Seductive Wager (8 page)

Hubart favored him with a thin smile. “If you mean Mrs. Brightstone, she started to have expectations, and I had to give her up. I don’t like clinging women. They remind me of my wife.”

“You old devil,” Stephen guffawed. “She gave
you
the shove. Probably wouldn’t let you climb into her bed the first night. I’ve told you not to be so impatient. You lose more fillies than you catch that way.”

Hubart embarked on an explanation of the intricacies of the chase, and Brett excused himself to go in search of the landlord. He found him serving up ale as fast as it came out of the barrel. The little man smiled broadly when he saw Brett, but his face fell ludicrously when he realized he must be in need of a room.

“Is there somewhere we can talk?” Brett asked as quietly as he could in the noise of the room. The landlord motioned one of the serving boys to take over and led Brett down a hall and into the still room.

“This is the most private place in the inn,” he said as he closed the door behind him. “Nobody wants milk tonight.” He laughed at his own joke, but smothered his mirth when Brett didn’t join him. “I hope it’s not a room you’re wanting, Mr. Westbrook, because there’s no way I can give you one, not even a closet.”

“A room is exactly what I
must
have. Isn’t there some way you can move one of these gentlemen in with someone else?”

“One won’t do,” Michael answered diffidently. “There’s not a man here who isn’t sharing his bed or sleeping on the sofa.”

“I’m not interested in anybody else,” Brett replied rather sharply. His temper was rising and his few shreds of politeness were about to evaporate. “Do what you must, but get me that room.”

“But there
aren’t
any rooms, not unless you drive on for ten, maybe twelve, miles.”

“Damnation, man, I’ve been on the road since dawn. I’m liable to kill somebody if I have to spend another five minutes in that coach. I don’t care how you do it or what it costs, just get me a room.” He turned to leave but stopped dead in his tracks.

“Of course … why didn’t I think of it before? We can use
your
room. I can sleep on the sofa and Walker and Charles can rack up in the stables.”

“Have pity, for mercy’s sake,” the landlord pleaded. “You know I don’t dare ask Mathilda to leave the inn, not with all those meals to fix and rooms to see after. She’ll kill me.”

“Your domestic difficulties are of no interest to me,” Brett snapped.

“You don’t have to live with her. Nothing goes right when she’s angry. Besides, you can’t sleep down here. The sofa is already taken, and the stable is full, too.” He stopped suddenly and peered suspiciously at Brett. “If you’re planning to sleep down here, who’s going to sleep in the missus’s bed?”

“I’m conveying a young lady to town,” Brett disclosed. He hoped his formidable expression would keep the landlord from leaping to the wrong conclusion, but his hopes were in vain.

“This is a respectable house,” Michael said, turning beet red. “I wont have your fancy woman in my inn, not if you have to sleep in the street. As for putting her in my wife’s bed …” Words failed the little man.

“Do you think I’d bring my mistress to this godforsaken corner of England?” Brett demanded. “Or care who saw her if I did? This is a
lady,
and a damned good-looking one at that.”

“Let me talk to Mathilda,” the landlord said, his anger evaporating as suddenly as it had materialized. “It’s got to be all right with her.”

A few minutes later Brett heard a female voice rise above the clatter and continue to scale upward until the door burst open and Mathilda overflowed into the hall and set sail for the still room, brandishing a huge kitchen knife like it was no more dangerous than a wooden spoon.

“What do you mean barging in here with your foolish tales when I’ve got a house full of pesky men all wanting their supper at once? And where is this precious young
lady
you’re so anxious about?” she demanded skeptically.

“In the coach,” Brett answered. “I couldn’t bring her inside without everybody seeing her.” He was halfway down the hall before Mathilda could get off another barrage, and she surged after him with Michael right behind.

Brett didn’t see Kate when he first opened the door. She had slipped down in the corner, nearly out of sight under the fur rug.

“Get out of my way, you overbearing man, and let me see for myself,” Mathilda ordered, pushing Brett unceremoniously aside. At first sight, Kate’s remarkable beauty convinced Mathilda that Brett was trying to pass off his mistress, but a closer look caused her to change her mind. There was nothing of the painted hussy in this pale face, and from the rigidity of her body, the set look in her face, and the pallor of her skin, it was clear she wasn’t as brave as she pretended to be.

“I’m terribly sorry to impose upon you at such a busy time, but if you’ll only give me a bed, I’ll sleep with the serving girls if I have to,” Kate pleaded, finishing up with a tiny hiccup that completely melted Mathilda’s resistance.

“You poor lamb,” Mathilda purred, “left out in this nasty coach without so much as a maid to keep you company. You should be ashamed of yourself, Mr. Westbrook, to treat a lady so shabby.” Brett was too glad of Mathilda’s change of heart to argue over the injustice of her accusation, but his expression was anything but happy.

“Michael,” Mathilda trumpeted impatiently, “get my cloak, the one with the hood that’s hanging in the passageway. And don’t be all night about it,” she added. “There’s suppers to be cooked yet. You come with me, child,” she said, helping Kate down from the coach. “I’ll see you’re put between warm sheets right away. These men are all alike, thinking only of themselves, while we poor females must look after ourselves and them, too.” Michael knew Mathilda never meant half of what she said, but Brett muttered something under his breath about the murder of females being justifiable homicide.

“Don’t you worry, miss. As soon as that man of mine gets back with my cloak, we can get you inside. Stand behind me. Won’t nobody see a mere slip like you behind the likes of me.” Her enormous body shook with mirth. “Though why men have to act like they’ve got lead in their britches just when you want them to step lively is something I’ll never understand.”

Michael came back with a cloak big enough to hide six of Kate, and Mathilda bundled her up and hurried her inside, fussing and scolding the whole while. “Make sure nobody comes into this yard. Though I don’t know what you can do about it if they do. Stands to reason you can’t clap your hands over their eyes or talk them into not seeing what’s right under their nose.” Brett looked quizzically at Michael, but the landlord just shook his head. He knew when to heed Mathilda and when to say nothing.

Chapter 5

Despite Kate’s assurances that she was quite able to take care of herself, Mathilda was still fussing over her when they reached the room. “You’ll do no such thing,” said Mathilda, scandalized. “Mr. Westbrook can bear you company until dinner. And it wont be long, either,” she confided with a chuckle. “There’s a fat old gentleman downstairs who’s already had too many dinners. It won’t do him any harm to wait a while for this one.” She waddled out laughing merrily.

Now that she was no longer in danger of being left to starve or sleep in the coach, Kate’s courage deserted her and she felt tired and extremely vulnerable. Her shoulders were no longer so square nor her back so straight. She looked very innocent, younger than her nineteen years, and Brett’s irritation and impatience disappeared. Even after the trouble she had caused him, he found it impossible to deny his attraction to her. Her creamy skin invited his touch, the slim arch of her neck his caresses. He imagined kissing her full red lips until the cool creature lost her control and responded with an ardor Brett was positive waited beneath that glacial surface. No one who could be stirred to wrath as easily as she could was beyond the reach of sensual pleasure.

Kate looked up, and saw the way he was looking at her; she blushed red all over. With a stifled, “Oh!” she drew as far away from him as possible and clutched tightly at the huge cloak that still enveloped her.

Brett smiled in spite of himself. “Haven’t you ever had a man stare at you? I should have thought you had aroused quite a few animal passions in your brother’s house.”

Kate shook her head. “I never come downstairs when guests are present.”

“Now you see why. Your effect at close range is such that I find it almost impossible to keep my hands off you.” A hunted look flashed into her eyes. “Don’t worry. I don’t mean to give Mathilda an excuse to use that knife on me instead of the goose.” Kate swallowed hard.

“I can’t stay here anyway. Half the men downstairs know me. I want them to think I came alone, so I’ll eat my dinner with them. You, however, are not to set foot outside this room. Ask Mathilda if you need anything.”

Suddenly Kate was more frightened that he would leave than that he would stay. She couldn’t understand the sudden reversal in her feelings, but she didn’t have time to reason it out.

“Where will you go?” she stammered.

“To the coffee room. I’ll see the fight and probably get back sometime after ten o’clock. Make sure your door is locked before you go to bed. I’ll spend the night wherever I can.”

Brett started to leave, but her deep-blue eyes continued to regard him so intently he hesitated. Once more the astonishing magnitude of her beauty swept over him, and he walked over to her. He stroked her soft cheek and traced the line of her jaw with his finger. Kate was rigid, but she didn’t move away from him. “You’ve had a pretty terrible twenty-four hours,” he said in a caressing voice, “but you don’t have to be frightened now. You’re safe as long as you’re with me.”

He walked briskly to the door, turned, and said in his usual curt voice, “Be sure to go to bed early. We have a lot to do tomorrow.” Then he was gone.

Kate sat perfectly still trying to untangle the emotions churning within her. She was still weak from the exposure to his naked desire; she’d never had that effect on anyone before and it terrified her. Yet she was just as confused by the altered tone of his voice and the gentleness of his touch. Maybe he didn’t dislike her so much after all.

She realized in amazement that she had responded to his kindness and had actually
wanted
him to touch her. It made her feel less alone in the world. He had a masterful way about him that gave her confidence he would take care of her. It wouldn’t be difficult to learn to depend on a man like that. It might even be pleasant.

At the same time, an inner voice warned to her to proceed with caution. She knew very little about men, it forewarned, and nothing about such men as Brett Westbrook. It would be all too easy to read too much into his practiced chivalry, all too likely she would find herself developing a regard for someone who saw her as nothing more than a temporary responsibility. It would be much wiser to plan for a future that didn’t include his broad shoulders and penetrating eyes. After all, she didn’t really expect to see him again after they reached London.

On the other side of the door, Brett was breathing hard. This was going to be more difficult than he had thought. Didn’t she know how desirable she was? You would think she had never met a flesh-and-blood man. If she didn’t stop looking so deliciously fragile and helpless, she would soon discover how dangerous heated flesh could be. He would enjoy helping her discover the joys of lovemaking and generating in her a sensual excitement capable of matching his own.

You’ve got to stop this,
he muttered savagely under his breath.
She’s a lady, a delicately bred girl, definitely not the kind of female you think about that way unless you’re also thinking of marriage. Touch her, and there’s not a door in England that wont be slammed in your face. Abandon her to her fate, and the result will be nearly the same. The only way to avoid the inevitable consequences was to have never removed her from Ryehill in the first place, but it’s too late to think of that now.

He strode into the courtyard with a smothered oath. He needed some time to settle his emotions and let his blood cool before he could face the noisy camaraderie of the coffee room. He groaned as he thought of the evening ahead of him. He hoped Kate enjoyed hers more.

Brett stared impatiently into his brandy. The evening had been a complete bore and his patience was worn thin. After suffering through an amateurish fight, he had been forced to endure three interminable hours while his friends drowned their disappointment. Now, at last, the inn was quiet; he stood up, stretched his stiff limbs, and began to climb the stairs, leaving his brandy glass half full. He’d had more than enough brandy in the last two days.

Brett listened outside the door to Kate’s room. There was no sound, so he eased the key into the lock and turned it carefully. The door swung open on soundless hinges, and he silently blessed Mathilda’s careful housekeeping; Kate did not wake and he tiptoed in, breathing a sigh of relief as he locked the door behind him.

The small room was situated in the corner of the inn. Windows dominated two walls with several large pieces of furniture elbowing each other over the remaining space. The curtains were open and moonlight bathed the room in its pale glow, enabling Brett to see his own luggage where it rested on the floor next to a large chair.
This,
he thought gloomily,
will be my bed for the night;
it promised to be even more uncomfortable than the coach.