shirt.

She snorted to herself. Masculine power? What nonsense. She pulled the shift over her head. Her stays were damp too, but there was little that could be done about that. Hopefully she would warm with a dry shift and dress on.

Hannah tugged her dress on and gave a wriggle. The fabric remained bunched around her head. She cursed. She forgot it had extra buttons on the back in her haste. She should have undone them first. Practically blinded by the bunched dress, she gave another wriggle and tried to drag her arms free.

Blast.

"Um..." She pulled her arm from the sleeve, but it caught at her elbow and pinched into her skin. "Um...Red?"

"Yes?"

She couldn't see if he had turned to look at her muddle yet. She had to assume he had not or else he would surely fall into a laughing fit. Oh what a mess she had to look. Soaked, half-naked, and trapped by her own gown.

"C-could you help me?"

His spluttered laugh told her he'd finally turned. She waited, her head still covered by the dress, her arms at an awkward angle above head.

"Well?" she demanded, aware of heat in her cheeks and likely the rest of her. At least she did not have to worry about catching a chill anymore.

"How did this happen?"

"There are several buttons on the back. I forgot to undo them and now...well, now I am stuck," she explained, her voice muffled.

His fingers on her back made her jump. "Stand still," he ordered.

She tried but was far too aware of this touch. No one but maids had ever helped her dress. Most days she did it herself, as she and her father never took servants with them on their travels. Honestly, why she was utterly unable to dress herself today of all days, she did not know.

"Hannah," he scolded when she twitched at the feel of his fingers near her spine.

A few more torturous moments later and he had the dress pulled over her head and down. She lowered her arms and found herself staring into his eyes that were made all the more intense by the low shadows. Her heart gave an erratic beat. Then another. Then she was sure it stopped.

She continued to stare—as did he. It was the oddest moment, for although she was no longer bound in her dress, she could hardly move, hardly breathe. All from looking into his eyes. Perhaps it was the way his gaze kept dropping briefly to her lips, or maybe it was because she had never seen a man so handsome.

He stepped closer and the desire to shrink back and escape the intensity of his presence screamed through her, but her legs hadn't figured out how to work. She shivered.

"Turn around." His voice was a harsh whisper. "I'll do your buttons."

Meekly, she did as she was told. Red brushed aside some damp hair and another shiver wracked her at the feel of his fingers upon the nape of her neck.

"Are you still cold?"

She nodded, though in truth, she could hardly tell. Her skin was ice-like that much she knew, yet her body felt aflame and far too aware of him so close to her. She could lean back, and they would be touching, body to body. Now why was that so tempting? She had never been aware of a man physically before. Ever. Why now? Why with Red?

He finished the buttons and put his hands to her shoulders to turn her around. "Do you have a dry pelisse? Or a spencer? I'll start a fire, but this place won't stay that warm, not with the broken windows. I have my doubts there is anything else in here that will keep us warm." He jerked his head upward. "There was a hole in the roof. Any beds will be ruined, but I'll check shortly."

She nodded, legs still frozen. When he moved away, it was a miracle she did not puddle on the floor as though the ice in her had thawed and left her as nothing but liquid.

"Well?" he prompted when she had not moved.

"Yes, of course." She jumped into motion, riffling through her bag until she came up with a spencer. She pulled it on and did up the buttons. While she was there, she also tugged out some gloves and added them to her outfit. They did not match but at least her numb fingers might warm quicker. She eyed Red's white shirt, still stuck to his back and revealing far too much as he set about sorting out the tinder. "Will you not change?"

He shrugged. "I'll dry soon enough."

Hannah frowned. "You will get sick."

"I never get sick."

"Nonsense, everyone gets sick."

He glanced at her long enough to grin. "Not me."

Red stood and picked up one of the abandoned chairs. He threw it to the floor and the furniture made a cracking sound. Then he kicked it several times. Wood splintered and the old chair broke apart.

She blinked at this show of strength but refused to let herself be anyway intrigued by it. After all, if she tried hard enough, she could certainly break a chair. There was nothing at all exciting about such a display. Nothing at all.

"Nothing at all."

"Pardon?"

She smiled hastily. "Nothing."

At a loss as for what to do, Hannah drew up her shoulders and forced herself to properly confront their lodgings for the night. She still would not venture any farther into the building, but she should at least acquaint herself with their surroundings.

She twisted to eye the bar, its long length so barren. Once upon a time, men would have come here after a long journey and sit at it until their bodies were warm and relaxed with alcohol. More tables and chairs would have occupied the space and it would have smelled of cigarette smoke and warm pies. Now it was nothing more than a shell—a ghostly, dark, damp shell.

She turned her attention back to Red. Perhaps acquainting herself with the room was not the best idea. The only non-spooky thing in the room was the smuggler. What a pickle she was in when he was the most constant thing in her world.

In her perusal, she did spot another tiny stump of a candle and an old lamp. She lit the stump from the lone candle and drew up the wick of the lamp. She gave it a little shake and was pleased to hear there was a little liquid left in it. After a few tries, she got it lit and placed it in one of the darkened corners. The cozy light took away some of the spookiness at least.

Once Red had managed to get the fire going, the idea of spending the night in the abandoned inn was a little less daunting. It crackled invitingly, and he urged her to come close, drawing over a chair and motioning for her to sit in it.

"I shall explore—see if I can find anything that will make our stay more comfortable. You remain here."

Hannah nodded. Silently she cursed herself. She was meant to be the one in charge here. Instead she had spent the entire evening nodding like a puppet.

Logically, there was no reason to be scared by an old building except perhaps the stability of the structure, but buildings like this were built to last. It had likely been on this spot for several hundred years and would remain so for another hundred. There was nothing of which to be scared.

But when Red left her, her breathing grew shallow. She focused on the dancing flames of the fire, forcing herself not to look deep into every shadow or listen to the howling wind. She gripped the arms of the chair tight and cautioned herself to breathe.

Deep breaths. One, two, three. She froze. What was that? A crack. Followed by a thud. Had something terrible happened to Red? What if he had fallen through the ceiling? Or a beam had come down upon him? She jolted upright, knocking over her chair. She tugged open the door he had gone out of and barreled into the darkness.