The wink was roguish and unexpected from a man who had the look of a barbarian with that long hair and the scratchy beginnings of a beard. She liked barbarians just fine.
“To tell ye the truth, I wouldnae have bothered with the English if my mother had nae insisted.”
Ines wanted to ask why his mother wanted him to marry an English lass—er, lady.
“She’s English, and my uncle, the laird, has had nae end of trouble with the English. Lady Charlotte thinks if I marry an Englishwoman it will be a boon tae the entire clan. She’ll blister my ears when I return withoot a bride.”
Ines’s own ears felt blistered at his words. He needed an English bride. Not only English, it seemed, but a lady. She was neither of those things. No wonder he didn’t look at her. So much for her fantasies about marrying Duncan Murray.
Duncan was still speaking, something about the trouble the laird had in the past with English soldiers, but Ines was not listening again. Yes, Murray’s mother, Lady Charlotte, had wanted him to marry an English lady. But it now appeared that eventuality would not come to pass. He was returning home without a bride or a betrothal. Ines had always said she wanted to pick her own husband, one with the PED (Passion-Excitement-Danger) qualities she prized. She’d already escaped one marriage and she didn’t think she was so lucky as to be able to escape a second. But if she could not have Murray, a marriage for her would have to be years in the future. She wanted to experience the world a bit first. She wanted to kiss a man like Duncan Murray and perhaps a few dozen others before she decided who she would tie herself to permanently.
The problem now was how to make Murray realize he should kiss her. She couldn’t tell him since she was pretending she couldn’t understand him. Perhaps she could use nonverbal communication...
Ines made a show of yawning and covering her mouth prettily. When he didn’t seem to notice, she did it again.
“But ye must be tired, lass. I’ll see ye tae yer chamber.”
He had secured them separate chambers. Hers was at the top of the stairs and to the right, and his was on the other end of the first floor of the inn. He’d certainly made sure he was far away from her. Now he took her arm and escorted her up the stairs. Ines’s heart pounded so loudly she couldn’t hear a word he said, if he even spoke. He’d drank quite a bit of whisky but didn’t seem the least bit impaired. That was too bad because she’d been hoping he would stumble, and she could catch him. And then they’d look into each other’s eyes, and he wouldn’t be able to resist ravishing her.
They had almost reached her chamber and there’d been no sign of stumbling or hints that a ravishing was coming. Well, if he wouldn’t fall into her arms, she’d have to fall into his. At her door, she took the key from her glove and inserted it into the lock. Then she opened the door. He couldn’t kick it open now, but she was willing to forgo that part of the fantasy. She turned to tell him goodnight and pretended to trip and fall forward.
If all had gone as she’d wanted, she would have fallen into his arms. Instead, his hand shot out, caught her elbow, and he righted her with one easy motion. Damn his strength and agility!
“Careful, lass,” he said, still holding her at arm’s length. “Goodnight.”
She glared at him and at his puzzled look, finally managed to parrot his “Good night.” And then he was gone, and she closed the door behind her and wondered just exactly how everything in her life always went wrong.
STRATFORD
Stratford had little hope the posting house in the distance would yield him any more answers than the last three where he had stopped. But the light was fading, his horse was tiring, and he could use a drink before going on. He didn’t like that Emmeline had managed to get ahead of him. As a single rider, he should have easily overtaken the coach. The problem was he couldn’t be absolutely certain she was on it, so he had to stop at every inn or public house the coach might have stopped at to inquire after her. So far no one remembered her.
That didn’t discourage Stratford. At most of the stops, the coach would not have paused long enough for the passengers to disembark. But eventually the passengers would be allowed down for refreshment and personal needs. He simply had to find the posting house where the coach had paused and hope Emmeline had stepped out and been seen. He slowed, tossed his reins to the groom who hurried out to greet him, and ordered a fresh horse. “Did the mail coach stop here?” he asked.
“Which one?” the groom asked. “One headed north stopped about an hour ago.”
Finally! Good news. “Was a young woman among the passengers? Dark hair, blue eyes...”
“I can’t say, sir. I didn’t see the passengers. Mr. Miller will know.”
Stratford followed the groom’s eyes toward the low building a few yards away. “Mr. Miller is the proprietor?”
“Yes, sir. We have another coach scheduled in a quarter of an hour, so he might be supervising in the kitchen. He’ll hear if you call for him.”
Stratford thanked the groom and entered the dark public house, his eyes surveying the room for any sign of a Mr. Miller. The room was empty and though Stratford thought it rather gauche, he called out for the man.
But instead of a male reply, he heard a woman’s muffled voice and a pounding on the wall. “What the devil?” he muttered, moving closer to the sound of the pounding. “Who is there?”
“Open the door!” the voice called out. “Let me out of here!”
Stratford realized the sound of pounding did not come from behind a wall at all but from behind a door. A chair had been placed in front of the door, ensuring it remained closed with the occupant inside. Stratford looked about for the elusive Mr. Miller, but the man was still absent. With a shrug, Stratford moved the chair aside.
The door swung open and a woman tumbled out, followed by a jumping blur of brown-and-white fur.
What the devil had he unleashed? He had the urge to push the woman and animal back into the closet, but she stumbled right into him, and when he righted her, he looked down into the bright blue eyes of Emmeline Wellesley.
“Miss Wellesley,” he said, trying to ignore the dog jumping at her side.
“Stratford?” She glanced down at the dog, which he identified as a King Charles Cavalier Spaniel. “Hush.” But the attention only seemed to encourage the spaniel, who began to bark and run around them in circles. Emmeline said something else, but he couldn’t hear over the din of the animal.
“Pardon?”
“I said, what are you doing here, but now I realize you must have been sent to look for me.”
Her supposition was close enough to the truth. “And it seems I’ve arrived just in time.”
“What?”
“I said—oh, for God’s sake.” He bent, lifted the spaniel into his arms, and the animal quieted. “Do you want to explain what you were doing locked in a”—he peered over her shoulder—“storage closet with a spaniel?”
“Not particularly,” she said, crossing her arms over her generous bosom. If she’d been wearing a cloak earlier, she had shed it, and now she wore a simple white muslin dress. It was modestly cut, but it couldn’t quite hide her lush figure.