12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

“ W hat will we do if we don’t find an inn by nightfall?”

Will looked down at her, and the corners of his eyes crinkled. She had learned the minute movements of his face by now, and those crinkles appeared when she’d amused him, when he was fighting the urge to smile.

She adored those crinkles.

“We’ll find something,” he said, looking back over Phyllis at the road ahead.

The sun had almost completed its descent and painted the countryside in shades of gold and lavender, streaked with honey and copper. Glow worms flashed in the shadows of cypress trees and in the tangles of gorse lining the road. He’d curled his arm around her again, and Adelaide had taken this as an invitation to plaster herself against his firm chest and shoulder, perspiration be damned.

“I suppose we could sleep under the stars,” she said as she tilted her head back. The sky above was still deep blue and cloudless, but stars peeked out at the edges, as though waiting impatiently for their turn to shine.

He pinched her side and she giggled. He’d discovered she was ticklish while cleaning up their picnic after their rendezvous beneath the tree. She’d smashed a strawberry into his cheek and he rolled her to the grass, tossed up her skirts and brought her to a screaming climax.

“Have you ever slept under the stars?” The gravel in his voice implied that, if they were to do so together, very little sleep would be had.

“Technically, haven’t we all?”

This earned her another pinch, then a swift kiss to the temple. As she snuggled against him, an unfamiliar peace settled in her bones. The stillness picked at her insides, as though she should be cautious, watch for his reception to her actions until she adjusted to fit his wishes or disappeared altogether. But Will required nothing of her. He’d never found her lacking, or at least had never mentioned such to her. In fact, he seemed to like her, precisely as she was.

She wasn’t certain what to do with that.

Was this what love felt like? If so, she supposed this was a peculiar kind of love, not the way of Greek poets or Shakespearean lore, but the love that filled her soul like summer itself, warm and sweet, blurred at the edges, too fervid to forget but too intense to be real. Destined to be ephemeral, remembered only in the darkness when the cold set in.

As the creeping night folded in around them, Will tensed, his attention darting to the sides of the road more frequently than they had before. “Are you worried?” she asked, but he was saved from answering as they rounded a bend and spotted lights blazing from a structure in the distance.

“I’m happy we won’t have to sleep under the stars,” he said, leaning in to kiss her, a soft meeting of lips that spoke of possibility. “Roads are never safe at night, but I’m sure whatever awaits us at the inn will be nothing to worry about.”

Will sneezed and sneezed again before blowing his nose in his handkerchief. Adelaide’s handkerchief, if she was being accurate. At this point, she had no plans of reclaiming ownership.

“There’s nothing else nearby?” he wheezed. While the exterior of the inn had given no reason for alarm, the interior brought them both up short. An aging woman struggled to guide her hoop-skirted gown, one approaching two decades out of fashion, past the overstuffed furniture that crowded the parlor. Delicate lace doilies covered every surface, upon which sat myriad porcelain statuettes, gilded picture frames, intricate music boxes, and—

Cats. So many cats.

The proprietress, barely visible behind the flounced sleeves and shoulders of her gown, wrung her hands and shook her head with what Adelaide suspected was an affected chagrin. “Nothing for miles, sir. I take it you dislike cats?”

At that moment, a ginger tabby sauntered between them, bumped its head against Will’s shin, then collapsed in a heap on his shoe. His nostrils flared. “I don’t dislike them, but they make me—”

A fearsome sneeze cut his statement off, and Adelaide took over. “A room, please. For my—my husband and me. Preferably without cats?”

In her periphery, she saw Will’s gaze whip to her, but she didn’t look, couldn’t look. He might see how calling him my husband had made something restless settle inside her.

The proprietress heaved a sigh, her bony shoulders approaching her ears before she let them drop again. “I keep one room for—” she waved a hand at Will and grimaced as though he were a leper, “—his sort, if you’ll follow me.”

Moments later, Will dropped Adelaide’s trunk on the floor of a comparatively spartan bedroom, dominated by a massive canopied bed. She sat on the edge as Will threw open the sash window and stuck his head outside, sucking in the moist night air.

She’d never been a stickler for respectability (much to her mother’s chagrin), but there must be some protocol for this situation. Will wasn’t merely her traveling companion, nor her chaperone. Was it appropriate to call him her lover if they’d only lain together once, especially since they hadn’t been lying down at all? The tranquility she had found with him on the cart was fraying at the edges, her mind unraveling the threads until her hands tugged at her skirts and her feet danced beneath her.

“We should go to dinner,” she said, the words escaping without her conscious thought. “Mrs. Ludgate said we’re the only guests—I’m not sure you heard her because of the sneezing—and I’m quite hungry. Are you?”

He turned then, his red-rimmed eyes meeting hers before he shook his head and chuckled without humor. “I was so looking forward to a night in bed with you.”

Her breath caught. “You were?”

“That’s a silly question, Adelaide, and you know the answer.” He approached with deliberate steps, each one making her pulse accelerate, until he towered over her. “I want to lay you bare on this bed, taste every inch of this gorgeous body of yours, then fill you—”

His face contorted into one of abject horror for a split second before he spun away and sneezed several times in quick succession.

“Oh, darling.” She hurried behind him and pulled a fresh handkerchief from her trunk. Only when he took it with a grateful half-smile did she notice the monogram she’d embroidered in its corner. It matched the linens she had painstakingly stitched for her wedding trousseau, each bearing the letters of her married name.

A weight settled behind her sternum, regret robbing her breath. What if she’d met Will earlier, before she agreed to marry Lord Clements? But any longings in that direction were the foolish, romantic notions of a girl who’d read too many books. A blacksmith’s wife couldn’t be an effective political activist, nor would he be content in the buzz of society.

Not that he’d expressed any interest in her beyond their carnal explorations. Will saw her as a pastime, a diversion until they reached their destination, and she would be wise to view him the same way. A vehicle for pleasure, and nothing more.

Although now, watching him rub eyes that shone with pure misery, she forgot about her lust. Well, she didn’t forget about it, but she’d put it aside for the time being. She wanted to fix him a warm bath, then wrap him in blankets, feed him soup and honeyed tea until he was well again. Knowing she wouldn’t see him after tomorrow, would never have the chance to care for him or be cared for in return, scraped at her insides until they were raw and brittle.

“I’m sorry,” he croaked, clearing his throat. “This isn’t what I wanted.”

She threw her arms around his waist, as though by holding him she could keep herself together. “I know,” she said, her voice muffled against his chest. “But we should go eat something, perhaps get you some tea.” She looked up and gave him her most mischievous smirk. “I’ll keep the cats away from you.”

He raised one brow. “You’d be willing to go to battle with house cats for me? I’m touched.”

“Not battle,” she scoffed. “Those beasts were massive. But I’ll shoo them away if they get too close. Remember, I am a daring outlaw and notorious donkey thief.”

He chuckled, then pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. She felt its weight down to her toes. “What would I do without you?”