Chapter 17
She was trembling. Considering her reckless behavior and the cold, damp air of the tunnel, it wasn’t at all surprising.
What did surprise him was her unflinching willingness to endanger herself for the sake of others.
That she had not complained as he ushered her deeper into the unknown quite impressed him.
Even more shocking, though, was the fact that she made no complaint as he held her hands tightly and stood overly close to her.
Once again they were alone together in a perilous position.
He found himself wishing he had not thought to carry his lock pick.
True, it might have been useful for breaking into the gaol, but it would have been so much nicer to have been trapped here with Miss Maidland, locked in the darkness alone.
But no, he needed to get her above ground as quickly as possible.
She was quite chilled, quite frightened, and quite scandalized if anyone should ever know of this adventure.
He would keep his mind on the business of getting her safely home and then regrouping with his men.
God only knew how their mission was going.
It was difficult to think of them, though, when Miss Maidland was practically in his arms. He had half a mind to warm her a bit more. Would she allow it? He might find it interesting to find out how she would react.
She’d berated him for rescuing her in that runaway carriage.
She nearly ran him down in the forest on a stolen mule.
She offered to help when he said he needed to find that mortgage document.
He was dismayed, surprised, and confused by her at every turn.
Now, however, he was at a loss to describe what he felt.
She was the most maddening, worrisome, unpredictable, and enticing woman he’d ever met. He found himself taken by everything about her, even her sharp tongue and the ridiculous costume she was wearing… a costume he was quite sure that he’d seen before.
“I gather this Robin Hood attire is not well suited for dampness and chill,” he commented.
“No… and I couldn’t very well wear my usual things under it.”
Dear God, must she talk of her underthings? The woman shivered from cold, but Robert thought he might literally combust.
“Where did you get it?” he asked, wishing for a distraction. “Oddly enough, it looks exactly like something my grandfather would have worn.”
Now she dipped her head and wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Perhaps he did, sir. I’m afraid I rather stole these clothes from your hunting box. I knew the costume spoke of Robin Hood, and I was afraid that if someone found you hiding there, and then found these clothes there, they might think that…”
“That I was the nefarious Robin Hood,” he finished for her. “And out of concern for my well-being, you stole the clothes and donned them yourself to romp about as Robin Hood in my place.”
“It does sound rather silly when you say it.”
“Yes, it does.”
“And I suppose I look rather silly wearing them,” she sighed.
He lifted her chin to look into her eyes once again. “No, you look positively fetching. Much more so than my dear, bedlamite grandfather did, I must say!”
“Did he truly wear these?”
“Not nearly as well as you do.”
“I only hope it was enough to convince Mr. Gisborn and the sheriff that Robin Hood was here and not… wherever you actually were. What is it you were doing that you needed Mr. Fraytuck to play-act this Robin Hood scheme? It seems quite unfair to involve that good man in such deception.”
“You accuse me of deception? Ah, but Miss Maidland, you never cease to amuse. How, exactly, did your involvement with the good vicar not include deception?”
Her chin jutted out and she huffed in defiance. “I only did what I had to do because you had already begun something that would have surely put you in gaol!”
“And for that I thank you. I can, in fact, inform you that your actions most certainly prevented me from entering that gaol. I only hope, though, that my friends were able to make an appearance there.”
“What? You want them to go to gaol?”
“That’s where we were all headed until I heard that some would-be Robin Hood was causing a stir at the church. I left my men to carry on, and I came to discover you in my grandfather’s hosen.”
“Why on earth were you going to gaol?”
“To break out a good man, of course. But come along. You are still shaking and I fear you’ll catch the ague. I’ve got the lock open so we should be on our way.”
She hesitated, peering past him into the dark passage beyond. “Perhaps… if we will be finding our way out of here, then I should put on more appropriate clothing. It would not do to emerge into public dressed this way.”
“Indeed not,” he agreed, then added with an appreciative glance at the nicely displayed form of her shapely legs. “Although I must admit I have enjoyed this inappropriate clothing in private.”
She was very close to him. The flickering light that hung on the wall cast a golden glow over her creamy skin.
Her eyes were bright with firelight. He touched her face, trailed a finger over her cheek and down along the graceful curve of her neck.
She could have been dressed in fine diamonds and silk, still he would have thought her no more beautiful than she appeared before him just now.
“You took quite a risk today,” he said when it appeared she was at a loss for words.
“Did I?” she asked breathlessly.
“Indeed! You called yourself Robin Hood; you drew your bow on the sheriff and his men; you invited a vicar to bear false witness for you; and then you followed me down into this place. All quite risky behavior.”
“There is no risk in following you,” she assured him. “If I did not trust you, I would never have come.”
Now he found himself at a loss for words.
She gazed up and him and her eyes confirmed what she said.
Despite the odd circumstances surrounding their situation—the quirks of their acquaintance—she trusted him.
Even as he had been so eager to regain his home and bring justice to those who sought his demise, he realized that he cherished her trust over anything else now.
It took every ounce of control that he possessed not to wrap her into his arms and kiss her senseless.
“Er… thank you, Miss Maidland. Perhaps I will just… I’ll move out into the larger passage while you do whatever it is you will do to change your appearance.”
He did so quickly. The way his arms ached to hold her, it would not be wise to continue in such close proximity.
Standing a mere three yards away, however, felt perilously close.
He could hear her movements, the sound of fabric rustling and brushing over her form.
He was in near darkness, yet he closed his eyes anyway.
It did not help. As he discovered, his imagination was quite capable of producing images to correspond with the sounds of her actions.
“Mr. Locksley?” she called after a few minutes.
“Yes, I’m here.”
“Could you… would you help me? It seems I’ve hit rather a snag.”
He swallowed back his terror—and his elation. She needed help dressing? By all means, he was more than willing to give aid.
Rounding the corner to enter the narrow passage, he found her in the pool of dancing light near the sconce. She still wore the hosen and he was treated to the lovely silhouette of her stretching and reaching backward, tugging at the surplus of fabric that covered the top half of her.
“What the devil have you done?”
“I tried to pull my gown on over the tunic—I wore it that way when I left my house earlier. But it seems… this time I forgot that I was also wearing my quiver. Now the gown has caught on it and I can’t take it off or put it on.”
So he would have to assist. This would require moving very close to her, fitting himself in the narrow passage right next to her. Then he would have to touch her.
Indeed, this adventure was far, far more interesting than rescuing Mr. Green from the gaol would have been!
“Very well,” he said boldly. “Now, perhaps if I take hold of your gown—”
“Don’t pull at it! You’ll rip it. I rather like this gown.”
“I’m being careful; just hold still. Let me try to untangle this.”
“You have to reach up under it to find where it’s caught on the quiver.”
“I am… I can’t seem to find—”
“Reach up under my gown, not the tunic!”
Good God, but he contacted her skin. She was warm, remarkably well-formed, and soft as silk.
His hand moved on its own accord, sliding up from her waist, skimming over her belly as she stood stock-still with her back to him.
His other hand joined the first and in just moments she was pulled tight against him, the tunic and gown nearly forgotten as he pushed them easily aside to better hold her, touch her, discover her secrets.
Her breath caught in her throat as she gasped for air. He leaned in, pressing his lips to her neck. She smelled of rosewater and tasted like honey. Heat scorched his soul.
“I told you following me down here was risky,” he whispered.
“I’m still not afraid.”
Perhaps she wasn’t, but he was. He felt desire take hold and was terrified of what it could do to him.
Now was surely not the time to give in, to explore Miss Maidland the way he wanted to.
If she was not going to stop him, he would be the sensible one.
He cared too much for her to let her forget herself here.
He feared too much for his own sanity to dive into the floodwaters of longing and emotion that threatened to sweep him away.
He wanted—no, needed—much more from Miss Maidland than a hasty dalliance in this dark cave.
“Here,” he said, righting her clothes and clearing his head of the intoxication her nearness had caused. “I found the trouble. You can pull your dress down now. It should cover your costume.”
“Er… yes, it is free now. Thank you.”