Chapter 4
When one is confined in a place, all days have a certain sameness.
Joy woke up from tangled dreams in which Douglas featured prominently, lay in bed until Wren bullied her into dressing and going downstairs, and then lazed about in the common room, half reading a book.
She was restless and petulant, but that was to be expected.
Everyone wanted to get on with their travels.
Like the day before, nearly all of the able-bodied men bundled up and went outside to help clear the road.
Around midday, a small group including Cullen proudly returned to the inn with the maimed carriage, which they’d been able to navigate over the cleared portion of the highway.
However, it couldn’t be repaired until the roads cleared and Cullen could get the carriage to the blacksmith in the nearby village. And who knew when that would happen?
Nevertheless, Joy thanked all the men for their efforts, and tried to look excited by the idea that she’d be able to visit her cousin after all, once the road was fully clear.
Douglas arrived back later in the afternoon with the bulk of the men. All of them looked haggard and wind-blown. A gust of air proved how far the temperature had dropped, and the guttering candles created wild shadows on the wall until the front door was pulled shut again.
Not long after, Joy was startled when she sensed a presence by her chair. Douglas stood there, having changed into fresh clothing, the aroma of pine-scented soap hovering around him.
“I’ve paid for the privilege of the private dining room,” he announced. “Would you join me?”
“Join you? For dinner?”
“That was all I dared hope for, though I would be pleased to hear other options.”
She froze for a second as she caught the teasing innuendo, then sniffed to show how disdainful she was of the notion of other options.
How like Douglas. Always teasing and dancing along the edge of propriety—not because he was a rake, but because he thought so many of society’s rules were outmoded and silly.
She remembered many conversations in which he railed against one tradition or another, always with good arguments, and always with the sort of good-natured teasing that made his commentary palatable to those who disagreed and signaled his true feelings to those who might be allies.
In fact, if Douglas’s words had been spoken by another type of gentleman, he would’ve been accused of sedition against the standards of the day, if not outright rebellion against aristocratic assumptions.
Douglas was part of that world, and therefore could not possibly wish to dismantle it.
That was what people assumed anyway. Joy had believed he was more daring than most people thought, though she’d revised her opinion after he caved to his family’s expectations and did exactly what his own father demanded.
Talk was one thing. Talk sounded brave and could enchant the right ears. But talk was not action.
“So? Will you join me?” he prompted, recalling her to the present. “You need to eat one way or another.”
“What makes you think that the idea of dining with you is more appealing than dining alone?”
“There’s the wit I missed so much. My back aches from pushing snow aside all day, and my very bones are chilled from fighting the cold outside. If I dined alone, I can practically guarantee that I would fall asleep during the soup course.”
“Well, that’s incentive enough, if I can see you fall face first into your soup.
If you need a minder so you make it through to dessert, I will take on the task.
” It would’ve been simpler to just say thank you to him for all of his efforts and helping to clear the road.
But nothing was simple between her and Douglas, and Joy wasn’t ready to forgive and forget.
But as he said, she had to eat. And if she were lucky, she might indeed see him fall face first into his soup.
The private dining room held a table that could accommodate up to six, but was set for only two.
It also had a fireplace with two armchairs set in front of it.
It was an inviting tableau on its own, but especially so when the table was filled with roasted meat, bread, applesauce, and a variety of other dishes designed to warm a person’s belly.
Dinner proceeded with a minimum of awkwardness, though Joy was aware of a desire to examine Douglas to a degree that society would not approve of.
Her eyes wished to linger on his profile.
Her ears wished to listen to his baritone voice tell jokes.
Her fingers wished to touch the back of his hand and discover if his skin felt the same as it did so many years ago.
Of course, she did none of those things. It would be most improper.
She couldn’t help but wonder if he was sneaking looks at her too.
Later, Beatrice brought in the tray with the final course of sweet pudding and some mulled wine.
She placed the little puddings on the table between the two armchairs in front of the fire, and set the copper pot holding the mulled wine very close to the flames so that the wine would remain steaming hot.
The two of them rose from the table and took their seats in the armchairs without any hesitation, as if this were their usual practice.
They ate the puddings, they talked. Douglas’s dark green eyes seemed to glow with a warmth that was not due to the fire.
The mulled wine was absolutely delicious, brimming with spices and more than a hint of citrus.
The rich liquid seemed to warm Joy from inside out, and she kept sipping it as much for comfort as for thirst. It wasn’t until she found her head spinning that she realized she was on her third cup, which was too many for her.
Under normal circumstances, she never would have indulged so much.
But floating underneath all of the cinnamon and clove and orange rind was an idea that she was too scared to face.
And that idea was simply that if she chose to, she could ask Douglas to join her in a bed and then she would learn just what it would’ve been like to be married to him.
She did not ask. Every time she thought she might have the courage, she quailed and took another sip of mulled wine instead.
It was easier to do that than to speak the fatal words and risk his rejection.
And it would be a terrible rejection, because she knew by now it would be so kindly rendered and gently spoken, that she could not even be offended at being turned down as a one-time lover after having been turned down as the choice for a wife.
Now the glass sat empty in front of her, and she knew she certainly couldn’t pour more, and also that she was confused and very tired and strangely aroused even in her frustration.
She turned to Douglas, and said, too abruptly, “I must go to bed.” She couldn’t manage to speak aloud the second part of her sentence, which was: will you join me?
“It’s late,” he agreed. Then he looked at her empty glass and back to her nervous and lopsided smile. “Did you have two glasses of wine?”
“Three. Or four,” she admitted. For what good would come of lying at this point?
His brow furrowed. “Hhhhm. You never did well with wine.”
He stood over her and pulled her up to a standing position, and naturally she overbalanced and fell against him, only to be cradled in his arms as she sagged against his chest. Why did he have to be so solid and comfortable?
“I could carry you up the stairs,” he said, his voice shockingly close in her ear.
All kinds of ideas rushed into her mind when he said those words.
If only he would carry her, holding her close, as he made his way to bed, and then lay her down upon it, and lean over her and kiss her deeply as he confessed that this too was what he wanted more than anything.
“I’ll be fine,” she whispered, not fine at all.
He did carry her up the stairs, because she was unequal to the challenge of putting one foot above the other.
But he set her down once they reached the upper floor, and wrapped an arm about her waist as he guided her to her doorway.
She admitted that she did not lock the door, only to be told that all travelers should lock their doors, for there was no such thing as a completely safe accommodation at an inn.
She retorted that they were in the middle of a snowstorm, and any thief foolish enough to attempt stealing anything would surely know that they’d be caught because they could not run away.
She was extremely proud of herself for such logic in spite of the mulled wine and her increasingly intense wish to be kissed—firmly, authoritatively kissed—by Douglas.
He opened her door and walked her to her bed. Wren wasn’t there, and Joy speculated aloud that she was keeping their coachman warm wherever he was sleeping. “They’re in love, you know.”
“I guessed,” Douglas said with exaggerated patience. He pulled the covers back and guided her to sit on the edge of the bed. Then he said, “I don’t believe you’re in a state to undress yourself and change into…whatever it is you wear at night.”
The obvious offer hung in the air between them. Why did she not say the words? You could undress me, sir. You could perform that great favor of removing my clothing and then doing whatever it is a man would like to do to an unclad woman alone in a bedroom. I want you to.
But though she thought those words very loudly, she did not speak them. What came out instead was a mumbled “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to drink so much.”
But hadn’t she? And didn’t she mean far more than she was saying?
Douglas smoothed her pillow and then laid her back on it, his face a study in emotions. He looked incredibly interested in every minute action he was performing, and she told herself that meant he was interested in her as well. But if that were so, why did he not kiss her?