Page 247 of Ten Lords for the Holidays

Nay, not that. Never that. “Ah-hem.” Her breath caught in her lungs as she forgot to focus beyond where he surveyed the torn skin. “Mercy me.”

“Aye?” He glanced at her from beneath dark brows, his shaded eyes alit, but not in the fearsome manner of the creature who had stalked her winded steps. Nay, Mr. Chapman’s eyes were lit with something she couldn’t quite discern.

Interest, you tart. You recognize it well enough. Now that he’s not shoving you back out in the sleet and slurry, he’sinterested. You’re just afraid of it.

Was she? Not ever having known the taste of a man’s lips upon her own, nor that of his bare-fingered grasp upon hers...

See there, loose Lucinda?!Her inner voice practically cackled.You went from interest to kissing!

True. For despite the horrid afternoon and wickedly frightening night, all of a sudden savoring such illicit touches wasallshe wanted to think about.

“Surely, a sin,” he confirmed as though there were never any doubt. “For someone as alluring and bloomy as yourself should never be considered somber.”

Bloomy? She’d not thought of herself as attractive as spring flowers, as fresh and unspoiled as new growth in years. Perhaps a decade or more. To hear him spout such now? Did he play her false? Seek to woo some desperate non-tart into his bed with such drivel? Or did he, mayhap if miracles were shining down upon her, see past the tired, ennui-riddled companion to the sprightly woman within? The one who yearned daily to bloom in truth, right past the staid chignon weighing down her hopes and nape every bit as much as the drenched dress did her weary frame?

Too tired to attempt to decipher his intent tonight, she forced a wan smile, reluctantly slid her trembling fingers from his beguiling grasp where they wanted to linger, fisted them and crossed both arms in front of her chest. “And you accusemeof tippling? For shame, Mr. Chapman. For you, sir, most certainly must have imbibed sufficiently this eve to cast such clouds upon your clarity. Not if you think I would succumb to such sprouted drivel.”

Brier let her retreat. For now.

Didn’t think it wise to mention the rousing bruise flaring upon her cheek and jaw. He hadn’t noticed it earlier, when her face was flushed with exertion and fear, but now? The swelling was unmistakable. He was surprised she hadn’t remarked upon the pain herself.

Also surprised she hadn’t mentioned the pounder that had to be pressing upon her forehead, given the way she occasionally squinted.

Neither had he once witnessed her placing those sweetly trembling fingers upon her jaw or the side of her face—the ones that gave evidence his touch affected more than himself—nay, she had tucked her hands away and armored herself against any further inspections. As to the swelling upon her face, mayhap so much had happened this eve it had failed to knock upon her consciousness.

“I have some ointment upstairs.” He pushed off the cot—with more reluctance than he would have expected a mere twenty minutes ago. “I’ll retrieve—”

“You should not.” She gathered her skirts close, tucked them beneath trim hips and gazed out toward the public shop area. “I should be off now. Surely, the threat since has left?” Her voice rose, denying what was meant to be a statement. “I must find a room. A—”

He knelt before her, rested his knees upon the hard floor and decided not to chide himself when his arms edged along the sides of her legs, his thumbs resting lightly near her waist—his longer fingers—drat their determined hides—settling, ever so carefully, mightily close to her hinderlands.

“Shush. You will not be leaving. Not tonight, possibly not tomorrow—not with the way the freezing rain continues to fall.” If he were lucky, the cobbles would be iced to within an inch of their life, leaving the two of them cocooned within, without a single customer or reminder of the world outside to mar this unexpected interlude.

This close, the scent of her, deeper than the comforting, spicy fragrance he’d appreciated earlier, perhaps her own personal aroma, reached through his unsuspecting nostrils and gripped his innards hard. Made it a chore not to grip her plump posterior and haul her closer.

“But my interview.” Fidgets overtook her calm demeanor, arms uncrossed, fingers began restlessly plucking at the fabric gathered in her lap. “I must go. Cannot remain here—”

He leaned back, giving her room to panic, his heart pounding harder than it had a right to. At the thought of her leaving? Or at her nearness?

A staggered gasp escaped her lips. She held up several inches of dirt-caked material between them. “Stars and sadness, my dress.”

He watched, barely avoided cringing as she stuck one bare, raw-looking hand through a massive gash in the skirt, her face falling when it came right through. Wiggled torn fingers and then quickly pulled her hand back, wiping off the grime on a petticoat. Ripped, also. “Argh.” Dismay sighed from her. “It’s totally ruined.”

And she was only now noticing?

“You see why I bid you to remain? At least until you have sufficient rest and time to gather your scattered wits.” And scattered belongings? For she had arrived empty-handed. “Come, share the rest,” he coaxed, unwilling to wait for her agreement before gaining answers, “and I will listen without censure.” At least, he would attempt to. “To start, why in the world would you travel on such a miserable day? And alone? Are you to meet with family?”

CHRISTMASTIDE CONFESSIONS

“Family?”The strained laugh erupted before Lucinda could stop it. She slapped a hand over her mouth and winced at the soreness in her palm. Lowering the stinging appendage, she schooled her countenance into the calmest, most bland appearance she could manage. The one she had perfected whenever her prior employer would complain about her servants, her neighbors, her gout or her gadfly-infested chickens (the poultry Lucinda tended on a daily basis, not a gadfly in sight). “No, sir. I am not here to meet with family. Lest you think to chastise further, ’twas sunny and serene when I set off this morn for the coaching station, the dark clouds not visible till halfway here.”

“Your coach did not pause when things became dangerous?”

Dangerouswas the scarcely there brush of his fingers upon her lighted, dirty person.Dangerouswas how her insides reacted to his proximity. “Had the other carriage not careened into us, I daresay we would have made it here, wet but all in one piece. As for myself, I could do naught but hold on and hope for the best—”

“Hold on?”

“I…” She grasped to hold on to her rapidly disintegrating composure—had a man not family ever remained so near? Ever? “I rode up top to save coinage,” she confessed.

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