Chapter 15 #2
As she spoke, she gathered a few extra armfuls of hay and piled them into a makeshift bed.
Davenport made his way slowly through the opening and sank down upon it, stifling a grunt of pain as she helped him out of his coat.
His breathing had begun to sound less labored, but the tightness of his mouth indicated he was still in a great deal of pain.
Caroline spied a bucket under a bench piled high with an assortment of farrier tools.
She filled it with water from a wooden barrel standing by the door, then carried it back and knelt beside the earl.
There was the sound of fabric ripping.
“Ah, well, another shirt ruined,” she remarked with a wry grimace as she dipped a strip of linen in the cold water and started to gently dab at Davenport’s face.
He made a weak sound of protest.
“Stay still, milord, and let me see to these cuts without squirming like a stuck pig.”
Davenport finally found his tongue. “Would that they had cut out my liver and been done with it. It’s getting quite tiresome to be—” He bit off an oath as Caroline touched a raw scrape on his cheek.
“Sorry,” she muttered as she wrung out the cloth and applied a compress to the swelling.
“You are getting very good at this.”
She gave a short laugh. “If you don’t have a care, sir, your bruises will soon be a match for mine.”
That drew a reluctant smile from him. “What a pair we are,” he responded.
“What in the name of Hades ever made you follow those men? Surely, you could see they were spoiling for a fight. You could have gotten yourself in more trouble than you can imagine—as you see, it took them little time to figure out you were not an ordinary street urchin.”
“I am well aware what mood they were in—the mood for blood.”
“But not yours,” he retorted. “You should have gone on to the inn and taken the first coach to London. I could have handled the situation very well myself.”
Caroline cocked a brow. “Indeed? If I had been one of those gentlemen, I’m not sure I would have been quaking in my boots.” A shrug. “Besides, you told me the coach didn’t leave until close to dawn.”
“Well, it was a damn foolish thing to do. Will you never learn to be sensible?”
“Probably not,” she answered. “But be that as it may, you’ve pulled my irons out of the fire more than once on this journey, at considerable risk to your own person.” Setting the bucket aside, she looked up to meet his gaze. “I owed you.”
Davenport’s expression hardened. “I’m sorry that you felt compelled to put yourself in danger,” he said stiffly. “No doubt you—what are you doing?”
Caroline undid the last button of his shirt and opened it to expose his chest. With a sharp intake of breath, she stared down at the reddening welt across his ribs, then her eyes flared hot with anger.
“The cur!” she exclaimed. “What a bloody coward to have struck you thus when you were helpless to protect yourself.” Her hand was already running gently over the bruises. It lingered against the tanned flesh. “Do you think anything is broken?”
Perhaps it was simply the flickering light playing tricks, but Davenport thought that he caught a glimmer of tears.
The idea was ludicrous, he told himself. Perhaps he was more feverish than he had thought.
“You had better start minding your language. It’s becoming as colorful as that of a guttersnipe,” he answered softly.
“And no, there are no broken bones. There is no need to fret—it’s just a bruise.
I assure you, I’ve experienced far worse knocks.
It will take a lot more than this for me to come a cropper. ”
Caroline was starting to shiver. He reached out and pulled her down beside him. The air had become distinctly colder, he realized, and no doubt that was the reason.
“Lud, I am a selfish oaf,” he muttered. “You’re freezing, and exhausted to boot, I’m sure. It has been a…trying day.” He curled his arm around her waist and drew her even closer. “It is you who must try to sleep.”
Strangely enough, she snuggled against his shoulder with nary a hesitation.
“I thought they were going to…hurt you terribly,” whispered Caroline. Her hand was still on his bare chest. It feathered across the muscled planes and dark curls as it drew his shirt half-closed. “Let me get your coat. You mustn’t catch a chill.”
Davenport caught her arm and held her back.
“Stop worrying about me. I assure you, I’m feeling quite warm.
” He shifted his position, savoring the feel of her body.
The back of her fit snugly into the crook of his body, like the piece of a missing puzzle.
He hadn’t been lying—he was acutely aware of the heat emanating from her.
She made a small sound, then shifted slightly.
Her rounded buttocks grazed lightly against the front of his breeches.
He gritted his teeth as a jolt of desire throbbed throughout his entire body.
It wasn’t mere physical need—the reasons were too complex, too overwhelming for him to put into words.
All he knew was that he wanted to comfort and protect her and, at the same time, arouse in her the same sort of feelings that suddenly had him in thrall. He wanted her to…
To what? Feel the same irresistible sense of connection between them?
Damnation. He gave up trying to make rational sense of it and simply closed his eyes.
Slowly, slowly, his hand stole up and touched her breast.
She gave a start and then lay utterly still. Ever so gently, he found the opening of her shirt and caressed his fingers over her bare flesh.
Caroline gave a low moan. Her hips began moving restlessly from side to side against him. The earl sucked in his breath.
“Yes, my sweet urchin, intimacy can be pleasurable for a lady too,” he whispered as he nibbled at the lobe of her ear. His lips then moved to hers—and in the next moment, they were twined in a long and lush kiss.
“O-Oh.” Caroline leaned back, looking dazed.
“Has your husband never touched you with tenderness instead of slaps?” he asked.
“N-N-No,” she managed to gasp.
“The selfish lout. He should be horsewhipped,” he said hoarsely as he pressed a kiss to her forehead.
A part of him wanted to continue…but a disquieting thought somehow beggared its way into his consciousness.
He was acting no better than his reprobate brother, about to tumble another man’s wife in the straw of a barn.
That awful thought managed to bank the fires of his desire.
But it wasn’t so very wrong, argued another, more defiant voice in his head. She was an experienced lady, knowing full well where this was going. Why, they would be acting no differently than half the ton. It was accepted behavior, if not condoned, so why shouldn’t they indulge their passion?
Besides, the voice added, she deserved to know a touch of pleasure.
A ragged sigh escaped his lips. For a brief instant, he found himself wishing he had the morals of his brother as well as his looks. It wasn’t in him, however. Perhaps he was a romantic fool, but if they did embark on a liaison, it would be amid candlelight, silk and champagne.
Steely resolve cooled his wild urges. He turned Caroline to face him. “Forgive me for taking such liberties.” He tucked an errant lock of hair behind her ear. “Words don’t always come easily to me. But I want you to know how…how much I admire your courage, your sense of honor and your kindness.”
She smiled tentatively. “Your eyes are so changeable. Right now they are such a clear blue—the storm clouds seem to have been blown to sea.”
“Despite your knack for getting into trouble, you seem to make the sun shine through thick and thin.”
When she started to speak again, he pressed a finger to her lips. “Hush, we had better get some rest. We must be on the move at first light.”
Caroline sighed…and, a moment later, fell asleep in his arms.
* * *
Davenport awoke before dawn as the horse in the stall beside them gave a kick to the splintered wood.
Rough straw pickled his neck, his clothes were stiff with salt and his chin prickled with a night’s stubble.
And that was hardly the worst of it. There was barely a part of his anatomy that wasn’t paining him.
His spirits, however, hadn’t felt so light in ages as he glanced down at Caroline—that is, until he remembered she was someone else’s wife.
Her eyes opened slowly, then she sat up with a start.
“Oh!” A furious blush spread over her at the sight of the earl’s open shirt and her own disheveled clothing. “Ummm…I imagine we had better be off if we are to catch the first coach,” she said in a rush of words, struggling to fasten the buttons of her shirt and rise at the same time.
His hand stopped her fumblings. “Nay,” he said gently. “We have time. We needn’t rush.” He brushed a wisp of straw from her loosened hair. “Caroline, there is no need to feel embarrassed—or guilty. Your husband doesn’t deserve any loyalty for what he has done to you.”
Her eyes dropped to the ground.
“Look at me, urchin.”
She still refused to meet his gaze. “Do you still care for him, despite?” His voice had become rather brittle.
“I…”
His eyes took on the color of cold steel as he waited for her to go on.
“I don’t…”
“Yes?”
“I don’t…have a husband.”
Davenport could only stare at her in mute astonishment. “What?” he finally managed to croak.
“I’m sorry. I let you believe that because it seemed, well, easier at the time.”
“You mean to say you are not married?” He said the words slowly and deliberately, as if drawing them out might help him comprehend their full import.
She nodded.
“Not ever?”
She nodded again.
“Bloody hell!”
He was on his feet in a trice and began muttering a series of salty oaths as he paced furiously within the narrow confines of their refuge.
Her face turned ashen. “I didn’t realize you would be so angry with me. I am so very sorry. Obviously, you are regretting—”