Page 17 of Wickedly Yours
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Rowan watchedArabella from beneath his lashes not surprised to see her scowling at him, before turning to look out the window. She raised a hand to brush a wisp of hair off her forehead, her fingers trembling. Her dark eyes held the sheen of tears and her bottom lip quivered briefly as if she would weep.
Rowan resisted the urge to climb across the seat and pull her into his arms whether she wished comfort or not. Clearly, Arabella was distressed but he sensed any attempt to offer her solace would be met with a scathing remark. He shut his eyes and forced himself to relax despite Arabella’s presence. An impossible task.
12
Rain beat against the walls of the coach, the window panes shaking as thunder sounded in the sky. The horses slowed as a small coaching inn came into view, it’s courtyard empty but for one other coach. The storms had intensified, the rain giving way to sleet and gusting wind.
The coach slowed to a stop. Malden opened his eyes, barely sparing her a glance before he exited the vehicle. She could hear the muted tones of the coachman speaking to Rowan.
A bolt of lightning snaked across the darkening sky.
The door to the coach flew open and Malden’s dark head popped through, raindrops dotting his hair and shoulders. “We need fresh horses and something to eat.”
“No. We should push on. My aunt will be concerned as will my brother. We can’t afford to stop.” Aunt Maisywouldbe concerned. She wasn’t so sure that Nick would be.
“We’re stopping and for longer than it would take to only change horses. The roads are becoming dangerous. Hopefully the storm will pass us by as we refresh ourselves.”
“I think we should press on. I’m not hungry.” In truth, her stomach had been grumbling for hours but she didn’t wish to be in Malden’s presence any longer than necessary. Her thoughts were jagged. Sharp. And she’d been thinking of her parents which she never welcomed.
“I insist.” As if to make Malden’s point the wind gusted up and the coach rocked. The light was beginning to fade, and more thunder grumbled somewhere in the distance. He held out his hand to assist her out of the coach. “Besides, the driver refuses to continue in this weather no matter how much I pay him. Come, let’s make the best of things.”
Rowan was not wearing gloves and the sight of the large masculine hand held out to her caused Arabella to shirk back.
“As you will.” He shook his head in disgust and turned from her. “I’ll be inside, Arabella. When you decide you’d like to get out of the rain and have something warm to eat, then you are welcome to join me. Your mood is as foul as the weather. Should you decide to continue your sour attitude you may stay in the coach.”
She opened her mouth to reply but Malden was already out of hearing, and rapidly disappearing from view. His coat, worse for the wear, stretched against the breadth of his shoulders as his long legs churned up the muddy ground between the coach and the inn. The riding breeches he wore were dirty and seemed pasted to the muscles of his thighs.
Indecently tight.
Arabella blinked and shook her head. Exhaustion was making her delirious. She didn’t give a fig for the cut of Malden’s breeches.
The wind intensified, slamming the door of the coach closed.
“My lady?” The driver, his cloak whipping about his form, forced the door back open. “I need to see to the horses.” He held out a hand to help her down.
“Yes, of course.” Taking the driver’s hand, she nodded, silently cursing Malden for abandoning her so quickly. Clutching her own cloak tightly, Arabella struggled against the wind as she made her way inside.
* * *
“We will haveto stay the night, unfortunately.” Malden stood before her in his rumpled clothes looking as disappointed as she was that they were destined to spend a night in each other’s company. She’d assumed Malden meant to drive all night to reach London, but that was impossible now. The storm prevented further travel.
Arabella looked out the window of the small common room she found herself in. The wind had picked up, tossing tree branches and leaves against the inn. She could barely make out the barn.
“I see.” She pushed back the cup of weak tea she’d been nursing.
The common room smelled of damp and spilled ale, the fire barely able to keep the chill from the room. An older woman, wisps of gray hair hovering about her temples, moved among the tables, carefully stacking empty plates in her arms. The common room must have been quite busy earlier.
“I hope that you do,” Malden snapped, before taking a deep breath. “The inn has no more rooms to let. As you may have guessed, this establishment typically only feeds travelers, as close as it is to London. Few stay the night. The lone guest room is occupied.”
Dear God, she’d have to bed down on the floor before the fire. She looked down at the dirty floor. There were bound to be vermin hiding somewhere in the corners. “Full?”
“An elderly couple traveling to London to visit their daughter. The only other room belongs to the owner and his wife.” He nodded towards the woman stooping to sweep the floor. “I would not presume to ask either couple to vacate their lodging.” The look he gave her brooked no discussion on her part. Deep shadows were etched under his eyes and his hair stood on end. He still smelled vaguely of horse.
Arabella found him absolutely breathtaking.
“The owner hasgraciously,” Malden emphasized the word, “offered us the use of his parlor. I’m sorry you won’t have a bed, but under the circumstances, it’s the best we can do.”
