Least Likely to Marry a Duke (Liberated Ladies)

‘What are you doing?’ Will rocked back on to his feet and stood up in one easy movement.

Horseman’s thighs.

Verity blinked to regain her concentration. Miranda was wrong and indulging animal passions, even in thought and definitely in practice, led to nothing but useless distraction. And heartbreak. ‘I am searching for an umbrella. In the absence of one, this will have to do.’

‘Why on earth do you want to go outside?’ He loomed, large, male, uncomprehending, in front of the door.

‘Because it might surprise you to learn that ladies are not fairy creatures of such delicacy that we do not share the same bodily functions as the rest of humanity. And I have drunk several cups of tea.’

‘I should have thought of that. Here.’ Will took the board from her, stooped to pick up an old earthenware bowl that had been lying beside the door and handed it to her before he ducked out into the deluge, the board over his head.

Verity made use of the makeshift chamber pot and then concealed it behind a broken box in the far corner. Will was certainly resourceful. She eased her stay-laces while she had the privacy. ‘Come in!’ she called when there was a knock on the door. ‘Thank you.’

Will dropped the board, shook himself like a large dog and raked the wet hair back from his face. ‘It does not appear to be easing up.’

‘Then I am going to bed.’ She was not going to remind him to hang up his waistcoat close to the fire to dry off and certainly not going to suggest he remove his shirt. There were limits to trying to get an obstinate male to accept good sense.

She kicked off her shoes, climbed in under the blanket and pummelled the straw tick and lumpy pillow into something she might be able to sleep on. ‘What are you doing?’

Will had retreated to the far corner of the hut, not that it was very far away, given

the size of the place. He merely grunted.

‘For goodness’ sake, come and sleep in front of the fire. I am quite confident that proximity to a sleeping man will not imperil my virtue, although I may smother you with the pillow if you snore.’

‘I do not snore.’ He got up and moved pillow and blanket to the hearth. ‘I was attempting to make you feel as comfortable as possible.’

His drive to protect and nurture was attractive, even while it was infuriating. ‘I think we had established that I am not prone to maidenly shrinking, torrid imaginings.’ Oh, yes, I am. ‘Or dark suspicions about your character or motives.’

There was a sound that might have been agreement. Will punched the pillow, hauled the blanket up over his shoulders and turned on his side so that his back was to her. ‘Goodnight.’

‘Goodnight, Will.’

Sleep well on your hard, damp bed...

* * *

Will had not expected to sleep. The floor was cold stone, his clothes clung moistly, the pillow was lumpy and far too close for comfort was a sleeping woman in a snug bed. His imagination decided to run riot.

At least torrid fantasies were keeping him warm, he thought grimly as the storm passed slowly overhead—the thunder crashed, the rain lashed down, the cold draughts crept in from every crack and his bodily aches tormented him.

He drifted off to sleep eventually, the fantasies becoming dreams in which Verity Wingate’s flow of infuriating common sense was finally reduced to moans of passion and cries of desire as she writhed beneath him.

* * *

‘Will!’

‘Mmm?’

Again? I will do my utmost...

‘Do wake up. It is light, the rain has stopped. We should be packed and ready to leave when the rescue party arrives.’

He opened his eyes to find Verity looking infuriatingly awake, tidy and lively. Her face glowed, her hair was neatly braided and coiled around her head, her garments were, it was true, somewhat creased, but otherwise she had every appearance of having passed a restful night.

‘You are awake,’ he observed, redundantly.

‘So will you be when you have been and washed in the lake. It is most invigorating. Did you sleep well?’