The rain was now a steady drumbeat upon the roof of the Briska. Drenched and shaking with the cold and her own emotions, Shanna had slid tightly in a corner of the seat, giving the greater portion of it to whomever would take it. She had managed with trembling fingers to strike the flint and light the small tallow lantern that hung from the inside wall of the carriage.
Ruark stepped in, and Pitney folded the step. He started to swing himself inside but found the way suddenly barred by the younger man’s arm.
“Have you no pity, man? Wed only a few hours and bound to hang before a week is out! Ride with the guards.”
Before Pitney could protest, Ruark slammed the door in his face. The huge man, however, was hardly the one to do the bidding of a daring swain who rutted after his mistress. In fact, just the opposite was true. The door of the carriage was snatched open with such force it rebounded against the side of the coach with a loud crack, causing Shanna to jump sharply.
Ruark was not about to settle for this intrusion without at least a brief struggle and stretched an arm across the doorway again to prevent the other’s entry. Pitney reached up to snatch the ardent bridegroom from the carriage, but Shanna’s startled gasp brought her his immediate attention. It was certainly not fear for her husband which prompted this reaction from Shanna, but the noticed presence of the innkeeper and his wife standing in the doorway of their establishment and straining their necks to see what was going on.
“ ’Tis all right, Pitney. Ride on top,” came her hushed but urgent command.
Glancing back over his shoulder, Pitney saw the reason for her concern. He straightened, stepped back a pace, and jerked his waistcoat down in place.
Ruark smiled benevolently. “That’s a good lad. And don’t stand there dawdling. Make haste. Let us be on the road.”
Pitney’s heavy chin jutted out obstinately, and his brows lowered in an ominous fashion. The cold rain trickled down his broad face, but he took no notice. His gray piercing eyes measured Ruark in the light of the carriage lanterns.
“Should ye harm her—” The threat was gritted in a low voice, but it reached Ruark’s ears distinctly.
“Come now, man,” Ruark laughed scornfully. “I’m not a complete fool. I value what little time on earth I have. I give you my charge that she will be treated as one whom I have the highest affection for, nothing less, and with much respect.”
Pitney’s frown deepened at Ruark’s words. He would have argued the point, but Shanna saw the threat of a public scene in this village where the actions of strangers would be quickly noted. So close to the church where she was wed, the rumors would spread; and Ralston would have no trouble hearing them.
“Let’s be gone, Pitney, before you undo the best of my plans.”
Finally the man gave in, and though his words were directed to her, he stared hard at Ruark. “I’ll bar the doors. He’ll have no chance to escape.”
“Then be quick about it,” Shanna pleaded. “And have a care the keeper and his spouse do not see what you do.”
Several moments passed before the richly appointed carriage swung onto the muddy road to London. The rain beat monotonously upon the roof, deadening all other sounds, while the lanterns lent only a weak, flickering light to the ebony darkness through which they passed. Though the luxurious interior was warm and snug and well protected from the miserable night without, Shanna was hardly comfortable. Her dash to the coach had been sheer folly. Her shoes were soaked, her knee-length stockings were damp almost to their full length, and the wet hem of her skirt was cloyingly cold and chilly against her ankles. Gathering the sodden cloak tightly about her, she huddled in its folds and could not suppress a shiver or stop her teeth from chattering.
“Why, Shanna, you’re trembling,” Ruark said, catching one of her hands and sliding closer.
Angrily she withdrew from him and snapped, “Must you ever state the obvious?” And then, relenting, “My feet are cold.”
“Here, love, let me warm them.”
There was more than a trace of laughter in his tone, and before she could protest, he reached down and lifted her legs onto his lap. Folding back the dampened hem, he slid the ruined slippers from her feet. A small gasp escaped Shanna as his hands boldly touched her knees, quickly pulling off the lacy garters and wet stockings. Tossing them in a small heap upon the floor with the shoes, he tucked her feet beneath his jacket and drew his cloak over his lap and her legs until she was well wrapped within it. His far arm held her feet close against him, while his near hand slid beneath the cloak to gently massage her slender calves. All thoughts of coldness left Shanna. She had much to consider as she accepted his ministrations and casual familiarity. It had never been her fate to be privately closeted with a man before, and it warmly titillated her imagination. She had entertained many lords and titled men but always properly chaperoned. This had been her choice as much as anyone else’s; she had never even met a colonial before Ruark Beauchamp. And here she was alone with him, and he had the grand claim of being her husband, however brief that state would be. It was only natural to wonder what his reaction would be if she tested her womanly wiles. Well enough to let this boorish backwoods clod sample the gift of her beauty, she thought, for soon he would be back on his way to the triple tree. It would do no harm to hone her weapons on his wit.
She sat in the corner facing him, her back against the side of the carriage. The small lantern inside the coach gave off a dim light, and she could see those amber eyes glowing with fervor as he quietly observed her. His fingers softly kneaded her leg from ankle to knee, warming her pleasantly. Shanna’s lips curved almost into a smile as she sighed, and as if settling herself like a contented feline, she stirred against the seat. Her cloak sagged open to her waist, but she seemed unaware of it as she gathered her arms beneath her bosom, pressing her breasts upward until she was nearly out of the torn gown and thin chemise. In truth, she did not know how her pale skin gleamed with a satin luster in the light of the single candle, nor could she truly guess the extent of Ruark’s passion. She only saw that his eyes roamed downward and felt a tightening of his belly against her leg and the pulse in his thigh quicken beneath her foot.
The softening of her manner enhanced her beauty, and Ruark boldly and appreciatively stared. When he spoke, his voice did not betray the tightness in his throat.
“You are warmer, madam?”
“Aye,” Shanna breathed, half closing her eyes as she leaned her head back, letting him view the slender, curving length of her throat. Any moment now he would tell her how he desired her and try to cajole her into giving herself, and she would lead him on until the time they had to part. Through slitted eyelids she watched him and was pricked with disappointment as he appeared to shrug away her spell. Casually he reached into his coat and brought forth the scarlet-bound papers.
“These are the marriage documents,” Ruark informed her as he turned them in his hand. “You will need them to prove that we are wed.”
Shanna sat up a bit and would have reached to accept them, but he took them beyond her grasp.
“Ah, madam,” he laughed, “the price has not yet been paid.”
With something akin to horror in her eyes, Shanna stared at him. Would he threaten to destroy them if she did not yield? If they were thrown onto the well-washed road outside, they would be rendered useless.