Chapter 18

Chapter

Eighteen

B eckett leaned against the squabs and watched as Genevieve slept on the seat across from him. They had managed to pin her gown together with some of her hairpins and removed her wig so she could sleep comfortably as they traveled through the night. Beckett wanted to put enough distance between them and London so no one could catch up.

What he was doing was bold, perhaps not even the right decision. Her family would certainly not like the way he'd gone about saving her reputation.

He tore his gaze away from her, not needing to imagine what could have happened to her or what their marriage would mean. He didn't want Genevieve in a romantic way. He was merely doing her a favor, saving her reputation—nothing more.

The carriage rumbled to a halt before the Pig N' Whistle Inn, their first stop for the night. A young stablehand ran to let down the carriage steps and help Genevieve alight.

A cool drizzle fell about them, and as he joined Genevieve in the inn yard, he took her hand and helped her run toward the inn door. Upon entering the establishment, the noise, merry drinkers, and drunkards who'd imbibed far too much wine before catching their stagecoaches to unknown locations assaulted their ears.

"Ah, Lord Tyndall, good to see you again. I hope you're not after your usual room this evening, my lord. We're heavily booked, I'm afraid."

He inwardly groaned, hating not to have what he was accustomed to, but his stop here was unchartered and not unforeseen. He couldn't expect the inn to accommodate him every time. "We require two rooms, and if the young lady could have a hip bath brought up, we've been traveling for some hours."

"Oh, my lord, we only have one room left." The innkeeper frowned. "Will that suffice?"

"Lord Tyndall. " Genevieve's squeak of alarm was not unwarranted. "Are you certain you do not have two rooms?" she asked.

The innkeeper checked again. "No, I'm afraid. Only the one, but it is large and at the front of the inn. It enjoys the morning light."

Beckett ground his teeth. He didn't care if it received the morning light or not. What he didn't want to do was sleep next to Genevieve. Even if it were not far from the morning, they would sleep for several hours and possibly continue their journey after luncheon.

"We'll take it if that is all that's available. Thank you."

"Of course, my lord. Right this way."

The innkeeper took them upstairs and deposited them into their room. Genevieve slumped on a chair before the fireplace. A maid, following close on their heels, quickly lit it and left.

"I'll have the bath delivered immediately. Would you like some cheese and bread brought up? Our cook isn't here until the morning for anything more substantial."

"That will do very well. And some wine, thank you."

"Of course." The innkeeper shuffled out of the room, closing the door and leaving them alone. Very much alone.

Genevieve had fallen asleep in the chair, and he watched her for several minutes. Her head slumped in an awkward position, only cushioned by her hands. Even in sleep, Genevieve was a beautiful woman. Perfect brows, full, pink lips that were slightly open in slumber.

The sight of her raised a hunger in him that he'd never had before with anyone. Why it was toward Genevieve, he could not understand. They had been at odds since they were both adolescents. It was his fault they had fallen out. He'd unmercifully teased her regarding her bright-red hair, which was always in disarray and flying all over the place.

There was a time when she looked like a proper hooligan.

How times had changed.

Now… Now all he imagined was running his fingers through her thick, luscious locks. Kiss those lips as much and as often as he liked, and damn if he knew why or what had come over him to warrant that transition.

She was his best friend's little sister. Off-limits. Not his to have.

Still, he wanted her.

Marriage was his only option to save her reputation, but he wouldn't let her know just how much he was under her spell. She would have power over him then and that would never do.

He would protect and save her reputation out of obligation and appreciation for her family and all they had done for him over the years. However, his lifestyle and how he chose to live his life would not be something he would be willing to give up.

The bath and food were delivered, and Genevieve woke, picking at the cheese and drinking the wine with relish. Every so often, her attention would move to the hip bath and the steaming water that sat nearer to the fire than they did.

"How am I supposed to bathe with you in the room?"

Beckett bit back the words that she could bathe very easily, and he'd enjoy every minute of the view, but relented instead. "I'll go down to the taproom, have a beer or two, and return in half an hour. Would that suit you?"

She nodded, and he left her alone, ensuring she locked the door after him.

Instead of going downstairs, he pulled up a chair in the passage and settled beside the door. The sound of her shuffling out of her gown and slipping into the bathwater was torture. He closed his eyes, not hard to imagine what she looked like, naked and wet.

Beckett ran a hand through his hair and took a calming breath. He'd not think about such things. That would only lead to madness.

The sound of her whispered moan had him sitting bolt upright.

What the hell was that?

He put his ear to the door, listening. Surely she wasn't worldly enough to know of self-pleasure? Would she be so bold as to do that in the bath water he'd thought to use next?

He shook the foolhardy thought aside. Who cared about the bath water when he could hear Genevieve pleasuring herself? The urge to lay on the floor and peek under the door or through the keyhole assailed him.

But no, that was no act of a gentleman. And he was a gentleman, even if the little minx inside the room was right at this moment not at all behaving like a lady.

"Oh, Beckett… Yes, touch me."

He swallowed. Hard. His cock went rigid in his breeches, and he sat on the chair, taking deep breaths to calm his overwrought senses.

Her voice was breathless and full of pining. Did she imagine him touching her? Kissing her?

Fucking her?

Surely, she did not know what that entailed. He frowned. He could not imagine her not being a maid. But then, she was a hellion. Had she misbehaved before? Had she experienced desire with another man other than Mr. Venzellons?

No. He shook his head before her high-pitched gasp and satisfied moan tore what little sense he had remaining from his soul.

Never had he heard such a pure, sexual, erotic sound in his life. Even with his lovers, their moans of delight, their gasps for more had never made him want to spend in his pants.

But he could feel the moisture, the pre-come that oozed from his cock.

He looked up and down the passageway and, not seeing anyone, adjusted his dick to a more comfortable position.

Their journey to Gretna would take two days at least at a fast clip, and if this were what he had to endure, she would surely kill him before they reached their destination.

And then they would be married…

He'd have to consummate the marriage.

Bed her.

His mouth dried, and he let out a squeal of alarm when the door was wrenched open. "You can bathe now, Lord Tyndall." Her gaze dipped to his pants, and she chuckled, flouncing to the bed and pulling back the blankets. "I do hope you enjoyed my little performance. I thought it would be amusing to see if you heard me since you refused to give me privacy for my bathing." Her gaze dipped to his rigid cock again, and he slammed the door closed, locking it. "I see that you did. That'll teach you to spy on me."

"I sat out there to ensure your safety," he retorted, defending himself in any way he could, even though he had enjoyed hearing his name on her lips.

"Of course, dearest," she mocked. Goodnight." With those words, she climbed into bed without a by your leave and promptly fell to sleep.

He, on the other hand, did not sleep a wink.