Page 4 of Unmasking the Silver Heiress
He shook his head, tugging a fresh shirt over his damp torso and turning back to look at her again.
Eventually, he would have to claim his rights as a husband. It was only that she looked so delicate. He didn't relish the idea of hurting such a tiny woman, especially if breaking the dam on his long-neglected desires drove him into an animalistic frenzy.
Had he brokered the same concerns about Miss Blakely? She was not quite so petite as Eleanor, but she was also a slender little thing. Strangely, he found that he hadn't much considered her at all in this fashion, nor had he felt concerned about losing control of his baser impulses at any juncture.
He was just tired, he decided. Unbelievably tired. Once his head had cleared of fatigue, he would be much better equipped to manage the various challenges ahead of him. Once he was thinking clearly, surely the prospect of bedding a willing wife would not even brush the top of his list of concerns.
Still, he took care when climbing into bed next to her. He pulled the blanket up from the floor and draped it over her as she took steady little breaths, her eyelashes fluttering now and then in her sleep.
He tried first to sleep on his back, then rolled onto his side, facing away from the warmth alongside him. He grimaced in embarrassment at the way his body reacted to her.
It was simply a physical reaction, he told himself, natural as the sunrise. He reminded himself again that this was simply not a problem worth his concern.
His dreams begged to differ.
Chapter 3
Nell had always been an early riser, but opening her eyes of her own accord before the sun had even crested the horizon was unnatural, even for her. She had lost all sense of time over the last days, and when she awoke, she thought for the briefest moment that she was back in her own bed, alone, and that nothing at all was amiss.
She supposed such disorientation was, at the very least, a sign of very good sleep.
Everything ached. She had been sleeping in the stiff traveling dress she'd pulled on at Somerton for several nights now, her hair coiled tightly against her scalp and secured with sharp little pins. She wanted nothing more than to shed everything and stretch out in a hot, soapy bath for several hours.
She bit her lip, glancing over at the sliver of early light that was peeking through the curtains of their room. No matter how tempting, it was best not to wet her hair, for they would have to be on the road again before it could dry, and autumn had already brought the temperature down to a brisk chill. She didn't fancy catching ill, especially for nothing more than a spot of impatience. Perhaps she could just wash from the neck down, if the innkeeper was willing to heat her some water?
Her eyes fell upon Mr. Atlas, asleep next to her with an arm thrown up over his eyes. She felt momentarily paralyzed by the sight of him.
That's your husband,said a little voice in her head.You are Mrs. Atlas now.
It was almost too much to believe. If she hadn't been in such a state of grime and discomfort, she'd have pinched herself just to ensure this wasn't some wild fantasy found only in her dreams.
There he was, though, dressed in a loose white shirt over plain buckskin trousers. His collarbones and the top of his well-muscled chest were on display, with no jacket, waistcoat, nor cravat obscuring the sight of his magnificent torso in naught but the thin, billowing shirt. She longed to reach over and touch the skin there, to test the texture of the light brown curls that peeked out from just above his heart.
He was nigh unrecognizable in sleep, she thought, without his careful consideration of how to present himself in a given time and place. In sleep, he was simply himself, with no artifice to shape him. He had a long, straight nose and full lips that formed a perfect cupid's bow, especially parted as they were just now while he slept. He was so beautiful, it almost hurt her to look at him. He reminded her of the rows of men gracing palace halls, each made of polished white marble and preserved through the centuries on merit of their perfection.
His hair was freshly washed, fluffy and mussed as it had dried in during the night. Any aspect of Nathaniel Atlas that had not been primed to perfection was a rare pleasure to behold. She would have never guessed that his hair was capable of frizz or had a hint of natural curl. It fell over his brow in a gentle wave of sable brown, which he must smooth into submission before appearing in public. She wanted to touch this too. It looked so very soft.
She grimaced, a sudden realization occurring to her that she did not present nearly so appealing a visage for him to awake to. She imagined if he suddenly awoke, just now, and saw her bedraggled, wide-eyed staring, he would recoil in horror.
Not wishing to test that particular hypothesis, she flung her legs over the side of the bed and into her slippers and hastened down the stairs in search of the innkeeper.
The family that owned the inn had already begun to move around downstairs, with a fire blazing in the central hearth and the beginnings of breakfast creating tempting aromas that swept in from the kitchen. Nell stopped a serving maid to request bath water be brought up and some soap leaves if they had any to spare. The maid nodded, her eyes widening a little as she took note of the wrinkled dress that Nell had slept in.
"Will you be requiring a laundress as well, miss?"
"Unfortunately, we will not have time." Nell sighed. "But thank you for the offer."
She hurried back up to their rooms before anyone else could see her in such disarray.
It wasn't vanity. Not completely, anyway. It was unlikely that she'd see anyone she knew at a coaching inn in the country, but on the off chance that she did, she did not wish to be recognized. It was essential that she and Nathaniel reach London before any word of their elopement could reach the scandal sheets.
Aunt Zelda would never forgive her if a competing printing house broke the story first. After all, Mr. Atlas was an extremely eligible bachelor, and she was ... not one of the obvious contenders for his affections, to say the very least. Perhaps bringing home a morsel of profitable gossip, even at her own expense, would soften the blow of what she had done.
In her letter to Lady Somers, Nell had explained that she wished to reach her family before they could find out about her elopement through the rumor mill. Considering Lady Somers had once been the darling of the scandal sheets herself, Nell hoped that this request was in and of itself enough to delay the news coming south ahead of their arrival.
She noted with a wry twist of her lips that all three suitcases had been brought up to their rooms from the carriage: her own, Nathaniel's, and the one they'd stolen from Alex Somers.
She had packed so hastily that she wasn't even sure what she would find in her little valise. To her relief, there were two clean shifts, two clean dresses, and a simple bonnet which she could use to cover her hair until she had time to properly wash it. She had failed to bring anything to read, however, which was an unusual oversight, even under duress. Hopefully Peter would bring the rest of her things with him to London.
