Page 49 of The Secret Desire of a Fiery Lady

He headed to his own room that he was sharing with Mr Giles. He didn’t feel like socialising anymore. He lay upon the bed, staring up at the ceiling, suddenly feeling bereft.

He hadn’t wanted to leave her. He had wanted to stay lying on that bed with her forever, even if he never satisfied his own needs. But he knew that it was dangerous. Someone could knock on the door, looking for Delia. Or Mr Giles might return to their room, notice he wasn’t there, and start searching for him. And the last thing he wanted to do was embarrass Delia.

He shuddered, turning over onto his side, staring at the wall with unseeing eyes. He could still taste her and feel her. He still felt every shudder that had run through her body as she reached her climax. He had never known a woman to have such an intense, overpowering reaction to his ministrations.

It was unbearably arousing, and he had only managed to hang onto his self-control by the thinnest of threads. He ached to take her, imagining the feeling of being enveloped by the wet silkiness he had tasted. It was the most exquisite torture imaginable.

Suddenly, he got up. He was still aroused. It was coursing through his veins, and it was simply impossible to just lie there thinking about her. It made him want to go down that hallway again, knock on her door, and take her now. He needed to cool off. He needed to take a walk.

He slipped on his heavy coat and went outside. The wind hit him forcibly in the face. Snow was swirling around in the air with such intensity he had to battle his way through it. He headed towards the stables, every step a challenge. But it was clearing his mind and dimming the fire in his blood, at least.

When he reached the stables, all was suddenly quiet. The horses were standing silently in their pens. He saw the fog of their breath as it left their nostrils. He was suddenly very grateful for the quiet after the din of the inn. The fury of the storm had receded within here as well.

He had never desired a woman more in his life. He felt like he would die if he didn’t have her.

And she was lying to him.

The knowledge hit him in the face. She wasn’t being honest about who she was. He was certain of it. Delia Parker—if that was even her name—was lying. There was more to her story than she was admitting. And she didn’t trust him with the truth.

His heart felt heavy. He wanted her to trust him. Was she running away from something or someone? What had happened to her to make her do such a desperate thing? What could cause a fine lady to cast herself adrift from the only life that she had ever known?

Was someone pursuing her?

His blood ran cold. A wave of protectiveness towards her washed over him. He would defend her if that happened. But how could he know what he was defending her against if she wouldn’t trust him?

He sighed heavily. It was his own fault that she didn’t trust him. He was keeping her at arm’s length even as he sought to get closer to her. She was demanding an emotional response from him which he was almost killing himself trying to suppress.

He ran a hand through his hair as despair filled him. For the first time in his life, he was facing a situation he could not control. The feeling was unfamiliar. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like it one little bit.

Chapter 28

Delia slipped Minnie’s woollen shawl around her shoulders as she walked down to the main room of the inn. She saw that dawn was just beginning to break over the sky through the windows. But the snowstorm that had forced them to stop at this inn was still fierce. She bit her lip. It seemed they wouldn’t be in the coach travelling towards Bradford today.

The room was empty now. All the revellers from the previous evening were gone. The fire that had been raging the night before had burnt low—it wasn’t quite embers, but it would be out if not tended soon. She walked up to it, holding out her hands towards it, shivering.

She sighed deeply. She knew she should return to her small, poky room and try to sleep. It would be hours yet until anyone else was up. But she had twisted and turned for the entire night on the hard, lumpy mattress, unable to sleep. Eventually, she had just given up, deciding to sit beside the fire to while away the time.

She bit her lip, staring at the fire. It needed tending. Hesitantly, she picked up a log from the pile beside the fireplace, placing it on top. It didn’t spring to life like she had hoped; instead, it seemed to smoulder and smoke.

She sat down on a chair, staring at it. She didn’t know how to tend a fire. In her world, fires lit themselves. Or rather, the maids did it. It was such a basic thing—the ability to keep oneself warm—but it was a skill that she had never been taught. Another thing that she should know how to accomplish now that she was Miss Delia Parker, not Lady Cordelia Pelham.

She stood up, taking a deep breath. She picked up the poker leaning against the wall, stabbing at the log, trying to prod it into a position where it would ignite. But it appeared pointless. The log just continued to smoulder. She kept stabbing at it, willing it to work. It was as if it was a battle of will between the log and herself.

“It needs a bit more kindling.”

Delia spun around, almost dropping the poker. Ambrose was standing there, hovering over her. She gazed up at him speechlessly. She was at a disadvantage, crouching next to the fire with a poker in her hand. She felt like a fool.

“What are you doing here?” Her voice was breathless.

“The same as you, I suspect,” he said. “I couldn’t sleep.” He stared at her. “Here, give me the poker.”

She got to her feet, handing him the poker. He retrieved some twigs and sticks from a basket near the fireplace, placing them carefully around the log she had just thrown on the fire. He crouched down and blew on it. She watched bright red and orange flames spring to life, igniting the kindling. Within minutes the log caught fire. He poked at it a little before positioning another log on top of it. The fire was revitalised. The air started to feel warm again.

They both sat down, staring into the flames. Delia’s face reddened with the heat and Ambrose’s proximity. At least she could blame her high colour on the fire. She reached out her hands towards the fire, trying not to look at him.

“Have you never tended a fire before?” he asked.

She turned to face him. “No. I have been working as a lady’s companion. The maids do that.”

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