Mistletoe Wishes: A Regency Christmas Collection

Blinking, striving to regain alertness, she slowly turned to face him. “I’m happy to accept any accommodation. Surely you don’t plan to go on tonight.”

He shook his head. He’d taken off his hat and light sheened across his thick dark hair. “The weather will worsen before it improves. It would be cruel to force my horse back into the blizzard. And there isn’t another village for miles.”

“Then of course we’ll stay.”

His saturnine face was shuttered. “Are you sure?”

His hesitancy aroused misgivings. Her husband was never hesitant. “What is it?”

“There’s only one room.”

One room? Dear heaven. What a catastrophe. Aghast, she stared at him. “Surely…surely you could sleep in the tap room.”

The moment she made the suggestion, she felt like the world’s most ungrateful creature. Her husband had rescued her in extremely good spirit, given the compromising situation he caught her in. He’d made a few cutting remarks, but she’d deserved much worse. Like her, he was tired and cold and hungry. It wasn’t fair to consign him to a hard floor and the company of a parcel of rustics, not to mention the vermin flourishing on their unwashed persons.

His lips twisted in a wry smile. “As you can see, there’s no space. Even if there was, I won’t leave you on your own with the place full of God knows what ruffians.”

What on earth was going on here? He sounded protective. When she knew he despised everything about her. “We can’t share a room.”

She’d suspect him of some trick, if she wasn’t sharply aware that he, too, recalled the misery of their time together at Balmuir House. He must be as eager as she for this night to end so they could both return to their separate lives. Kinvarra would never plot the seduction of his wife.

So what was his game?

His eyes glinted with sardonic amusement. “I don’t see why not. We’re married. It’s too late to play Miss Propriety. After all, you were about to hop into bed with Herbert.”

“Harold,” she said automatically, avoiding his gaze. Sick humiliation twisted her belly into knots. Here with Kinvarra, she didn’t feel brave and daring for taking a lover. Instead she felt grubby and small.

His features tightened into harshness. “Whatever the bugger’s name, I hope to hell he hasn’t sampled your favors already, or I’ll think even less of his stalwart behavior on the road.”

“We hadn’t…we didn’t…” She stopped and glowered at him, furious. “That is none of your concern, my lord.”

But it was far too late. Triumph lit Kinvarra’s face. Curse her for confessing that she was still to all intents faithful to him. The cad didn’t deserve her fidelity. He never had.

“Can’t we hire a gig to take us to your manor?” she asked on a note of desperation.

Now the prospect of staying at the inn wasn’t so welcome. And not just because she’d have to share a room with her husband. Tonight’s events left her too exposed to painful memories and present confusion. Easy to play the indifferent spouse when she met the earl for five minutes in a crowded ballroom. Much more difficult when she’d just spent an hour cuddled up to him, and he sounded like a reasonable man, instead of the spoiled, petulant boy she recalled from their brief cohabitation.

At least, thank heaven, he wouldn’t touch her, whatever silly suspicions entered her mind. She was safe from that. The last time they exchanged more than bland public greetings, he’d made it obvious that he’d rather have a crocodile in his bed.

He shook his head. “There are none. And even if there were, I’m not going to risk my neck—and yours—on a night like this. Face it, madam, you’ve returned to the bonds of holy matrimony until tomorrow. I wager you’ll survive the experience.”

Alicia wasn’t so sure. Leaving Kinvarra had nearly destroyed her. All this propinquity now only reopened old wounds that had hardly healed since. But what choice did she have?

Raising her head, she studied his striking face. The black eyes were veiled. His expression indicated impatience with her havering and no hint of amorous intent. Of course there wasn’t. He didn’t want her. And nor, it seemed, did Harold. She’d been alone for so long. She’d never felt as alone as she did at this moment.

She didn’t try to hide her reluctance. “Very well.”

Kinvarra’s lips twitched at her lack of enthusiasm. “I’ll tell the landlord that we’ll take his last chamber.”

Shock held her silent as she realized how much he’d changed. The man she’d married would have caviled at her unmannerly acceptance. Heavens, the man she’d married would have thrown a tantrum if she’d as much as glanced at another man, let alone eloped with him. Kinvarra hadn’t just grown into his looks, he’d grown into his power.

He bowed briefly and strode away with a smooth, confident gait. As a youth, he’d been almost sinfully beautiful with his black hair and glittering eyes, but the man of thirty-two was formidable and in command of himself in a way his younger self had never been.

Alicia watched him go, wanting to turn away but unable to shift her gaze. What would she make of him if they met for the first time now? Honesty compelled her to acknowledge she would probably like him. She’d certainly notice him—no woman could ignore such a handsome man, with his air of authority and competence.

While admitting the fact made her skin itch with pique, she was glad Kinvarra had arrived to rescue her from that ditch. If she’d relied on Harold to solve their problems, she’d still be standing by the roadside.

***