Chapter 4
Justina peered out the carriage window as London slowly faded into the distance.
The duke’s plan to retrieve her valise from Adelasia’s shop had been a success.
His driver had returned to the carriage carrying what looked to be a purchase in plain brown paper, and now they were finally on their way out of town.
She sighed softly. How strange her life had become in just a day’s time. Fleeing her home, her city, with a stranger who was also a duke in an effort to avoid a lover who may or may not be hunting her.
If it wasn’t so frightening, she might have laughed.
As it was, she felt more like crying, not that she would allow herself to do so. She refused to cry any more tears because of Nigel, though she’d certainly been alarmed when she’d seen him outside Adelasia’s shop. At least, she thought she saw him. She hoped she was wrong.
Because if she wasn’t—if she had seen him—that meant his threats had been genuine, and he truly was determined to find her and keep her, willing or not.
Oh, Phillip, I’ve been so stupid.
Her husband’s kind blue eyes flitted through her mind, and her heart squeezed with missing him.
He’d always been the patient, steady side of the coin that was their partnership, where she was impulsive and strong-willed.
Was he watching her now from above? Was he disappointed in her and the choices she’d made that had led her here?
She wouldn’t blame him if he was. She was certainly disappointed in herself.
She should have seen what Nigel was, should have known that he was not the sort of man she should invite into her life.
But how was she to know what he was? She’d discussed her expectations, laid out her rules, and he’d agreed. How was she to know he’d been lying?
Good heavens, being a woman could be so exhausting sometimes. She tried so hard to stay safe, to take measures to protect herself, and still she found herself at the mercy of a man’s whims. Nigel had decided he wasn’t ready to let her go, and that single decision had upended her entire life.
Stupid man. She closed her eyes, hoping sleep would overcome her and allow her to forget her troubles for a while.
Alas, it was not to be. Sleep proved elusive for the rest of the day’s journey, and by the time their carriage finally rolled to a stop at the Fox and Hen Inn late that afternoon, Justina was quite tired—and tired of the carriage.
“Here we are,” the duke said with surely more cheer than one ought to have after a long day of travel.
“At last,” Justina grumbled, stretching her arms out as images of a steaming hot bath floated temptingly through her mind.
“Wait here,” he said. “I’ll check that the coast is clear.”
The duke—Gregory, she reminded herself—exited the carriage and gave their surroundings a long perusal before turning back.
“I think it’s safe,” he said as he offered his hand to help her down from the carriage.
He looked so handsome standing there, so delectably rumpled from travel with his crooked cravat and shadowed jaw that she stumbled on the first step and pitched forward, falling toward the hard ground below.
Two strong arms caught her around the middle and she collided with the duke’s broad chest.
He tugged her closer to steady her and she stilled, her eyes on his, now mere inches from her own. Everything, including her own heartbeat, seemed to freeze in time as he held her against his body, his gaze sliding to her mouth.
“Are you all right?” he asked, the words a rough murmur she felt in her knees.
“I’m fine,” she breathed. “Thank you.”
Disentangling herself from his arms, she smoothed her skirts back into place and headed toward the entrance to the inn, doing her best to ignore her wobbly legs.
“Welcome and good evening.” A portly man with kind blue eyes and a shock of thick, white hair greeted them from the receiving desk. “I’m Martin. Are you in need of a room?”
The interior of the inn was as neat and tidy as its exterior, surely a good sign that the bedrooms would be clean and the food at least edible.
“Two rooms, please, Mr. Martin,” Gregory said, coming up beside her. “We’ll be departing in the morning.”
The innkeeper shook his head regretfully. “I’m sorry, sir, but I’ve only one room available for tonight.”
The duke’s shoulders stiffened, and when he turned to look at her, his gaze was questioning, his cheeks faintly red.
He was leaving the decision up to her. Do we stay or do we go on to the next inn?
The thought of getting back in that carriage again made the decision an easy one.
“Thank you, sir,” she said to the innkeeper. “One room will be perfectly adequate.”
“Very good, miss,” Mr. Martin replied. “My wife will be along shortly to show you to your room.”
Gregory cleared his throat. “Right. Well. I suppose a brother and sister can share a room for one night without killing one another.”
Justina blinked at him, confused for a moment, then she smothered a smile as realization dawned. Oh, he was adorable, wasn’t he?
“I shall certainly try my best, brother dear,” she said with a sly wink. She had no qualms about sharing a room with him, but the situation clearly ruffled his dukely sense of honor, so she would play along, if only for his sake.
Gregory said nothing to that, but the flush in his cheeks had deepened and he was very obviously avoiding her gaze.
The innkeeper’s wife joined them a moment later, greeting them with a warm if weary smile.
“If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to your room,” Mrs. Martin said.
She was a stout woman with round cheeks and glossy brown curls beneath her white cap.
“I do hope the accommodations will suffice. Our rooms are small, but they are clean.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Justina replied, following the woman up the stairs with Gregory behind her. “I am certain we will be most comfortable tonight.”
She wasn’t certain of any such thing, but it was the only response she could give the lady.
The truth—that up until a day ago, this man she was with had been a total stranger to her but now she was having impure thoughts about him, and they would be sharing a room together—was not something she wished to share with strangers.
Or anyone. Ever.
“Here we are then.” The innkeeper’s wife unlocked the chamber door and pushed it open, granting them access.
Justina stepped inside and swept her gaze over the small, well-kept space, which included a bed, an antique escritoire, and a dressing table with a plain porcelain basin and pitcher of water for washing.
The linens and rugs appeared to be clean, and though the room—and the inn, for that matter—was far from fashionable, it would do quite nicely for the night.
“Thank you, ma’am, this will be fine,” Gregory said, smiling at the woman and still avoiding Justina’s gaze.
“Very good, sir,” Mrs. Martin replied. “Then I shall leave you now, but if you need anything, you have only to ask.”
And then she was gone, shutting the door behind her, leaving Justina alone with Gregory in their little room with the little bed, which seemed to be shouting in the silence that continued to stretch between them.
Justina turned to face him, clearing her throat. “Brother and sister?” she asked, one brow raised.
Gregory gave a sheepish shrug. “I was only trying to keep your reputation untarnished.”
“You’re sweet,” she replied, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “But my reputation has been frayed at the edges for a long while now.”
He said nothing to that, simply stood there, looking at her, and for one brief moment she thought she detected a flicker of heat in his eyes.
But he turned away before she could be sure, and edged toward the door.
“I’m hungry,” he said. “I think I’ll go down to the common room and see what there is to eat. Would you like to join me?”
Justina pursed her lips. Strictly speaking, he’d just invited her to dinner, but she had a feeling he hoped she would decline.
Have it your way, Duke.
“Thank you, no,” she said, keeping her voice even. “I’m still rather full from our afternoon meal.”
He nodded once and turned toward the door. She waited until his hand was on the knob before uttering her next words.
“I would greatly love a bath, though,” she said with all the innocence of a lamb. Or a sister. “Would it be an imposition if I were to ask you to arrange one for me?”
She saw his throat move as he swallowed. “Of course not. I’d be glad to.”
Again he turned to leave.
Again she stopped him.
“Before you go...”
He turned to look at her.
“...will you help me with my gown?”
She could have easily asked a maid or even the innkeeper’s wife to assist her, but where was the fun in that?
Gregory hesitated, his throat working again, then his hand slipped from the knob, and he turned from the door. “Of course,” he said, and the gruff edge to his voice made her belly flutter.
She turned her back to him and clasped her hands before her, every nerve in her body prickling, aware of his nearness, his heat, as he closed the distance between them.
“So many buttons,” he murmured, his warm breath rustling the wispy curls at her nape.
Her hands clenched with the effort to suppress a shiver, but she could not hold it back at the first brush of his knuckles against her sensitized skin.
She closed her eyes, bewildered by the intensity of her reaction to this man she had only just met.
Heart thudding, she forced a chuckle, which emerged more croak than laugh, and said, “And men wonder why it takes women so long to dress for an occasion. Half that time is spent on the buttons alone.”
“I imagine so,” he replied with a low chuckle, his fingers drifting downward to work on the next button. “They’re awfully tiny. Not made with a man’s hands in mind.”
The words conjured all manner of sinful images, and Justina was caught somewhere between ecstasy and agony as he loosened her gown, each accidental brush of his fingers plucking at the strings of her desire.
God, what was the matter with her? She was only here because a former lover was chasing after her, but her body seemed to have forgotten that. Her body thought it was time to play with her new friend.
“There,” Gregory said, the word unnaturally loud in the silence of the room. “All done.”
His voice, like her breathing, was not entirely even, and the realization that she was, perhaps, not alone in her attraction was both a relief and a temptation.
A temptation she knew she ought to ignore.
Holding the bodice of her gown in place with both hands, she turned to face him with a grateful smile. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he said, though he made no move to leave. He made no move at all, in fact, save for his eyes, which drifted over her like a lazy caress, lighting her up wherever they touched.
His body was still, yet noticeably taut, as if straining against the bonds of his self-restraint, and the thought of chipping away—kissing away—that restraint until it crumbled nearly made her reach for him.
“Right. Well.” He turned for the door, his movements as stilted as his speech. “I’ll order your bath and return after I’ve eaten. Will one hour suffice?”
She nodded. “One hour will be fine.”
She watched as he slipped from the room and shut the door behind him and then she released a long, frustrated breath.
“Foolish girl,” she muttered to herself as she began to remove her gown and chemise.
She was playing with fire, teasing the duke that way, and for what? To see what would happen? To stroke her own pride?
No. No. Her motives were not so mercenary. She genuinely desired him and, even more, she was drawn to him. She wanted him to want her.
She wanted to undo him.
With a soft sigh, she slipped on her dressing gown.
Undoing the Duke of Paxton did not strike her as an easy thing to do.
He might desire her, but he was a kind man, an honorable man, and though she didn’t know him well, she had gleaned enough to know he would not take liberties as other men in his situation surely would.
Her brain appreciated his restraint and respect, but her body?
Her body was of a different mind.
Her body wanted to know his touch, his kiss, his every wicked thought he hid behind that mask of manners.
A knock on the door interrupted her musings, and she turned just as the innkeeper’s wife walked in with an armful of clean linens and a maid in tow with an empty tub.
Ten minutes later, Justina sank into the steaming hot water with a grateful sigh and forced all thoughts of a certain handsome duke from her mind.