“We can’t wait,” she said dully. The thought of facing the weather again so soon made her want to cry.
Cam set her on a stool near the hearth. His touch was efficient but without tenderness. She tried not to remember how last night in bed he’d lashed her to his body as if he couldn’t bear to be more than a breath away from her. Knowing that he’d never hold her like that again made her want to curl up and sob.
“I’ll order some food,” he said, still in that emotionless voice.
By the time he returned, she felt more human. Ten minutes near the fire restored her blood to something like its usual temperature.
“I’ve arranged a room where you can wash.”
Surprised, she turned. “That’s very obliging.”
He frowned as if suspecting sarcasm, but she was sincere. She knew he was livid. She was still amazed that she’d won that public battle of wills in London. Although if he hadn’t taken her, she’d have followed on her own.
A maid arrived to escort her upstairs. Aching muscles protested at each step. They weren’t even halfway to Liverpool. Heaven knew what state she’d be in when they arrived.
Although one thing she did know—Cam wouldn’t have come any closer to forgiving her.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Pen stirred. Although the bed shifted in a most bizarre fashion, Cam’s familiar warmth surrounded her. She drew in a lungful of his delicious scent. Leather. Soap. Horses. Perhaps a little heavier on the horses than usual.
Then she recalled that she traveled to Liverpool to save Harry’s hide and that Cam hated her.
Which made no sense when his arm held her safe as they galloped through the night. He’d wrapped his greatcoat around them against the biting wind.
Despite her best efforts, she must have shifted. Cam’s arm stiffened, then in a gesture that cracked a rift across her heart, he disentangled himself and slid away.
“I’m sorry.” She struggled to sit up against the rocking of the carriage. After hours in the phaeton, her muscles ached with weariness, despite her nap.
He didn’t respond. He’d been a remarkably quiet companion. Pen felt so heartsick that at first his silence had been welcome. Now it became oppressive. Some hint that he was capable of speech would be welcome. “Where are we?”
Beyond the frail glow of the carriage lamps, everything was dark. There should have been a moon, but lowering clouds turned the sky black.
“We’ve just left Wolverhampton.” He didn’t sound angry. He sounded tired and fed up and disinclined to conversation.
Too bad. “How far to Liverpool?”
“Miles.”
Well, that was informative. She sighed and huddled into the rug. When Cam withdrew, he’d taken his coat and his heat.
They covered several miles and she fell into a waking doze where the world melted into a dark blur and the only other person alive was the fuming, powerful man relentlessly driving the horses.
He was still angry. Waking in his arms, she hadn’t felt it. But she felt it now. A blast of fury like heat from an open flame.
Eventually she could bear it no more. “Cam, at least let me explain.”
Although he’d never understand why she’d helped Harry. To understand, Cam would need to realize what love was. And for him, that word had no meaning.
She didn’t see him recoil, but the horses’ gait broke. The betraying moment was over in a second, but it confirmed Pen’s impression that his silence was like a volcano waiting to erupt.
“Cam?”
The horses resumed their gallop. Cam stared ahead as if the road provided the world’s most fascinating view. “I don’t want to hear, madam.”
Madam again. The cold address stung. She had an inkling of how he’d felt when she’d Your Grace’d him to death. When she’d tried to play the proper duchess.
He’d told her to be true to herself. As a result, they faced disaster.