At last the carriage pulled to a stop before the inn. A sign before the portal swung wildly in the wind, and trees swayed to and fro, barren branches plucking in nervous frenzy toward the sodden earth as if in search of comfort against the gale. The guards, exposed to the full force of wind-driven rain and sleet during the ride, did not linger for their charge but rushed into the place, leaving Pitney to do the duty.
Alighting from the carriage, Ruark pulled his cloak close around his neck and yanked the tricorn low over his brow, and as Shanna stepped to the door he turned and pulled her into his arms though she protested indignantly at this outrage. He bore her across the puddle-laden path. Shanna ground her teeth in displeasure, hating his boldness and the close contact of his hard, muscular chest.
“You take much upon yourself, sir,” she rebuked peevishly and then gasped and threw her arms tightly about his neck as he gave a little dip as if he would drop her. Silently Shanna seethed while the muffled sound of his mirth grated on her nerves, but she dared not retort until her feet were safely on solid ground.
As ever, Pitney was close behind them, and when they reached the covered doorway, his vast bulk sheltered them from the force of the storm. A tallow lantern hung beside the portal, and in its flickering light, Shanna’s face fairly flamed with resentment.
“I’ve never been so abused in all my life,” she fumed. “Put me down!”
Obligingly Ruark withdrew the arm he had beneath her knees, allowing her feet to slide to the step; but his other arm remained, holding her against his chest. Angrily Shanna pushed at him to set herself free. Astonished, she realized that the lace of her bodice was snared around a button of his waistcoat.
“Oh, now look what you’ve done!” she wailed.
It was impossible to move back even a step. His feet were braced slightly apart, and she was caught to him and had to stand in the space between or find her gown torn. She could feel his thighs firm and hard against her own, and it was a most compromising and humiliating stance. Having Ruark’s arm loosely about her, his head bending near hers, and his warm breath falling against her cheek did not help her attempts at composure. Pitney awkwardly cleared his throat but otherwise was mute. Shanna’s fingers shook, and though she tried to work the intruding button free, she was in such a state that she only entangled it more. Her temper riled, she gave a low groan of frustration.
“Here, let me,” Ruark said through his laughter, brushing her hands aside.
Shanna choked, and her cheeks burned as his knuckles pressed upon her breast, rubbing casually against its peak as he tried to undo the tangle. She was smothered by his nearness and could not breathe with his hands at her bosom. Finally she could bear no more of his fondling.
“Oh, stop, you bumbling oaf!” she shrieked and losing all patience, thrust hard at his chest with her hands.
At her onslaught Ruark stumbled back, and his movement was accompanied by a sharp rending of cloth and the sound of Shanna’s gasp. The lace insert and its silk lining had given way beneath the strain, leaving a small scrap of lace and the button firmly attached to Ruark’s waistcoat. In mute horror, Shanna gaped down at her display, for her bosom was now only thinly concealed beneath the delicate batiste of her chemise. Her round breasts pressed wantonly against the filmy fabric, their soft, pink crests seeming eager to burst through. With the candlelight gleaming on her satin skin, it was a most rousing sight for Ruark whose celibate life of late had offered little more relief than his own imaginings within the four stark walls of a prison cell. His mouth was suddenly dry and his breath a hard knot in his throat. Like a starved man, he stared at the full, ripe delicacies before him, and it nearly sapped his strength to keep his hands from her.
“You dimwitted colonial!” Shanna railed.
At her cry Pitney moved closer in sudden worry, not recognizing the reason for her distress.
“Nay!” Shanna gasped. Clutching the tattered bodice, she presented her back to him.
The panic in her voice sent Pitney whirling on his heels, for he guessed the damage was more than a slight rent. He withdrew several paces lest he cause her greater embarrassment.
Shanna stuffed the end of the torn piece into the top of her shift, weighting the latter down until the repair was almost as revealing as the tear. Ruark choked at this torture, drawing her attention and her accusing glare. His gaze burned upon her bare skin, greedily absorbing the sight of her swelling roundness as if he were afraid it would be taken from his sight. Shanna had been leered at before, but never so completely devoured. Desire flamed in those golden eyes, snatching her breath; and she could only murmur with a bit less rancor:
“If you had any decency, you’d turn your head.”
“Shanna, love,” Ruark breathed in a tight, strained voice. “I am a man about to die. Would you deny me even the briefest glimpse of such beauty?”
Oddly feeling no grudge against him, Shanna looked at him surreptitiously. His bold gaze stirred something deep within her, and the sensation was not unpleasant. Still, she covered herself with her cloak.
A moment of silence passed as Ruark struggled with his own emotions. Beneath his flowing cloak he tightly folded his hands behind his back.
“Would you prefer to return to the carriage now?” he asked solicitously.
“I’ve had little enough nourishment this day, fretting over disgrace,” Shanna replied in a vein of honesty. “I might as well enjoy what is left of my pride.”
Ruark’s eyes gleamed with devilish humor, and his lips drew slowly into a deliberate smile. “You’re the light and love of my life, Shanna. Have mercy on me.”
Shanna lifted her fine chin. “Hah! It ever passes through my thoughts that you are much a rake and have had many ‘light and loves.’ I am hardly your first or only one.”
Gallantly Ruark held the door open for her to pass through. “The first I cannot deny, Shanna, for then I did not know of you. But you are my only love and shall remain for as long as I live.” His eyes were serious and seemed to probe her being. “I would demand no more of a wife than I am willing to give. I assure you, my love, that no day will pass henceforth but what you will be in my thoughts.”
Confused by the gentle warmth of his gaze and the directness of his words, Shanna could find no tongue to reply. It was impossible to determine whether he mocked her or told the truth. He was not like any man she had ever met. When she spoke to hurt him, calling him names or seeking to thrust a deeper insult, he took it in stride or with humor and continued to compliment her. Where was the end of his patience?
Lost in her musings, Shanna moved past him and entered the inn. While he doffed his rain-soaked cloak and tricorn, she waited, for the moment appearing the docile wife. He returned and with a hand riding the narrow curve of her waist, he guided her to the table Pitney indicated. It was tucked securely into a dark corner, leaving no room for an easy escape.
Mister Hadley and John Craddock having preceded them by some moments, were now seated at the long common table that filled the center of the room. The inn was empty save for the keeper and his wife, for the local patrons had fled to their homes with the onset of the storm. A fire crackled cheerfully in the hearth, casting wavering shadows across the rough wooden beams supporting the ceiling and providing warmth for the damp guests. After a long frown of warning to Ruark, Pitney joined the two guards and quickly drained a tankard of ale.