Chapter 8
Sunny exhaled and felt the hot steam roll over his face.
Ironically, if anything, he needed to cool down.
Mantheria had embraced him. Held him as if her world depended upon him and him alone.
And his blasted honor hadn’t allowed him to do anything else but to extricate himself because they were in the taproom of a hotel.
Besides, she was right. He had smelled of horse, and in all of his fantasies of them finally holding each other, his scent was always very good.
Still, she had run to him like he was her rescuer, which was a far sight better than his failures from yesterday when she had been forced to rescue him.
In the twelve years since she’d been married, Sunny had danced with Mantheria countless times.
They’d even waltzed, but there had always been a little space between them.
In more ways than one. He knew that Mantheria would never break her marriage vows, even while separated.
She’d always kept a little bit of herself back behind the facade of the proper duchess.
But not today. The wall that separated her emotions from the rest of the world was gone.
He saw her naked vulnerability and fear for her son.
Mantheria was no longer an island.
She’d been willing to ask for his help, and how badly he wished to provide it. To prove to her that he was someone she could turn to in a crisis.
Washing himself, he was grateful for the young man who had been able to spruce up his clothing and iron his borrowed shirt.
No one would mistake him for a dandy, but they wouldn’t think he was a country provincial either.
The male servant also brought his dinner to his room.
Sunny felt ravenous, and he did not trust his table manners in front of Mantheria.
He devoured both the chicken and the cold ham and nearly a half loaf of bread.
He washed the meal down with a jug of ale.
Once his belly was full and his body clean, he felt up to facing Mantheria.
He lifted his hand to knock on the door that led to their shared yellow parlor but decided against it.
Instead, he turned the knob and found her in the same position as before, sitting on the rug next to the fire.
Her yellow hair was still down, and he could see that it was a little damp.
Mantheria’s face turned to look at him, and he would have sworn that she didn’t look a day older than sixteen.
She moved to get up, but he held up one hand.
“Oh no. If you’re comfortable, I wouldn’t wish for you to move. ”
She rocked back and forth with her knees tucked against her chest. “I am merely trying to get my hair to dry. It takes a long time. I shouldn’t have washed it—but it smelled of cabbage, too.”
Despite his sore muscles, Sunny took a seat on the floor next to her. “Your hair takes a long time to dry because there is so much of it.”
Smiling, she bumped her shoulder against his and then placed a hand over her mouth. “Oh, I am sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”
“It’s the other shoulder that was injured, and you never need to apologize for touching me.”
Folding her arms, she sniffed, and her nostrils flared. “You treated me like a plague victim earlier today. I did not mean to make a public scene; I was merely seeking comfort from a friend.”
Friend.
How he had learned to hate that word. It was so limiting when he wanted to be so much more to Mantheria: her lover, her confidant, her partner, her companion, her everything.
“We are no longer in the taproom,” Sunny whispered, although they were alone. “I can hold you now.”
Mantheria did not say anything for several moments, and all Sunny could hear was the sound of his own heart beating.
Had he said the wrong thing? She was easily spooked like an unbroken horse.
Without a word, she got to her feet and then looked down at him expectantly.
Sunny scrambled to his own feet, and he hadn’t even gotten his balance before she had thrown herself into his arms. Mantheria was a tall woman, and her head fit perfectly underneath his chin.
He could feel her palms pressed tightly against his back as if she were holding on to him for dear life.
His own hands were on her shoulders, but he couldn’t resist allowing them to wander freely across her back.
He could feel both her strength and her feminine sinews.
She made a little moan and then rubbed her cheek against his coat as if she was trying to burrow inside of him.
He loved feeling her body against his. But what he enjoyed the most was how relaxed her body was pressed against his.
There was a stiff elegance to her dancing that was intoxicating, but nothing like this.
He truly believed that he would be happy simply holding her forever.
A loud knock on the door caused them to part. Sunny wanted to snatch her back against him.
Mantheria cleared her throat. “You may enter.”
Mr. Edwards came in. He bowed lowly to Sunny, always giving precedence to men.
“Your Grace, one of the lads found where the Nortons are staying. It’s a little inn on the other side of town called the Pelican.
It’s not the finest, but it’s respectable.
I have a carriage waiting outside to take you there now. ”
“Very good,” Sunny said, bowing his head. “Your help is truly appreciated. Her Grace and I will leave at once.”
Mr. Edwards bowed again and left the room.
Sunny watched Mantheria twist her long, beautiful blonde hair into a low knot at the back of her neck. Then she put on a shawl and picked up her hat, only to set it back down. “I am afraid that my bonnet is unredeemable.”
“Lady Glastonbury without a hat,” he said in a mocking voice. “How very shocking.”
Mantheria gave him a small, secretive smile that stole another piece of his heart. “She’s on an adventure. Perhaps headgear is optional.”
He put on his top hat. “I hope you don’t mind if I do wear one.”
“I’ll let it go just this once.”
Sunny held out his arm, and Mantheria put her hand on it.
Together, they went down to the hired carriage.
He helped her inside and was surprised when she took his hand and held it.
Sunny truly felt like he was her protector.
Pride made his chest swell. He was so relieved that he had not stayed in Southall.
That he had continued even when the circumstances were hard, even if he wasn’t sure what she wanted or needed.
He felt taller, bigger, and stronger. Capable of achieving any goal.
The carriage ride felt short, or perhaps it was because he was touching Mantheria.
When the vehicle stopped, Sunny alighted and helped Mantheria step down behind him.
They entered the inn hand in hand and spoke to the proprietor.
A bald man with a most impressive black beard bowed to them.
“Welcome to the Pelican. I am Mr. Lynch.”
Sunny straightened to his full height and tried to appear as peer-like as possible. “Thank you, sir. We are looking for Mr. and Mrs. Norton. We believe they had a young boy with them wearing all black. He is the son of the Duchess of Glastonbury, and she is anxious to recover him.”
“I will take you to their rooms at once.”
He felt Mantheria’s hand tighten in his until it almost hurt.
But he hoped to provide her with some modicum of comfort.
The room Mr. Lynch led them to was on the third floor and up a narrow flight of stairs to a door at the end of the hall.
Whoever the Nortons were, they did not appear to be in comfortable circumstances.
Mr. Lynch raised his fist and knocked twice.
There was no answer.
Mantheria’s hold on his fingers tightened until he feared that he would lose his circulation. Then, just as suddenly, she let go of him and pushed back the proprietor to turn the doorknob—it was locked.
Sunny instinctively knew that something was not right. “Unlock the door, sir.”
Gulping, Mr. Lynch pulled out a key from a chain on his belt, put it in the small lock, and turned it.
When they entered the dim parlor, there was no one inside, merely one small table with two chairs and a narrow window.
He jumped when he heard a muffled sound coming from the adjoining door.
Wedged underneath the doorknob was a chair that was locking the person or people inside it.
With two quick strides, he yanked the chair out of its place and swung open the door.
A woman, not more than twenty, fell into his arms, followed by a man closer to his own age.
He set the woman back onto her feet and stepped around her, looking for Andrew in the small adjacent room with only a bed and a hearth inside it.
His heart sank. Andrew was not there.
“Where is my son?” Mantheria asked. “What have you done with him?”
“Done with him? Done with him?” the man said, his pale face turning red. “That bugger Andy String locked us in and took our money after we tried to help him. Ungrateful little—”
Sunny was relieved that Andrew had not used his own name and that the one the boy had chosen was close enough that they could be certain they were on the correct trail. Andy for Andrew. String for Stringham, his mother’s maiden name.
“Now, Mr. Norton, let us not speak so freely before our betters,” Mrs. Norton said with a voice that was high and rather too sugary for Sunny’s taste.
“I am certain that this fine lady and this handsome gentleman will be more than happy to pay us what we are owed rather than have us go to the nearest magistrate.”
Sunny’s heart sank, and his stomach clenched. He hadn’t successfully helped Mantheria locate her son.
“If you were so kind and helpful, why would my son run away from you?” Mantheria asked coldly.
Mrs. Norton’s face paled a shade, and her eyes darted to her husband.