Jo Beverley - [Rogue ] (55 page)

Authors: An Unwilling Bride

BOOK: Jo Beverley - [Rogue ]

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Then concern over that power was swamped by concern over the power of the elements. The wind was now tugging at her cloak like monstrous hands, and even buffeting the carriage.

"Struth," muttered Lord Middlethorpe. "I feared we were in for a storm, but nothing like this. I see a farm off to our right, ma'am. Do you know if it would offer shelter?" He was shouting by the end in order to be heard over the wind.

An alarming crack announced the separation of a rotten branch from a nearby tree. It whipped past the horses and he had his work cut out to steady them again.

Serena couldn't hear his muttered words and rather supposed that was as well.

"Well?" he shouted. "I'm not sure we can make Hursley."

"I don't know," she shouted back. "I am a stranger to these parts."

He gave her an astonished look but then steered the curricle into the rough lane leading to the farmhouse. A welcome light flickered through tossing trees.

Serena had no time to worry about what he thought of her. The winds were surely of almost hurricane proportions. She saw a nearby haystack shredded to blow in the wind, and a particularly sharp gust almost tipped the curricle over.

"We'd best get out and walk!" he yelled, and struggled down to go to the frightened horses' heads.

Serena saw he could not help her, and she clambered down as best she could. Her heavy cloak was being flapped like a cotton sheet, and was as much hazard as protection.

She managed to make it to the other leader's head, and reached up to grasp the strap, as much to anchor herself as to steady the beast. It worked to do both and they fought the wind toward the farmyard.

When they staggered into the yard the force of the wind eased a little, blocked by the sheds and barns. But now, flying debris was much more dangerous. Serena let go of the horse and pulled her hood close as protection against the swirling dust and straw. She saw a bucket bowl along and collide with Lord Middlethorpe's shin; saw him jump under the pain.

Serena clutched onto a stone horse-trough, wondering how she was going to make it to the house.

A plank ripped free of a sagging manger and whirled just past her head to shatter against a stone wall.

Francis saw her narrow escape, and her predicament. Lord, she was quite a tiny thing. He had managed to tow the frantic horses into the shelter of an open barn, so he abandoned them and grabbed her. He shielded her with his body as they fought their way to the farmhouse door.

He knocked but no one would hear him in this racket, so he opened the door and pulled them both in, shutting it thankfully on the violence outside.

They were in a stark tiled corridor, lit only by one small window. Muddy boots and pattens lined it, suggesting a good number of inhabitants. Heavy cloaks and coats hung on hooks on the wall.

In comparison to the outside, the corridor was almost silent, and they were at last free of the raging wind. They both took a moment to catch their breath. With a deep sigh of relief, Serena Allbright pushed back her heavy hood and shook her head.

Francis was transfixed. Even though she was tousled and pale, he had never seen such a woman in his life.

No, he thought, that was ridiculous. He'd seen any number of beauties of all shapes and sizes.

But not like this one.

His dazzled mind absorbed blood-red hair escaping from a knot, and pale flawless features....

No, not flawless. Her lips were too full, her short nose had a decided tilt, and her eyes....

Her eyes could not exactly be called flawed. Deep-dark and huge, they sat tilted, under sensual, heavy lids. Despite the fact that he knew differently, those eyes said she was emerging, sated, from a well-used bed.

The effect was being heightened, he realized, by a most extraordinary perfume. It surrounded her, not heavily, but unignorably. It had nothing to do with the flower scents his mother and sisters wore, but was composed of spicy, musky odors that spoke of sex.

He realized with a jolt that the last time he had smelled such a perfume was on Therese Bellaire, the owner of a high-class House of Pleasure, and the most dangerous woman he had ever known.

A whore. Serena Allbright had to be a whore.

An available whore? his optimistic body asked.

With a conscious effort, Francis remembered to breathe. With an even greater effort, he summoned caution. He reminded himself that Therese Bellaire had been a viper who had almost destroyed his best friend, Nicholas Delaney. To find a woman such as this wandering the countryside could mean nothing but trouble.

She was looking at him quizzically. "They probably haven't heard us because of the storm, my lord. Don't you think we should tell the people here that they have unexpected guests?"

"I am wondering what to tell them, Miss Allbright."

"That we need shelter from the storm? In Christian charity they can hardly refuse us."

"I was wondering rather what to say about you. I am about my business. On my way, in fact, to Weymouth. What of you?"

She started in surprise, and he suspected that for a moment she had forgotten her circumstances, whatever they might be. "I have suffered a coach accident?" she offered tentatively.

"Then we must by all means arrange assistance for your coachman and servants."

Her lips twitched in acceptance that she had lied. "I have no good explanation to offer then, I'm afraid, my lord."

"Miss Allbright, I need to arrange for my horses, so we cannot remain here exchanging pleasantries. What do you want me to say about you?"

She raised her chin. "The truth, if you please."

He shrugged. "As you will." It was going to present a devilishly odd appearance, though.

Francis walked toward the door at the end of the corridor, but it opened before he reached it, spilling light, heat, and the welcome aroma of food. "Who be out there?" asked a gruff voice, and Francis saw the mouth of a shotgun pointing straight at him.

"No malefactors, sir," he said quickly. "We are travelers seeking refuge from the storm. You did not hear my knock."

Perhaps it was his well-bred accent that lowered the barriers, for the speaker came fully into view, proving to be a big, gaunt man with a long, black beard. Behind him Francis could see a kitchen full of people.

"Never let it be said," the man intoned, "that Jeremy Post turned away good Christian folk in their hour of need. So who be ye?" Despite the words, the tone was grudging and the eyes hard and suspicious.

In the face of this biblical presence, Francis made a snap decision. "My name is Haile, sir, and this is my wife. We will pay well for a night's shelter."

A moment later he was doubting his wisdom, and he heard a stifled protest from his companion, and yet he knew it was right. It was all too likely that this patriarch would throw Serena Allbright back out into the storm if she didn't have a cloak of respectability.

A plain mystery woman might just have been tolerated, but this erotic siren? Never.

And if he was going to pretend to have a bride, it was definitely better not to give his title.

Forbidden

The Company of Rogues

Book Four

Jo Beverley

New York Times & USA Today

Bestselling Author

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Forbidden

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Publishers Weekly declared Jo Beverley "Arguably today's most skillful writer of intelligent historical romance..." Her work has been described as "Sublime!" by Booklist, and Romantic Times described her as "one of the great names of the genre."

She is the NYT bestselling author of over thirty historical romance novels, all set in her native England in the medieval, Georgian, and Regency periods. Her novels have won the RITA, romance's top award, five times, and she is a member of Romance Writers of America's Hall of Fame.

She also writes some romantic stories with a science fiction and fantasy twist. The Trouble With Heroes... won the Sapphire Award for Best SF Romance, and The Marrying Maid was an honorable mention for Best SF 2011.

Her web site is
www.jobev.com
, and she regularly blogs at Word Wenches.
www.wordwenches.com
. You can also find her on Facebook at
www.facebook.com/jo.beverley

She firmly believes that reading should be fun, and that every book should leave the reader with a smile.

Also by Jo Beverley

An Arranged Marriage

An Unwilling Bride

Christmas Angel

Forbidden

Dangerous Joy

The Demon's Mistress (a novella)

The Dragon's Bride

The Devil's Heiress

Hazard

St. Raven