Minx (18 page)

"Whatever do you mean?"

"I was half expecting you to insist we bring him along."

"Don't be silly," she scoffed.

He smiled at her briskly sensible attitude. "That rabbit would probably chew up my entire house."

"I couldn't care less if he chewed up the Prince Regent's unmentionables. I didn't bring Rufus because I thought it would be dangerous for him. Some bacon-brained French chef would probably have him in the stew pot within days."

Dunford rocked with silent laughter. "Henry," he said, wiping his eyes, "please don't lose your distinctive brand of humor when you get to London. Although," he added, "you might find it prudent to refrain from speculating about Prinny's intimate apparel."

Henry couldn't help but smile in return. It was just like him to make certain she had a good time, the wretched man. She was trying to go along with his plans with some modicum of dignity, but that didn't mean she had to enjoy herself. He was making it quite difficult for her to succeed in her attempts to picture herself as a beleaguered martyr.

And, indeed, he made it quite difficult all day long, keeping up an endless stream of friendly chatter. He pointed out sights along the way, and Henry listened and watched avidly. She hadn't been out of the southwest of England in years, not since she'd been orphaned and moved to Stannage Park, actually. Viola had taken her on a short holiday in Devon once, but beyond that Henry hadn't set foot out of Cornwall.

They stopped briefly for lunch, but that was their only break, for Dunford explained he wanted to make good time. They could get more than halfway to London that day if they didn't dally. The hurried pace took its toll, however, and by the time they pulled into a roadside inn for the night, Henry was extremely weary. Dunford's carriage was exceptionally well sprung, but nothing could disguise some of the deeper ruts in the road. She was jolted out of her tired state, however, by her companion's surprising announcement.

"I'm going to tell the innkeeper you are my sister."

"Why?"

"It seems prudent. It really isn't quite proper for us to be traveling in this fashion without a chaperone, even if you are my ward. I'd rather not raise any ill-bred speculation about you."

Henry nodded, conceding his point. She had no wish for some drunken lout to paw at her simply because he thought her a loose woman.

"We can get away with it, I think," Dunford mused, "as we've both got brown hair."

"Along with half the population of Britain," she said pertly.

"Hush up, minx." He resisted the urge to tousle her hair. "It'll be dark. No one will notice. And put your bonnet back on."

"But then no one will see my hair," she teased. "All that work will be for nothing."

He smiled boyishly. "All that work, eh? You must be dreadfully tired, expending all that energy to grow your hair brown."

She batted the offending bonnet at him.

Dunford alighted, whistling to himself as he did so. So far the journey had been a complete success. Henry had, if not forgotten, at least suppressed her pique at being bullied into coming to London. Furthermore, she mercifully had not mentioned the kiss they had shared in the abandoned cottage. In fact, all signs pointed to the conclusion that she had completely forgotten about it.

Which bothered him.

Damn, but it bothered him.

But it didn't bother him half as much, however, as the fact that he had been bothered by it in the first place.

This was getting far too confusing. He gave up thinking about it and helped her down from the carriage.

They walked into the inn, one of the grooms trailing behind with their valises. Henry was relieved to see that it appeared to be satisfactorily clean. She hadn't slept on any sheets save for the ones at Stannage Park for years, and she always knew exactly when those had last been washed. It finally occurred to her just how much she had controlled her own existence up to now. London would be quite an adventure. If only she could get over this paralyzing fear of polite society...

The innkeeper, recognizing Quality when he saw it, quickly rushed over to their sides.

"We require two rooms," Dunford said briskly. "One for myself and one for my sister."

The innkeeper's face fell. "Oh, dear. I was hoping you were married because I've only one room left and—"

"Are you quite certain?" Dunford's voice was like ice.

"Oh, milord, if I could boot someone out for you, I would, I swear, but the entire place is full of Quality tonight. The Dowager Duchess of Beresford is passing through, and she's got quite a collection with her. Needed six rooms altogether, what with all her grandchildren."

Dunford groaned. The Beresford clan was notorious for its fertility. At last count the dowager duchess—a nasty, old woman who certainly would not look kindly upon being asked to give up one of her rooms—had twenty grandchildren. Lord only knew how many of them were here tonight.

Henry, however, had no such knowledge of the Beresfords and their amazing fecundity, and presently was having trouble breathing due to the panic rushing through her body. "Oh, but you must have another room," she blurted out. "You must."

The innkeeper shook his head. "Only one. I'll be sleeping in the stables as it is. But surely the two of you won't mind sharing so much, since you're brother and sister and all. It's not very private, I know, but—"

"I'm a very private person," Henry said desperately, grabbing hold of his arm. "Extraordinarily so."

"Henrietta, dear," Dunford said, gently uncurling her fingers from their death grip on the innkeeper's elbow, "if he hasn't another room, he hasn't another room. We'll have to make do."

She eyed him warily, then immediately calmed down. Of course, Dunford must have a plan. That was why he sounded so collected and self-assured. "Of course, Du...er, Daniel," she improvised, realizing belatedly that she didn't know his given name. "Of course. How silly of me."

The innkeeper relaxed visibly and handed Dunford the key. "There is room in the stables for your grooms, milord. It'll be a tight squeeze, but I think there'll be a spot for everyone."

Dunford thanked him and then saw to the task of showing Henry to their room. The poor girl had gone white as a sheet. True, the blasted bonnet hid most of her face, but it was not difficult to deduce that she was not happy with the sleeping arrangements.

Well, curse it, neither was he. He was not in the least pleased by the thought of sleeping in the same room with her all night. His damned body was getting aroused just thinking about it. More than a dozen times that day he had wanted to grab her and kiss her senseless right there in the carriage. The deuced chit would never know the level of self-control he had exerted.

It wasn't when they were talking. Then, at least, he could keep his mind off her body and on the conversation. It happened when they lapsed into silence, and he'd look up and see Henry staring out the window, her eyes aglow. Then he'd look at her mouth, which was always a mistake, and she'd go and do something like lick her lips, and the next thing he knew he was clutching the seat cushions just to keep from reaching for her.

And those delectable, very pink lips were pursed just then as Henry planted her hands on her hips and looked around the room. Dunford followed her gaze to the large bed that dominated the chamber and gave up any hope that he wasn't going to spend the night uncomfortably hard. "Who's Daniel?" he tried to joke.

"You, I'm afraid, since you never told me your given name. Don't say anything that will give yourself away."

"My lips are sealed," he said, bowing grandly, all the while wishing they were sealed on hers.

"What is your real name?"

He smiled devilishly. "Secret."

"Oh, please," she scoffed.

"I'm serious." He actually managed to school his features into an expression of such earnest honesty, that for a moment she believed him. He moved stealthily to her side and clapped his hand over her mouth. "A state secret," he whispered, looking furtively toward the window. "The very livelihood of the monarchy depends upon it. If revealed, it could topple our interests in India, not to mention—"

Henry yanked off her bonnet and batted him with it. "You're incorrigible," she sputtered.

"I have been told," he said with an unabashed grin, "that I frequently act with a decided lack of gravity."

"I'll say." She planted her hands on her hips again and resumed her perusal of the room. "Well, Dunford, this is a bind. What is your plan?"

"My plan?"

"You have one, don't you?"

"I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about."

"For our sleeping arrangements," she ground out.

"I hadn't really thought about it," he admitted.

"What?" she screeched. Then, realizing she sounded decidedly shrewish, she modified her tone and added, "We can't both sleep...there." She motioned to the bed.

"No," he sighed, thinking that he was bone tired, and if he couldn't make love to her that night—which he knew he couldn't do no matter how many times he had unwillingly fantasized about it during the past few days—then at least he'd like to get a good night's sleep on a soft mattress. His eyes traveled to a wing chair in the corner of the room. It looked dreadfully upright, just the sort of chair that was meant to encourage good posture. Not very comfortable for sitting, much less sleeping. He sighed again, this time loudly. "I suppose I can sleep in the chair."

"The chair?" she echoed.

He pointed at the piece of furniture in question. "Four legs, a seat. All in all, a rather useful item for one's home."

"But it's—it's here."

"Yes "

"I'll be here."

"That is also true."

She stared at him as if he did not speak English. "We cannot both sleep here."

"The alternative is that I sleep in the stables, which, I assure you, I have no wish to do. Although..." He cast an eye at the chair. "...at least I would be able to lie down. However, the innkeeper said the stables were even more crowded than the inn, and quite frankly, after my experience with your pigpen, the delicate smell of animals has been engraved permanently on my mind. Or in my nose, as the case may be. The thought of spending the night wedged in between horse droppings is decidedly unpalatable."

"Maybe they just mucked the stalls?" she said hopefully.

"There is nothing to stop them from doing their business in the middle of the night." He closed his eyes and shook his head. Never in a million years would he have dreamed he'd one day be discussing horse manure with a lady.

"All—all right," she said, looking dubiously at the chair. "I—um, I need to change, though."

"I'll just wait in the hall." He straightened his spine and walked from the room, deciding he was the noblest, most chivalrous, and possibly the most stupid man in all Britain. As he leaned against the wall just outside the door, he could hear her moving around. He tried desperately not to think about what those sounds meant, but it was impossible. Now she was unbuttoning her frock...Now she was letting it slip from her shoulders...Now she was...

He bit his lip hard, hoping the pain would steer his thoughts in a more appropriate direction. It didn't work.

The devil of it all was that he knew she wanted him too. Oh, not in quite the same way and certainly not with the same intensity. But it was there. Despite her sarcastic mouth, Henry was a complete innocent and did not know how to hide the dreamy feeling in her eyes whenever they accidentally brushed up against each other. And the kiss...

Dunford groaned. She had been perfect, so completely responsive until he'd lost control and scared her. In retrospect, he thanked God she had become frightened, because he wasn't certain he would have been able to stop.

But despite the hungry cravings of his body, it was definitely not his intention to seduce Henry. He wanted her to have a season, as was her due. He wanted her to meet some women her age and make some friends for the first time in her life. He wanted her to meet some men and... He frowned. No, he decided with the resigned expression of a young child who has been told he absolutely, positively must eat his brussels sprouts, he did want her to meet some men. She deserved to have her choice of England's best.

And then perhaps his life could find its way back to normal. He'd visit his mistress, which he badly needed to do, he'd game with his friends, make the endless round of parties, and continue his much envied bachelor life.

He'd been one of the few people he knew who'd been truly content with his existence. Why the devil would he want to change anything?

The door opened, and Henry's face poked around the corner. "Dunford?" she said quietly. "I'm done. You can come in now."

He groaned, not certain whether the sound was born of stifled desire or plain tiredness, and pushed himself away from the wall. He walked back into the room. Henry was standing near the window, clutching her faded wrapper tightly around her.

"I've seen you in your dressing gown before," he said, quirking what he hoped was a friendly and decidedly platonic smile.

"I-I know, but. . ." She shrugged helplessly. "Do you want me to wait in the hall while you change?"