The Unintended Bride (8 page)

Had she told them she would be going to this bookshop? She couldn't remember if she'd been specific. The secrecy of their quest had been foremost in her mind. What detail had she given her sister? Her maid? Could she expect rescue from them, if Mr. Beasley did not hear them up here, and release them in the morning?

She sighed, looking at the walls of books. She could hear Arthur moving things around, looking for some way to open the second door. She wanted to read, to lose herself in someone else's story and forget her own predicament. But the books she had looked at — She moved toward the shelves, browsing only titles. Surely not all the books were like the two she had perused. Her eyes lit on an innocent-sounding title,
A Milkmaid's Life
. That might pass the time well enough until Arthur accepted that they must wait for rescue, as she had.

Arthur could find nothing suitable to batter the door, to pierce it, or to pry it. His scholarly Excalibur had worked well enough on the hinges of the smaller door, but there were none to be found on this larger door. And the smaller door itself was too unwieldy to be used as a battering ram in the confined space.

After some time spent assessing the situation, the quiet of the room intruded into his consciousness, and he looked around him in the gloomy semidarkness. Hero was no longer in the larger room with him. Apprehensively, he climbed up the three steps to the smaller room, prepared to find her weeping uncontrollably on the floor.

Instead, he found her curled up against one shelf, reading. Apparently, she had managed to find a book that was suitable for a lady to read. Her face was held close to the page to compensate for the dimming light. She started in surprise when he spoke. "Night is fast approaching. I do not think Mr. Beasley is likely to be back tonight."

She looked up at him from the book she had been reading, closing it over her finger to hold her place. In the dim light, he thought her cheeks might hold a guilty blush. "I confess I came to that conclusion some time ago."

"I will not give up, don't worry. I will not have you reputation soiled by my foolish obsession." Not by either obsession, he added silently — not the one to find Malory's manuscript, or the pressing obsession to take her in his arms and — he closed his eyes against the images that flashed through his mind. A mistake, for they flared to vivid life. He opened his eyes again. Would she hate him for what he had done?

"I'm sorry." Her voice held more sympathy than he thought he deserved. After all, the note had been addressed to him, he had not needed to drag her along with him to the shop. "I'm sorry it was all a hoax."

A hoax. Yes. But a malicious one that had hurt her as well. "I'm sorry that a simple afternoon's outing has turned out so unfortunately for you. Your family will be frantic with worry."

"Yes." She sighed, not nearly as distraught as he had expected she might be. "I am afraid we are destined to spend the night here, unless Mr. Beasley decides to return tonight." Her lips curved into a smile. "No doubt he is now at his dinner."

Arthur wanted to groan at the thought. He wished fruitlessly that he had come alone. A night on a wooden floor trapped here would have served him right for believing in a foolish myth. However was he to see to Hero's comfort, never mind her modesty?

But what choice did he have? He had been the fool to get her trapped up here with him among the finest books in the world — most on the subject of lovemaking. Illustrations and all. "I suppose you are right to be practical, but I will hope to get us free before we come to that extreme."

She shrugged. "I don't mind. It's almost an adventure, don't you think?"

"An adventure?" He would not have imagined that Hero's cheeks would flush, nor that her eyes would sparkle at such an "adventure." Perhaps the shock of their predicament had addled her wits? Or perhaps this Miss Fenster was not quite as different from her sisters as he had supposed. A waning ray of light from the small window had caught in her hair, so that it glinted with coppery highlights.

Demure or not, she did not seem horrified by the type of books in the room, and the shock that had caused her fingers to lose their grip had passed so quickly, he had to wonder whether it was the book itself or simply the unexpected illustration that had made her grip suddenly nerveless.

From nowhere came the quite wicked thought — perhaps, if he asked, she would welcome a kiss from him. After all, if Mr. Beasley was not the most discreet man in London, the gossips would say that they had done more than share a kiss this night. Could it hurt if they did kiss — just once?

"Are you hungry?" she asked.

The question brought him back to his senses immediately. How dare he think of kissing her when he could not even meet her most basic needs. "I'm afraid we must remain unfed tonight."

"Go to bed without our supper for our mistake, you mean?" She smiled, and he had the distinct impression that she had seen and understood his impulse to kiss her. But that, he reassured himself, was his imagination.

He did not return her smile. "We are not children. But my actions were foolish enough that I should be considered no better than a green boy, I admit."

He had wanted to kiss her, Hero was sure of it. She felt the hard edges of the book she held under her fingers. From the few tales of seduction she had read so far it seemed that men were fickle creatures when it came to matters of fleshly pleasure. It meant nothing that he wanted to kiss her. Or that she wanted him to do so.

She put the book down and stood up. "You are hungry. As am I." He was hungry for two things, and she could plainly see it. It would be unwise to feed his hunger to kiss, but not the other. For once, she could live up to her name. "Well, you should be glad you asked me along, then. For I have supplies for our adventure."

"Supplies?" His expression was one of outright disbelief. And then, more quietly, "You are admirable, to use the term adventure for this nightmare."

"Yes. Adventure," she insisted. She wanted to think of this as an adventure. And she was determined to do so. An adventure in an attic full of books she dared not read, unless she kept to the cautionary tales, which showed the folly of giving in to the flesh — after thoroughly enumerating the pleasures of the folly for the reader. While it seemed an odd way to promote chastity, it was all she had as armor against the fever of longing that gripped her as the light slipped away and Arthur stood before her, so tempting.

"And supplies." She fished through her pockets, pulling items out and making a neat pile in front of her on a makeshift tablecloth. She stepped back. "See?" she asked with a flourish. For once, she felt enterprising. Before her lay a treasure trove of food to serve as their evening meal: several wrapped biscuits and a handful of dried apples.

Arthur had stopped his pacing at once when he saw that she had laid everything out neatly on a clean handkerchief. "Wherever did you get all that?"

"With so many younger sisters, one learns to travel prepared," she laughed. The servants hated the task of cleaning her pockets, she knew, because of the crumbs. However, it had saved her temper many a time when she could pull out a biscuit or an apple to soothe a tired, hungry child.

"You Fenster ladies never cease to amaze me," he said in wonderment, looking at the few trifles as if they represented the greatest feast he had ever seen.

Looking at her makeshift dinner table, she realized that something was still missing. "Well, I have provided food. Unfortunately, I cannot provide anything to drink."

His eyes lit up, and he smiled unreservedly for the first time since they had begun this adventure. "I can, however."

"Don't we make a resourceful pair?" she could not help but ask, although she wanted to call the words back as soon as they were spoken.

"We do," he agreed, pulling a flask from his coat pocket. He raised the flask in a toast to her and then glanced at it, a look of dismay on his features. "I'm afraid I can only offer to share with you in the most primitive fashion," he said apologetically.

Hero felt a flash of daring she quickly suppressed. A flask meant whiskey or brandy. Dare she? The tales she had read had been clear that spirits lowered the resistance to the call of the flesh. "I'm not thirsty. You go ahead."

He lowered the flask and said quite firmly, "No. I could not if you do not."

She sighed. She must take a sip, if only for his sake. "Then I shall be honored to share your flask, Mr. Watterly."

He sat across from her. Between them, the meager meal on its festive tablecloth looked even less impressive. He set the flask beside the biscuits. She appraised everything as it was laid out and wanted to laugh at first, and then to cry. Her skills as a hostess were sadly lacking. And yet she did not care that the meal was small. Why on earth did such a thing seem so special? She knew the answer: because she was sharing it with Arthur.

They bowed their heads briefly and then she played the lady, serving him two of the biscuits and most of the dried apples. She did not know what to do about the flask, so she left it alone.

"You haven't given yourself enough food," Arthur protested.

She would have argued that he had been the one to pry the door open, and he had been the one to try to batter down the larger door, so he should get the lion's share of the food. She knew, however, that he would not accept that logic. "I am not very hungry," she lied.

"Nor am I, then," he said gallantly. "Why don't we save some for our breakfast tomorrow?" Quickly, he wrapped a biscuit and half of his dried apples in a clean handkerchief.

"Do you think . . ." She didn't dare complete the thought. Would they be rescued tomorrow? She almost didn't want to know that it wasn't a surety.

He shook his head, warning her away from such thoughts, and lifted the flask in a salute. "A toast! To a fine hostess who knows how to set a table without a raft of servants to help her." He held out the flask toward her.

She reached out, took it, and sipped quickly, before she could lose her nerve. There was no sting of alcohol. Definitely not whiskey, not brandy. Yet it was not water, either. The taste was familiar and yet not quite.

She handed it back to him and watched as he took a sip for himself. "What is that?"

"It is a concoction that Katherine, your sisters' governess, gave me the recipe for after I ate those poisoned mushrooms. As I recall, it is tea strongly steeped with currants, lemons, rosemary and honey." "I had thought it might be whiskey or brandy," she confessed, wondering if he would be shocked.

He was not. Instead, he grimaced, as if he had done something wrong by not supplying her with spirits. "I'm sorry, but I have nothing stronger than this mixture. I suppose most men carry such things in their flasks. But I find this settles my nerves, soothes my throat, and quenches my thirst much more satisfactorily."

"It is refreshing. I think I shall get the recipe from Katherine for myself." The governess had been a village herbal healer before taking up her post. Perhaps she might even have some potion to calm a wayward heart as well.

For such a small meal, it did seem to take forever to consume. They told stories, considered the expression that Mr. Beasley would wear when he opened the door in the morning to find them there, and spoke with endless disdain of the prankster who had written the notes to Arthur and led him on the hunt for the manuscript of
Le Morte d'Arthur
. They did not discuss, not even once, how they would explain matters to the duke.

At last, as the night left them in full darkness, she heard Arthur stand, brushing crumbs lightly from his clothing. "I must thank you for an enjoyable dinner, Miss Fenster. I beg your leave to wish you a good night before I retire."

"Retire?"

"I think it would be best if I slept in the other room and you in here — for propriety's sake. Don't you agree?"

Was it only her own foolish heart that made her think he might like her to argue with him. She conjured up a picture of Arthur and Gwen dancing to banish the one of Arthur lying beside her in his shirtsleeves. "I agree."

She cleaned up the remains of their supper, fighting back the most foolish urge to cry as his steps took him a way.

His footsteps halted. His voice vibrated through her, though she could not see him. "I have taken the hinges off this door, and I cannot close it. I can try to replace them — "

"Don't be silly. It is much too late, and much too dark for such work."

"I shall consider there is a door between us, then — "

"I would trust you as much if you slept here next to me, as if the door were locked and bolted." That was true enough, despite what she had read. Arthur seemed to find it easy to resist his masculine call to fleshly pleasure around her.

His soft laugh was slightly ragged. "I will do all I can to prove I deserve your trust." She wished, suddenly, she could see his face. But she could not.

His steps were quiet on the three little stairs down to the next room. She curled up on the dusty floor, listening to the sounds of his settling for the night. All fell silent and she stared up at the stars through the little window, trying not to wish he had wanted to lay beside her enough to forget propriety, and honor, and chivalry.

Most definitely she did not want to confess her true fear. She was deathly afraid of sleeping alone in this dark, strange place. The fact that she had so many sisters had always ensured that she slept with at least one other person each night.

Sometimes, during thunderstorms when the lightning was fierce, they had all six curled up in bed together. She could not admit that humiliating fact to Arthur, however. It was absurd for her to feel alone when he was just a few steps away. She fought her fear valiantly. She arranged her cloak as comfortably as possible and leaned herself against one of the bookshelves for support.

Her position was not the most comfortable she could find, but she dared not lay flat on the floor; she felt too vulnerable. Vulnerable to what, she could not say. She trusted Arthur. It was just that the dark felt like a menacing presence tonight.