Page 85 of The Forbidden Lord
He sighed. “All right then. We’ll stop at the next inn we come to. Will that be to your satisfaction, milady?”
“Perfectly.”
“You’d best eat hearty,” he grumbled. “I’d like to reach Leicester by this evening.”
Not if she could help it. Though she would dearly love to wait until tonight to escape, she didn’t dare let that much time elapse.
The first inn that came into sight was a wretched affair indeed, aptly titled The Warthog. A ramshackle, timber-framed house with a weathered sign, it nonetheless had a bustling inn yard filled with carts and mail coaches and the occasional gig. It obviously catered to travelers of a poorer class, who could only afford the few pence it took to purchase sausages and oat bread for their breakfast.
Even her pinchpenny father would never have stopped at a place like this. But it suited her needs perfectly, for its customers were the sort of people more likely to help her than those of a richer and more wary class. “Let’s stop here.”
Jordan cast a contemptuous look over the inn yard. “Well, my dear, you’re nothing if not brave. Aside from the unwashed customers with whom you’ll be rubbing elbows, you’re likely to find a rat or two at your table.”
“I don’t care. I’m hungry.” She tossed him a taunting glance. “Besides, you’re an earl. Can’t you make sure we have a private dining room?” That would make everything so much easier.
“Trust me, I intend nothing else.” A calculating look passed over his face. “I’m never averse to privacy. If the innkeeper can produce such a thing.”
As it happened, the innkeeper, whose bristly chin and warty nose seemed appropriate in light of the inn’s name, was happy to oblige, especially when Jordan laid an impressive number of sovereigns in his hand. The man was already staring at Jordan with undisguised awe, but at the sight of the gold, he looked positively radiant.
“My wife and I want a private room, the best you have,” Jordan stated. “I want a substantial breakfast brought up assoon as possible. And make sure my coachman is fed as well.” He added another sovereign, then with a glance at Emily, murmured something else in the man’s ear.
The innkeeper’s head bobbed so furiously, Emily thought it would surely fly off at any moment. “I have the perfect room for you, milord! I’ve no doubt your lordship will be pleased. This way. Watch your step. There’s a loose board here …”
She took Jordan’s arm when he offered it, trying not to dwell on the pleasure it had given her to hear him refer to her as his wife. She could not, must not let that temptation sway her. Marriage to a man unable to love would be disaster, even if there weren’t all those other considerations.
As they followed the babbling innkeeper up rickety stairs to the second floor, she cast a quick glance around her. She’d be leaving in a hurry, and it wouldn’t do to get lost on the way out.
The innkeeper ushered them into a room with cheery curtains and surprisingly clean floors, though the place smelled of coal and fish and the simple furnishings were worn. “I’ll have breakfast brought to you presently, milord.”
It was only after the innkeeper left that she noticed the bed. She was still gaping at it when she heard Jordan lock the door. Whirling toward the sound, she fixed him with an accusing gaze. “This isn’t a dining room! It has a bed in it!”
His knowing smile curled her toes. “So it does. I thought we might … satisfy our appetites in more than one respect.”
She blushed. Dear heavens, he wanted to bed her again. The very thought of it made her hot and weak. And why not let him? After all, she’d be leaving him before the day was out. Then there’d be no more chances for lovemaking.
Could it hurt to have one more hour in his arms?
She shook herself. Of course it could! If she let him make love to her again, she would never be able to leave him. Besides, themore often they made love, the more likely that she’d find herself with child afterward.
He took a step toward her, and she backed away. “Now, Jordan, this isn’t the time for this. You said you wanted to make Leicester today.”
He stalked her, a grin spreading over his handsome features. “We’ll make Leicester, don’t you worry. Come now, it’ll be a while before they bring us breakfast. There’s plenty of time to indulge ourselves.”
When he approached too near, she darted away, putting the bed between them as she fumbled for some reason to put him off. “Do you really wish to have the innkeeper burst in upon us in the midst of … of … well, you know?”
As he edged around the bed, he laughed. “Lovemaking, darling. It’s called lovemaking. And the door’s locked, remember?”
She backed up, only to run squarely into the coarse wooden dressing table. Glancing back, she spotted the earthen water pitcher that stood beside the washbasin atop the table. An idea took shape in her mind.
Shifting so that her body blocked his view of her hands, she groped behind her for the pitcher. “I intend to eat as soon as the food arrives. We’re not married yet, you know. If you wish to exercise your husbandly rights before the wedding, you must at least feed me first.”
He lunged for her, catching her in his arms just as her fingertips touched the pitcher’s handle. “All right then. How about a little taste before the main meal?” He planted a light kiss on the end of her nose. “Something to get me through breakfast.”
Then his lips were on hers, coaxing and tender and oh, so tempting. For a moment she let herself enjoy the kiss, let him open her mouth with his tongue to plunge inside, hinting at what he wanted to do to her, what other parts of her body he wantedto possess. His hands swept up her ribs until the thumbs rested beneath her breasts.
But when he covered the soft flesh with expert fingers, she tore her lips away from him. What was she doing? Shifting a little in his arms, she grasped the pitcher’s handle, praying he wouldn’t notice.
He didn’t. His eyes glittered with unquenched desire, and his breath came in jerky gasps as he bent his head toward her mouth again.
