Minx (19 page)

"In your dressing gown? I think not. I may have seen you so attired, but I certainly don't want to share the privilege with the rest of the inn's occupants."

"Oh. Of course."

"Especially with that old Beresford dragon and her brood about. They're probably on their way to London for the season and won't hesitate to tell the entire ton they saw you wandering half naked around a public inn." He raked his hand wearily through his hair. "We should take pains to avoid them in the morning."

She nodded nervously. "I suppose I could close my eyes. Or turn my back."

He thought that this was probably not the best time to inform her that he preferred to sleep in the nude. Still, it would be damned uncomfortable to sleep in his clothing. Perhaps his dressing gown...

"Or I could hide under the covers," Henry was saying. "Then you would be assured of your modesty."

Dunford blinked in disbelief and amusement as she dove into the bed and crawled under the blankets until she resembled a very large molehill.

"How is that?" she queried, her voice considerably muffled.

He tried to disrobe but found that his shoulders were shaking with mirth. "Perfect, Henry. It's perfect."

"Just tell me when you're done!" she called.

Dunford quickly shed his clothing and pulled out his dressing gown. For one brief moment he was entirely and quite splendidly naked, and a shiver of thrill ran through him at the sight of the big lump in the bed. He took a ragged breath and pulled on hisdressing gown. Not now, he told himself sternly. Not now and not with this girl. She deserves better. She deserves to make her own choices.

He tied the sash of his robe tightly around his waist. He probably should have left on his undergarments, but damn it, the chair was going to be uncomfortable enough. He'd just have to make certain his robe did not open during the night. The poor girl would probably faint at the sight of a naked man as it was. Lord knows what would happen if she saw one who was quite aroused, as he undoubtedly would be, all through the night.

"I'm all done, minx," he said. "You can come out now."

Henry poked her head out from under the covers. Dunford had dimmed the candles, but the moonlight was filtering in through the gauzy curtains, and she could see his very large, very male form standing by the chair. She sucked in her breath. She'd be all right as long as he didn't smile at her. If he did that, she would be lost. Dimly it occurred to her she probably couldn't see him smile in the dark, but those grins of his were so devastatingly effective, she was convinced she could probably feel the force of one through a brick wall.

She settled against the pillows and closed her eyes, trying very hard not to think about him.

"Goodnight, Hen."

"Goodnight, Dun."

She heard him chuckle at her shortening of his name. Just don't smile, she prayed. She didn't think he did; she was certain she would have heard it in his laugh if his lips had stretched out to their full, rakish grin. Just to be sure, however, she opened one eye and peered over at him.

Of course she couldn't see his expression, but it was a marvelous excuse to look at him. He was settling into that wing chair—well, trying to settle into it at least. She hadn't noticed how...how very vertical it was. He moved, and then moved again, and then again. He must have shifted positions two dozen times before he finally stilled. Henry bit her lip. "Are you comfortable?" she called out.

"Oh, quite."

It was that very particular tone of voice which held no trace of sarcasm but rather suggested that the speaker was trying quite hard to convince someone of something that was obviously not true.

"Oh," Henry said. What was she supposed to do? Accuse him of lying? She stared at the ceiling for thirty seconds and then decided—why not?

"You're lying," she said.

He sighed. "Yes."

She sat up. "Maybe we could...Well, that is to say... There must be something we can do."

"Do you have any suggestions?" His tone was quite dry.

"Well," she stalled, "I don't need all of these blankets."

"Warmth is not my problem."

"But perhaps you could lay one on the floor and make a makeshift mattress out of it."

"Don't worry about it, Henry. I'll be fine."

Another patently false statement.

"I can't just lie here and watch you be uncomfortable," she said worriedly.

"Close your eyes and go to sleep, then. You won't see a thing."

Henry lay back down and managed to stay in that position for a full minute. "I can't do it," she burst out, bolting upright again. "I just can't do it."

"Can't do what, Henry?" He sighed—a very long-suffering sort of sigh.

"I can't lie here when you're so uncomfortable."

"The only place I'm going to be more comfortable is in the bed."

There was a very long pause. Finally—"I can do it if you can do it."

Dunford decided that they had vastly different interpretations of the word "it."

"I'll scoot very, very far over to the side." She started to scoot. "Very far."

Against all better judgment, he actually considered the idea. He lifted his head to watch her. She was so far to the edge of the bed that one of her legs was falling over the side.

"You can sleep on the other side," she was saying. "Just stay at the edge."

"Henry..."

"If-you're-going-to-do-it-do-it-now," she said, the entire sentence coming out as one long word. "For in a moment I will surely regain my senses and rescind the offer."

Dunford looked at the empty spot on the bed and then down at his body, which was sporting an enormous erection. Then he looked at Henry. No, don't do that! His gaze quickly shifted back to the empty spot on the bed. It looked very, very comfortable—so comfortable, in fact, that it might just be possible for him to relax enough for his body to calm down.

He looked back at Henry. He hadn't meant to do it, hadn't wanted to do it, but his eyes were inclined to follow the dictates of a body part other than his mind. She was sitting up and staring at him. Her thick, straight, brown hair had been pulled back into a plait which was surprisingly erotic. Her eyes—well, by all rights it should have been too dark to see them, but he could swear he could see them glow silver in the moonlight.

"No," he said hoarsely, "the chair will do just fine, thank you."

"If I know you are uncomfortable, I shan't be able to sleep." She sounded remarkably like a damsel in distress.

Dunford shuddered. He had never been able to resist playing hero. Slowly he got to his feet and walked to the empty side of the bed.

How bad could it be?

Chapter 11

Very, very bad. Very, very, very bad.

An hour later Dunford was still wide awake, his entire body stiff as a board for fear that he might accidentally brush up against her. Furthermore, he couldn't risk lying in any position other than on his back because when he'd first crawled in and lay on his side, he could smell her on the pillow.

Curse it, why couldn't she have stayed in just one place? Was there any reason why she should have lain on one side of the bed and then moved to the other to make room for him? Now all of the pillows smelled like her, like that vague lemony scent that always wafted around her face. And the blasted chit moved so much in her sleep that even staying on his back didn't protect him completely.

Don't breathe through your nose, he chanted internally. Don't breathe through your nose.

She rolled over, emitting a soft sigh.

Close your ears.

She made some funny little snapping sound with her lips, then rolled over again.

It's not her, a little piece of his mind screamed. This would happen with any woman.

Oh, give it up, the rest of his brain replied. You want Henry, and you want her bad.

Dunford gritted his teeth and prayed for sleep.

He prayed hard.

And he was not a religious man.

Henry felt warm. Warm and soft and...content. She was having the most beautiful dream. She wasn't entirely certain what was happening in the dream, but whatever it was, it was leaving her feeling utterly indulged and languid. She shifted in her sleep, sighing contentedly as the smell of warm wood and brandy drifted under her nose. It was a lovely smell. Rather like Dunford. He always smelled like warm wood and brandy, even when he hadn't had a drop of drink. Funny how he managed that. Funny how his smell was in her bed.

Henry's eyelids fluttered open.

Funny how he was in her bed.

She let out an involuntary gasp before she remembered she was at an inn on the way to London and had done what no gently bred lady would ever ever do. She had offered to share her bed with a gentleman.

Henry bit her lip and sat up. He had looked so uncomfortable. Surely it wasn't such a sin to spare him a night of tossing and turning followed by several days of an aching back. And it wasn't as if he'd touched her. Hell, she thought indelicately, he didn't need to. The man was a human furnace. She probably would have felt the warmth of his body clear across the room.

The sun was beginning to come up, and the entire room was bathed in a rosy glow. Henry looked down at the man lying next to her. She rather hoped this entire escapade did not ruin her reputation before she even managed to acquire one, but if it did, she thought wryly, it would be rather ironic, considering she'd done nothing of which to be ashamed—besides wanting him, of course.

She admitted that to herself now. These strange sensations he elicited in her—they were desire, plain and simple. Even if she knew she couldn't act on these feelings, there was no use lying to herself about them.

This honesty was becoming painful, however. She knew she couldn't have him. He didn't love her, and he wasn't going to. He was bringing her to London to marry her off. He'd said as much.

If only he weren't so darned nice.

If she could hate him, everything would be so much easier. She could be mean and vicious and convince him to release her from his life. If he were insulting to her, her desire for him would certainly wither and fade.

Henry was discovering that love and desire were, for her at least, irrevocably entwined. And part of the reason she was so crazy about him was that he was such a good person. If he were a lesser man, he wouldn't own up to his responsibility as her guardian, and he wouldn't insist on taking her to London and giving her a season.

And he certainly wouldn't be doing all this because he wanted her to be happy.

Clearly, he was not an easy man to hate.

Hesitantly, she reached out her hand and brushed a lock of dark brown hair away from his eyes. Dunford mumbled sleepily and then yawned. Henry jerked her arm back, fearful that she had woken him.

He yawned again, this time very loudly, and lazily opened his eyes.

"I'm sorry I woke you up," she said quickly.

"Was I sleeping?"

She nodded.

"So there really is a God," he muttered.

"Excuse me?"

"Just a little morning prayer of thanks," he said dryly.

"Oh." Henry blinked in surprise. "I had no idea you were so religious."

"I'm not. That is—" He paused and exhaled. "It's remarkable what can prompt a man to discover religion."

"I'm sure," she murmured, having not a clue what he was talking about.

Dunford turned his head on the pillow so that he was facing her. Henry looked damned good first thing in the morning. Wispy tendrils of hair had escaped from her braid and were curling gently around her face. The soft light of morning seemed to turn these errant strands to spun gold. He took a deep breath and shuddered, willing his body not to react.

It did not, of course, obey.

Henry, meanwhile, had suddenly realized her clothing was on a chair clear across the room. "I say," she said nervously, "this certainly is awkward."

"You have no idea."

"I... um...I'll be wanting to get my clothes, and I'll need to get up to get them."

"Yes?"

"Well, I don't think you ought to be seeing me in my nightgown, even if you did sleep with me last night. Oh, dear," she said in a choked voice, "that didn't come out quite the way I intended. What I meant to say was that we slept in the same bed, which I suppose is almost as bad."

Dunford reflected—rather painfully—that almost didn't really count.

"At any rate," she prattled on, awkwardness making her words run together, "I really can't get up to get my clothing, and my dressing gown appears to be just out of reach. I'm not exactly certain how this is so, but it is, so perhaps you ought to get up first, as I've already seen you—"

"Henry?"

"Yes?"

"Shut up"

"Oh."

He closed his eyes in agony. He wanted nothing other than to stay motionless under the covers all day. Well, that wasn't entirely true. What he really wanted to do involved the young woman sitting next to him, but that wasn't going to happen, so he was opting for staying hidden. Unfortunately, part of his body really didn't want to stay hidden, and he had no idea how he was meant to get up first without scaring ten years off of her life.