Chapter 7
Justina awoke the following morning engulfed in a deliciously warm cocoon. She snuggled deeper into the mattress and the strong, undeniably male arms encircling her, a dreamy sigh escaping her lips.
Then her eyes popped open and she stiffened as realization dawned. Gregory. Gregory was in bed with her. It was Gregory’s arms wrapped around her, Gregory’s chest pressed against her back.
Gregory’s hard arousal nudging her backside.
His rather impressive arousal, she thought, giving a searching little wiggle that sent heated shivers through her body, even as she acknowledged the strangeness of waking up with a man in her bed.
Since Phillip died, she’d made love with a handful of men, but she’d never slept with any of them, not once. She hadn’t wanted to. Falling asleep with a man, waking up beside him, had felt too intimate, too vulnerable. Too wrong.
Waking up with Gregory beside her didn’t feel wrong, though. It felt…nice. Safe. Perhaps because they hadn’t made love? Or was it because they were friends of a sort?
Gregory’s hand began to wander, slipping from her waist to her hip and down her thigh, squeezing and shaping until her breathing was decidedly uneven. She was moments away from rolling over and kissing him awake when the hand gripping her thigh went suddenly, perfectly still.
He was awake.
Feeling mischievous, she gave another wiggle of her backside against his erection, earning a hissing intake of breath that made her smile.
“Good morning, Gregory.”
He cleared his throat and his hand slid from her thigh as he slipped from the bed.
“Good morning.” His voice was a husky rumble of arousal and embarrassment.
Justina rolled onto her other side and propped up on one elbow, watching as he crossed the carpet to the hearth.
“I gather the cot was unsatisfactory?” she prodded when it became obvious he had no intention of speaking anytime soon.
“The cot was unbearable,” he said, picking up the fire poker and giving the now-cold coals a good poke. “I spent nearly two hours trying to sleep on it before I finally gave up.” He flicked her a searching glance. “I hope you don’t mind that I...joined you.”
His cheeks had gone red, and tempted though she was to tease him, she refrained. “Of course I don’t mind. A good night’s sleep is important.”
His discomfort was sweet. The world could use a few more genuine gentlemen like Gregory. Her stomach gave a hearty growl then, reminding her that it had been several hours since its last feeding. Tossing the covers back, she climbed out of bed and padded to the wardrobe to retrieve her valise.
“I’m famished,” she said, merely to fill the silence which had settled over the room, cloying and not entirely comfortable. No doubt, on account of the duke’s morning erection. “I hope breakfast is as good as dinner was.”
“So do I,” Gregory said. “I feel as though I could eat a horse.”
They spent the next few minutes chattering about what they hoped to eat while they readied themselves for the day, and then they left their room and headed for the stairs.
“I never have liked to eat fish in the morning,” Justina was saying as she began to descend the stairs towards the common room. “But then, I’m not overly fond of fish at any time of—”
She broke off, freezing mid-step as she caught sight of a man below, walking past the foot of the stairs, tall and lean with blond hair curling around his beaver hat.
“Justina? Is something amiss?” Gregory asked.
She pursed her lips, her gaze still fixed on the landing below. “I just saw Lord Lovelace.”
There was a beat of silence, and then he said, “Are you certain it was him?”
“Yes. It was him.” She nibbled her lower lip and considered what to do next. “He was heading for the door, so I think he was leaving.”
Gregory nodded. “We gave false names when we checked in, so if he spoke with the innkeeper, he would have been told that no Justina Dunne had been here.”
“He might have asked if a lady matching my description has been here,” she pointed out.
“True. But only a couple of guests and the innkeeper and his wife have seen us, and you’re traveling with me, which Lovelace probably doesn’t know.”
She nodded, trying to be reassured by his words, but she couldn’t help feeling uneasy.
“Come, let’s go back to our room,” Gregory said. “I’ll have some food sent up, and while I’m doing that, I’ll ask the innkeeper if anyone has asked about you.”
At the mention of food, Justina’s stomach rumbled, reminding her it still had not been fed. The prospect of eating did not sound terribly appealing just now, but her body was in need of sustenance, and she would not deny it.
“It’s going to be all right, Justina,” Gregory said as he escorted her into their room.
She gave him a wan smile. “I know. I’m fine. Truly.”
He studied her for another moment as if wanting to say more but when he spoke again, it was only to say, “I’ll be back shortly. Lock the door behind me.”
Justina did as he instructed, locking the door after he’d gone, and as she leaned her back against the cool, hard oak, she had to shut her eyes against the tumult of emotion rushing through her.
“Dash it all,” she muttered.
She’d lied to Gregory. She wasn’t fine. Not at all. She was worried and frustrated and so bloody angry she could scream.
The next ten minutes passed as if through treacle while Justina paced the small room, glancing obsessively at the simple mahogany clock on the mantel.
Finally, a soft knock sounded on the door before Gregory’s muffled voice announced his return.
Quickly, Justina unlocked the door and let him inside. “Well?” she demanded, locking the door again before turning to face him. “Was it him?”
“It was Lovelace,” he confirmed, his brow furrowed. “I explained your situation to the innkeeper and he and his wife assured me they gave the man no information. Not even when Lovelace described your appearance, as you suspected he would.”
Relief swamped her. “Oh, thank goodness,” she breathed. “Then he’s gone?”
“Apparently so. But I think it would be wise if we stayed here another night and put some distance between us and Lovelace. What do you think?”
She nodded. “I agree.”
“Good. I’ve asked for any sightings of him to be reported to us immediately and I—”
Justina’s stomach interrupted him with a decidedly grumpy rumble and Gregory broke off with a smile.
“And,” he continued, “I’ve asked that our breakfast be brought to our room posthaste.”
Only a few minutes later, a maid arrived with a large tray of eggs, sausages, toast and tea. The two sat before the fire, and Justina forced herself to eat, though she barely tasted the food, her thoughts still consumed with the morning’s close call.
The hope she’d had that Nigel wasn’t looking for her, small though it had been, was well and truly dead.
He’d travelled here to this inn, asked the innkeeper if she was staying here, even described her appearance, as if he’d suspected she might be using a false name.
It had been four days since their encounter on the street, and he was still looking for her.
She flashed back to that night again, to the look in his eyes—ice cold but feverish—and a shudder ran up her spine.
She’d gotten lucky today. Nigel might have seen her, but he hadn’t, and the innkeeper had concealed her presence here. But that didn’t mean she was safe. Nigel’s efforts might have been thwarted today but she doubted he would give up after one setback.
She sighed then forced herself to eat the last bite of egg on her plate. Tomorrow she and Gregory would be on the road again, and hopefully they would manage to outwit Lovelace and make it to Cheshire without further trouble from the dratted man.
Setting her fork on her plate on her lap, she glanced at Gregory, intending to ask him about his plan to take this alternate route. But the question died the moment she spied the frown marring his brow. He looked pensive…almost unhappy, as if something was weighing heavily on his mind.
“What are you thinking about?” she asked, never one to leave her curiosity unsatisfied.
Gregory’s frown vanished and he shook his head. “Nothing.”
He looked down at his plate and speared a sausage with his fork, biting off the end of it.
“I saw that frown on your face,” she said dryly. “You were not thinking of nothing.”
She watched him as he chewed, feeling unaccountably stubborn in her desire to know his thoughts. She wasn’t owed them, and she knew that, but still she wanted them. The idea of there being secrets between them bothered her, though she didn’t entirely understand why.
Gregory was silent as he chewed, and even after he’d swallowed, he did not immediately reply. Finally, he said, “I was thinking about you. I was wondering how a woman like you became involved with a man like Lovelace.”
His eyes met hers, and while she detected no judgment there, still, she felt judged and nothing set her defenses up like feeling judged.
“A woman like me?” she repeated stiffly. “What is a woman like me like?”
“Intelligent. Intriguing. Alluring.”
Her lips parted in surprise, but she snapped them closed, her gaze dipping to her hands which clasped her cup of now-tepid tea.
Well. She certainly hadn’t expected that response. With three words, he’d completely disarmed her and she felt her shoulders relax as her temper cooled.
“I…didn’t know what he was like,” she said, answering his earlier query. “He was charming and handsome, and I thought he would be a pleasant diversion. Unfortunately, he was not the gentleman I thought he was.”
Gregory nodded slowly as he thought over her words. “Is there not some way for you to–I don’t know–make inquiries before welcoming a man into your life?”
Justina arched her brows. “Make inquiries of whom?” she asked. “I understand your point, Gregory, but although I wish there was some sort of reference book for love affairs, there isn’t.”
His brow was furrowed as he set his plate on the floor. “Then every time you engage in an affair with a new man, you just cross your fingers and hope for the best?”
He made it sound foolish—dangerous, even—and that irritated her. “Most men are nothing like Lovelace,” she said stiffly. “Most are gentlemen with simple needs.”
“But not all,” he said softly.
“No. Not all.”
“It seems risky to me.”
She shrugged. “Life is filled with risk, is it not?”
Gregory gave no reply, but his expression was subdued, and she suspected he did not entirely agree with her philosophy or her choices.
But what did he know about being a woman?
He was a man, a duke, with the freedom and power to do as he pleased.
He would never know what it was like to be a person without rights, without power. Without a voice.
“I’m sorry if you disapprove of my choices, Your Grace, but I am a widow, and a woman with needs, and for that I will make no apology.”
His eyes met hers. “Nor should you.”
“I—oh.” She hadn’t expected him to agree with her so readily and her surprise showed.
“I don’t disapprove of you, Justina. I disapprove of Lovelace and any man like him. I understand why he would want to keep you—you’re a desirable woman, after all—but I hate that he thinks he can keep you, simply because he wants to.”
“Oh,” she said again. She swallowed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “You...you think I’m desirable?”
His cheeks reddened, but his gaze was forthright as he answered her with a simple, “Yes.”
She had been complimented by men before, of course, with flowery words and even an occasional poem, but Gregory’s simple answer and the adorable blush were more seductive than any of the compliments from her past.
Slowly she rose to her feet and placed her plate on her chair. She stepped toward him, pausing at his side and then, wanting, needing to touch the blush that had become so dear to her, leaned down and pressed her lips to his cheek.
His eyes met hers, dark and simmering, and Justina brushed her thumb across his cheek where her lips had just been.
“Gregory?” she asked softly.
“Yes, Justina?” His voice was husky, and she felt it all the way to the tips of her toes.
“May I kiss you?”