Scandalous Summer Nights (11 page)

“Thank you,” he said. “Miss Hildy has your room ready and waiting for you.” As an afterthought, he added, “And yours, too, Mr. Averill.”

James climbed into the cart beside Olivia. “Excellent. Lady Olivia shall be safe with me.”

“Of course she will,” the coachman said.

Although the evening had turned dark, James was fairly certain his words were accompanied by a rolling of eyes. He couldn’t blame Terrence for doubting him. James shuddered to think what Huntford would make of the situation—if he knew.

The bearded farmer gave his mules a slap of the reins and the cart lurched forward, rolling slowly through the drizzly, moonlit night. Olivia shivered slightly, and James
pulled the blanket she sat on up around her shoulders and across her legs. She looked wistful, sad, and dejected.

“I meant what I said earlier,” he said.

“Which thing?”

“That I care for you.”

“Sometimes you have an odd way of showing it.”

“I know.” But he would try to do better. Starting now.

O
livia had never been so happy to see an inn.

Her gown—or what remained of it—was soaked through, chilling her to the bone. Bits of straw stuck to the mud on her dress and in her hair. She’d lost one slipper, and the other squeezed her swollen foot so tightly that she’d likely have to cut it off.

Worst of all, her heart was breaking.

Perhaps James was not the man she’d imagined him to be. The man she’d dreamed of would not have turned cold and distant just because she’d asked an innocent question about a letter.

All she wanted was to put on a clean night rail, burrow into a bed, and pull the covers over her head until morning.

James carried her into the inn, and while it stung her pride to be treated like an invalid, she was too weary to argue. He carried her all the way up the narrow staircase and down the hallway to her room without the slightest
bit of difficulty. Hildy opened the door, took one look at Olivia, and began fussing like a mother hen. “Oh, my dear. Put her on the bed. No, not on the sheets. Set her on the chair”—as though Olivia were a puppy who’d come in from the yard with dirty paws.

While her maid rummaged through Olivia’s portmanteau, James gently placed her on a hard wooden chair and brushed his knuckles over her cheek. “I’ll have the innkeeper send up warm water for a bath—and summon a doctor, too.”

“The bath sounds heavenly,” she said, “but let’s wait until morning before sending for the doctor. My ankle will probably feel much better tomorrow.”

He shot her a doubtful look but did not argue. Instead, he wagged a finger at her and sternly said, “No walking.”

“Blast. That spoils my plans for dancing all evening.”

“Lady Olivia!” Hildy scolded. One would think her maid would have grown accustomed to her wicked tongue by now.

James smiled. “I’ll leave you, but I’ll be in my room if you should need anything.”

Hildy ushered him out and closed the door behind him. Then she gingerly peeled off each layer of Olivia’s clothing and tossed each article into a sorry heap on the floor. She toweled Olivia’s skin dry and helped her slip into a soft, clean robe.

Olivia sighed. “Thank you.”

“There’s only one small matter we still need to deal with,” the maid said.

Ah, yes. The slipper. There was nothing small about it, however, as her grotesquely swollen foot had stretched the shoe well beyond its normal size.

“Let’s try the scissors from your sewing kit,” Olivia suggested.

Hildy retrieved the scissors, knelt beside Olivia’s foot, and carefully began cutting. It was an arduous task for both the maid and Olivia. The fabric was thick and the slightest jarring set Olivia’s teeth on edge. After a quarter hour, Olivia had a sheen of perspiration on her brow; she gripped the seat of her chair with both hands.

“Almost done,” Hildy said. Then she pried both sides of the slipper apart like a mussel’s shell.

Olivia’s foot was free. She wiggled her toes—as much as the swelling would allow—and felt the blood rush to them. She wanted to howl from the pain at first, but after a minute the throbbing subsided and she relaxed.

“I hear someone in the hallway,” Hildy said. “It must be your bath.” She peeked her head outside the door and waved in a pair of maids. One carried a hip bath, while the other bore a stack of linens. They doubled a sheet over and spread it on the floor before placing the tub on top of it.

“The water’s heating now, my lady,” the ruddy-faced young girl said. “We’ll bring it up shortly.”

True to their word, they soon returned, carrying two pails each. They mixed the steaming and cooler water, pouring in a little at a time until the temperature was just right. The slight, taller girl produced a bar of soap and left one pail of water beside the tub for rinsing.

Hildy sprinkled a few sprigs of lavender into the water, and the soothing scent filled the room. The water looked and smelled so inviting that Olivia stood and began hobbling toward the bath.

“Careful, now.” Hildy rushed to her side. “I’ll not have you breaking your neck, too.”

Olivia managed to shrug off her robe while holding on to Hildy; then her maid helped her step into the shallow bath. Olivia scrubbed her skin till it was pink, and washed and rinsed her hair. It felt glorious to be clean.

“I’m just going to soak for a bit longer,” she told Hildy. She leaned back in the bath, closed her eyes, and let the warm water lull her into a pleasant trance.

“I’m going to see about having dinner sent up for you,” Hildy said. “Don’t you dare think about getting out of that bath before I return.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Olivia said. “I intend to stay here until I’ve turned into a prune.”

Hildy shot her a skeptical smile.

“You don’t trust me?” Olivia placed a hand over her chest, as though wounded.

“We’re at an inn, miles away from your aunt Eustace’s—where the duke thinks we are. And even though you say Mr. Averill is a gentleman, well… I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

Suddenly interested, Olivia lifted her head. “How
does
Mr. Averill look at me?”

“Like he’s one part smitten and one part mad.” Hildy slipped into the hall and, just before she pulled the door closed behind her, ordered, “Stay put!”

Olivia bit back the retort on her lips and sunk lower into the now-tepid water. She
had
gotten all of them into a fine mess.

Her irresponsible decisions had led to James’s fight, her turned ankle, and the broken axle on the carriage. It just seemed unfair that now, when she was trying to do the right thing, Fate had conspired against her and left her and James alone in the coach for several hours.

And no matter how hard she
tried
to do the right thing, she would have had to be a saint not to fall prey to charms as potent as his.

At least she was doing her best to correct the situation. With a bit of luck she’d be at her aunt Eustace’s before anyone in her family was the wiser. And though she was glad none of them was there to witness her fall from grace—which, ironically, included an actual
fall
—she missed Rose, Anabelle, and Daphne terribly. She even missed Owen, despite the fact that his head might pop off from sheer anger if he knew where she was and what she’d done.

Oh well. There was nothing she could do about it tonight. They should reach Aunt Eustace’s tomorrow, or certainly by the day after.

And once Olivia was there, she’d try to figure out what to do with the rest of her life—a life without James.

Hoping to doze until Hildy returned, Olivia closed her eyes, but the memory of James’s searing kisses and arousing touch flooded her mind. The passion that had ignited between them was greater than a girl with her limited experience could have imagined.

And she’d done a
lot
of imagining over the years. Although she considered herself a master of the art of fantasizing, all the dreams of her and James had fallen short of the breathtaking reality of them together. There hadn’t been silk sheets or romantic candles, but he’d made her feel like a princess—beautiful, important, and worshipped. His touch had made her entire body thrum with pleasure.

Even now, her nipples puckered at the memory. The cooling water lapped at her belly, and a sweet, pulsing
ache began at her core. She slipped a hand between her legs and touched herself lightly, then sucked in her breath at the frisson that went through her.

She gripped the sides of the bath and sat straight up. These sensations, new and powerful, were too tied up with the memory of her afternoon with James. She couldn’t explore them now—not when she felt so raw, so rejected.

She wanted out of the bath. Now. But she’d promised Hildy she’d stay put, so she reached for a towel and began to rub her hair, small sections at a time. When it was as dry as she could get it, she threw the towel around her shoulders, pulled in her knees, and wrapped her arms around them.

It seemed as though Hildy had been gone for ages, but a quarter of an hour was probably closer to the truth. Still, Olivia was certain that if she spent another five minutes in the tub her feet would transform into a tail and she’d grow scales on her legs.

She would just step out of the tub, slip into her robe, and wait patiently on the chair for Hildy to return. What harm could possibly come of that?

She slowly stood in the center of the hip bath, balancing on her good foot. She couldn’t very well hop out of the tub—though she
did
briefly consider it—so she decided that she would have to, at least momentarily, put some weight on her tender foot. Never one to overthink matters, she lifted the swollen and now slightly purple foot over the side of the tub and gingerly rested it on the sheet that covered the floor beneath the tub.

She bit her lip, counted to three in her head, and stepped out of the bath, putting her weight on her bad foot.

Pain shot through her leg, but she’d anticipated that.
What she hadn’t expected was that her abused ankle might not support her weight.

Her leg buckled beneath her, and as she tumbled to the floor, the foot that was still in the tub caught on the edge and tipped it over with a loud clatter. Tepid, slightly soapy water sloshed out, soaking the sheet and making an impressive puddle on the floor.

Blast.

Her left hip had borne the brunt of her fall, and it stung so badly that she had to breathe in and out through her nose to keep from crying. Good Lord, she must be the clumsiest person in all of England.

Footsteps thumped down the hall, and a fist pounded the door. “Olivia!” It was James, of course. “Are you all right?” The concern in his voice made her heart trip in her chest.

“I’m fine,” she lied.

“I heard a crash. Why does it sound like you’re on the floor?”

“I tripped. It was nothing.” Her voice cracked on the last word.

“I’m coming in.” He rattled the door handle, which was locked.

Coming in? Olivia sat up, her bruised hip forgotten. Where was her towel? “There’s no need. Hildy will return shortly.”

“You’re by
yourself
?” He sounded horrified. “Move away from the door.”

Bam
. The door rattled in its frame and the wood around the knob splintered. Olivia grabbed the soaked towel and wrapped it around her as best she could, but it barely reached the tops of her thighs.

“James!” she called out. “I don’t need rescuing.”

“I think you do.”

Bam
. This time, the door burst open and James shot into the room like a catapult had launched him. His boots landed in the suds that covered the floor and his feet slipped out from under him. His limbs flailed in the air for a second, and he thumped onto the floor beside her, grunting from the impact. He’d left his jacket behind and his shirtsleeves were rolled up, exposing sinewy forearms. His mossy-green eyes were dazed.

Slowly, he pushed himself up and blinked. “You’re naked.”

Her skin grew hot—in sharp contrast to the chilly wet towel draped across her breasts. But she had her pride, dash it all. She raised her chin and shook out her wet curls. “If I’d been afforded the opportunity, I’d have told you I wasn’t receiving.”

Jesus. Olivia was sprawled on the floor beside James, and the towel wrapped around her didn’t leave much to his imagination. He could see the pebbled tips of her breasts and the sweet curve of her hip outlined beneath the damp cloth. Best of all, her silky, bare legs stretched out. The sweet smells of lavender, soap, and Olivia filled his head. It was almost enough to make him forget why he’d broken down her door. He mentally shook his head.

“The racket I heard from the hallway was on par with a Saturday night tavern brawl. I was… worried.” Right, that was putting it mildly. He’d imagined her pinned beneath a heavy bureau or sprawled in a pool of blood—and he’d panicked. That panic, pure and fierce, had propelled him right through her door. Now that he could see she
was mostly in one piece, he could breathe again. Almost. “How did you end up on the floor?”

“Rather like you did,” she said simply. “One moment I was standing, the next…” She waved a slender arm demonstratively.

He cupped her cheek in his hand. “Are you hurt? Besides your ankle, I mean.”

She hesitated, as though debating how much to reveal. “My hip is a little tender.”

His gaze flicked to her left hip, which she patted with her palm. Though tempted to peel back the towel and inspect her injury for himself, he refrained.

He was refraining from a lot of things, such as kissing her full lips, running his hands over her delectable body, and sweeping her into his arms and carrying her to the bed just a few yards away.

But the door to her room gaped open, barely hanging on its hinges. He skimmed his thumb over the smooth skin of her cheek, then regretfully dropped his hand and pushed himself up onto his haunches.

She pulled the towel more tightly around her. “What are you doing?”

Rather than answer, he carefully scooped her up and stood. She kept one hand on her towel and curled the other around his neck.

“Chair or bed?” he asked.

“Chair,” she answered quickly.

He carried her to the simple ladder-back chair and gingerly lowered her onto the seat—for the second time that evening. Her towel caught on his arm, affording him a glimpse of her bottom before she tugged it back into place.

But there was still plenty for him to look at. Her long chestnut tresses lay dark against the pale skin of her shoulders. From his vantage point, he could almost see down the towel into the little gap between her lush breasts. She sat demurely, her legs crossed at the ankles. It would have been a perfectly proper pose if her legs weren’t bare—all the way to the tops of her thighs. His cock went hard, and for a moment, he stood there staring at her like an idiot.

Olivia raised a brow and pointed to a rose-colored silk garment on the bed. “Would you bring me my robe?”

“Of course.” Damn. He probably should have thought of that.

He strode to the bed, picked up the flimsy robe, and was about to hand it to Olivia when a scream pierced the air.