For the Love of Lila (7 page)

She let her gaze linger on his face, tracing his strong jawline, fringed with dark sprouting bristles—fascinatingly
male
. His need of a shave emphasized the intimacy of the moment; normally he never would have appeared before her in such a state. Indeed, he had not chosen to appear like this now and certainly would not have appreciated her studying him.

She looked away, toward her bed, but still didn’t go to it. Tristan Wyndam was an extraordinary man in both his person and his character. Until she had met him, she hadn’t realized the extent of her sexual vulnerability. Standing here beside his bed, she felt a tremendous yearning...a yearning that her philosophy left no room for. She had long ago accepted that she would spend her life without male companionship. To marry made a woman a slave, and to become a mistress afforded one less respect yet. Until the unlikely event that the world offered a new alternative, she had no choice but to live alone.

So, why on earth was she standing here next to a sleeping man’s bed? The reason came to her, one that brought an ache of regret: This moment would likely be the most intimate she would ever share with a man.

It was well she hadn’t slept through it. And no wonder she didn’t hurry back to her bed.

Though she knew it wrong to spy on a sleeping person, she looked back at Mr. Wyndam...at Tristan. Having allowed herself to think of him by his given name, she felt a heady rush, charged with guilt and a sense of risk. To indulge this sort of thought could only be dangerous, but maybe not too dangerous if she confined it to a moment. After all, this was the closest she would ever come to...to...She couldn’t put the idea into words, even in her private thoughts. Never in her life would she go to bed with a man. Could she not—this one time—allow herself to dream about it?

She moved back toward the trundle bed, trembling over her own audacity. Oh, his features were fine, every perfectly formed detail of his face delineated in the candlelight. Good Lord, she had never imagined she could be this susceptible to a man. After this one little ration of fantasy, she swore she would discipline her thoughts with the determination of a nun. But while the moment lasted she stooped beside him, drawing a smidgen closer.

One of his arms, the one farther from her, rested over the covers. He had worn a loose shirt to bed, but the rolled sleeve exposed muscled contours that reminded her of ancient Greek statues. The rest of his body would look that way, too, she thought, letting her gaze drift down his blanket-draped form. Thanks to her studies, she knew quite what the coverlet hid at every point. Shocked by her effrontery, she sucked her breath in deep.

He stirred, perhaps sensing her shameful scrutiny, and her focus flew back to his face. As he rolled over so that his body faced her, his arm flopped over the side of the bunk and his fingers brushed her arm. She jumped back, slamming her elbow into the nightstand, which screeched back on the floorboards.

“Ow!” She yanked her arm forward again and fell hard on her knees. “Ow!” Somehow, she still balanced the lit candle, biting her lip to keep from moaning. She pressed her elbow into her side, as she had no free hand to rub her injury. Her knees felt as if they had shattered.

“Wha...Who...?” a groggy voice murmured from quite close to her. “Lila?”

She realized she had her eyes squeezed shut and opened them. Naturally, he could sleep through crashing thunder but woke to catch her in this scrape. “Shh. Go back to sleep.”

He blinked at her, as though he didn’t trust his own perceptions. “Wha...what is it?”

“‘Tis nothing.” She tried to rise, but pain sheared her knees and they crumpled. The best she could do was keep from pitching head-first onto the trundle. “Never mind. You need your rest.”

He lifted his head, squinting. “What are you doing?”

She opened her mouth but got distracted when his gaze skimmed down her body. Recalling the thinness of her nightrail, she covered her breasts with her free arm, but he had already looked back to her face, his expression of confusion settling into a frown.

“The storm kept me awake.” She turned toward the window, seeing with chagrin that the bullets of water had subsided.

“What storm?” His tone had grown sharper, more alert, ruling out her hope that he would roll over and go back to sleep.

“It seems to have passed.” Her uninjured arm began to cramp under the heavy brass candleholder. Could anything more go wrong? “Blast it. Would you take this, please? I hurt my knees, and I need to brace myself to get up.”

He gave her a hard look but struggled to prop himself up on one arm. The sheet slid down and bared part of the sculpted chest that she had envisioned moments before. She turned her face away, keenly aware that his fingers brushed hers while he pried the holder from her grasp. Hand freed, she grabbed her injured elbow and curled in pain and humiliation. She leaned against the trundle for support.

“How badly are you hurt? Do you...” He cleared his throat. “Do you need help getting up?”

“No, no. You stay where you are.” She kneaded her knees through her billowing nightrail. “I am very sorry that I woke you. I shall be fine in a moment.”

“Do you need me to leave the room? I mean, did you want the candle because you needed to...to use the necessary?”

“Oh, no!” Her cheeks went hot, and her nails dug into her legs. “I only wanted the light for comfort.”

“For comfort?” Disbelief edged his tone. When he spoke again, annoyance displaced it. “Miss Covington.”

“Y-yes?”

“Miss Covington, look at me.”

She glanced up at him from under her lashes, her unbound hair falling in her face. She hoped it hid her blush.

For once, the blue of his eyes failed to shine through the dimness. His entire face had clouded. “This may have been an accident, but you cannot allow such accidents to happen.”

She nodded. “You are right. It simply didn’t seem very consequential if I—”

“But, clearly, it
was
consequential. In such a tenuous situation as we are in, every action is consequential. You and I were forced to sleep in this chamber together, but you
must
keep to your side of the room. You cannot wander over on a whim, incurring a mishap that nearly lands you in my bed.”

“I know.” She cringed as she tried to stand.

“Do you?” He grabbed her arm and pulled her back down. Her elbows thudded into the mattress, warm with his body heat. She could feel his torso against one of her arms, his fingers clutching the other. Through a tight jaw, he asked, “Do you see where you have positioned yourself?”

Yes
, she thought, her breath quickening. She stared at him, concentrating to keep her gaze from dropping from his eyes to his mouth. Her pain washed away in a flood of adrenaline.

“Do you see?” He pulled her closer, till their faces were inches apart and the faint scent of sandalwood teased her nose. “I am trying to show you where a little indiscretion can place you. I don’t suppose you need me to make my point clearer?”

His gaze fell to her mouth, and she gasped. She tried to answer him, but the word
no
wouldn’t come.
Yes, make everything clear
, a reckless vein in her willed. If she didn’t answer him, would he take his point further? Would he kiss her?

She closed her eyes and...he let go of her. Her arms slid from the bunk, and she landed sitting on the cold floor, hugging herself. She had never been so humiliated in her life. One moment of fantasy had gotten her this. Dream had blurred with reality, and she had actually hoped he would kiss her—from his bed! How stupid she had been to indulge her fancy.

“Go to bed.” His tone had softened. “
Please.
”

Without meeting his gaze, she rose and limped across the room. She climbed under the counterpane, pulling it up to her nose and staring at the ceiling. Lord, she wished she had traveled alone, even if she’d had to wait years to afford the journey. How was she to withstand a week in his company after this?

His bedclothes rustled, and the room went dark as he blew out the candle. A few minutes passed, in which she relived the whole shameful scene she had instigated. Never again would she allow herself such weakness. She simply had not known how deep waters she had entered were.

“Miss Covington?”

She closed her eyes and lay still.

“Miss Covington, I know you cannot be asleep.”

“Please pretend I am,” she said, gravel in her throat.

“I did not mean to frighten you. Well, I did, but only as much as you need to be frightened. I don’t want you to think I would ever truly...harm you.”

“You needn’t worry,” she croaked, the tremor in her voice embarrassing her. “I am very frightened—but more of my own lack of prudence than your lack of scruples.”

“Good.”

Had he known the full extent of her imprudence, he would not have felt so positive.

There was a long silence, so awkward that she began to wish the storm would return. Finally, she heard him shift in the trundle and settle. She took her cue to roll onto her stomach, pulling the pillow over her head. If only she could pull it
inside
her head and smother her racing thoughts. Her treacherous mind mortified her with guilt, and—worse yet—teased her with flashbacks of wild sensations. Even with all her shame, she had to keep catching herself from tripping back into fantasy.

She had no idea how long she lay tormented before once again hearing soft snores from across the room. His sleeping should have eased her, but she continued to toss, overwhelmed by his presence. The proximity of his body bombarded her mind. She had to get away from him.

When at last she detected the faint glow of dawn, she slipped out of bed and redonned her boy’s costume in near darkness. She tiptoed out the door to the hall and closed it softly, relieved that he had not woken.

On the way downstairs, she met no one, though she could hear pots clanging in the back of the inn. As she passed the kitchen, the door swung open, and the innkeeper’s wife emerged, arms full of folded linens.

Lila greeted her with a silent tug on her cap, quickly turning to make for the front entrance.

“Oi!” the woman called. “Stay a minute, love.”

Reluctantly, she turned around to face the woman. “Yes?”

“Do ye need anything?” she asked, her blond brows drawing together. “If yer runnin’ away from him, I can spare some food fer ye to take wit’ ye.”

She started. The woman had deduced something, though Lila was not about to ask what. For one desperate moment, the thought of running actually tempted her, but her lapse into weakness appalled her. Had she not always determined to make her life an example of female self-reliance? If she fled now, where would she end up? She shook her head. “I am not running away. I’ll be back. I shan’t be long.”

“If yer...yer master asks, shall I tell him as much? Or would you rather I said nothing?”

“It doesn’t matter. No—on second thought, I
would
like you to tell him. Please have someone wake him shortly and inform him that I’ve gone for a walk. I shall be back in half-an-hour.”

She looked surprised. “If that is what ye wish.”

Lila fished in her pocket and held out a coin. “Thank you for your trouble.”

She waved off the money. “No, ‘tis no trouble to me. You keep that in case you need it.”

Before Lila could press her to accept the money, she vanished into a back room. Lila watched the door close behind her, wondering how much the woman suspected. But she had too much on her mind to worry about this, too. She straightened her cap and stepped outside.

The early morning air smelled fresh and felt cool on her face. She drew in a long breath and strode out of the yard, listening to the chirping birds. The cheer of these creatures never faltered under the sort of cares that humans had. A brisk walk, accompanied by their song, was exactly what she needed to restore her spirits.

As soon as she started up the lane, she began to think more optimistically about the situation with Tristan (after an endless night of intimate thoughts about him, she could hardly think of him as
Mr. Wyndam
). He didn’t know that she had been staring at him before she woke him in the middle of the night. He knew she had behaved like a goose, but he would never be aware of her thoughts and fantasies. If she focused on that and vowed to conduct herself properly in the future, she would be able to bear the rest of the journey.

She quickened her pace, refreshed by her resolution. Yes, all she had to do was keep her thoughts from lapsing into those dangerous areas again. She had known she could not have a man, but she hadn’t realized she could not have the thoughts, either. Now she knew. All she had to do was steer her mind in another direction. The best course would be to retrieve her manuscript from her luggage and return to her work. Her writing had always absorbed her.

Lack of rest prevented her from keeping up her stride for long, so she slowed and studied the countryside, noting species of trees, clucking to a family of ducks...anything to help clear her mind. By the time she returned to the inn, she must have walked two miles. But the strategy had worked. Now she could face Tristan—Mr. Wyndam.

He met her at the door, apparently having watched for her. The barouche stood out front, the horses already harnessed and awaiting departure.

“Good morning,” he said, his gaze skimming hers before he looked toward the barouche. “The gig is repaired, and I have already packed our belongings, including a hamper well stocked with food. You can take your breakfast from that. We should leave as soon as possible. We’re already off to a late start.”

The door to the inn burst open, and the landlady bustled toward them. “Stay a minute! I want a word with ye.”

Lila didn’t dare look at Tristan, studying her boots instead. The last thing she needed was more trouble, when she had just managed to compose herself. And her feet hurt from walking.

“Miss, are ye sure ye want to go wit’ him?”

She looked up. Yes, exactly as she feared, the landlady was addressing her...as
Miss
.

“Don’t look so shocked,” the woman said. “It’s as plain as day to anyone wit’ two good eyes.