Page 66 of If the Slipper Fits
Gloriana MastersBolton.
Damnit. Much as it galled him, he couldn’t pin the blame on her. She’d told him repeatedly to leave her alone. Stubborn, arrogant ass that he was, he hadn’t listened. Not until it was far too late—for him at any rate.
How had she got so far under his skin in the span of a few days?
Shehadn’t. The girl he knew had. The girl she once was. The one that got away, who he never forgot, whose mischievous smile ruined him for all others.
Except…why did looking atherturn his blood to fire? Why did the thought of kissing her consume him, and the actual press of his mouth to hers destroy him? He’d never experienced anything like it in his life.
The woman owned him from the moment he opened his eyes and saw her hovering above him lakeside. Thank God she didn’t know as she could clearly care less.
Except…when the latest Harrison-debacle happened, she’d come running. Why? She nearly had him convinced she gave a damn.
Then she’d kissed him. God, if he hadn’t pulled away to make one last ditch effort to win her trust, what might have happened?
They would have made love, that’s what.
God help him, everything in him wished he could go back and restrain his instinct to do the right thing. What did that say about him? Nothing good. Exactly like the caustic words he’d hurled upon learning of her marital status said nothing good.
Not that he could repair the damage he’d done. She wasmarried.To Baron-bloody-Bolton.
Damn her eyes for misleading him. She’d stated unequivocally she was widowed.
But then, she’d thought Bolton was dead, and, oh yes, he mustn’t forget her heart feltThank Godwhen she learned he wasn’t. Two small words that cut deep.
She loved the man. He couldn’t wrap his mind around it.
He took another dram of whisky.
He needed to get the infernal woman out of his head, and focus on getting home to his grandfather—which would prove a much easier feat if his mind would stop playing tricks. He could still smellher tantalizing scent. Cedar and tuberose and an elegant intangible something he couldn’t name.
He slammed a halt on his cogitations about Anna and turned his thoughts to the earl’s unknown malady. After all, that was why he careened down this isolated road into a brewing storm in the middle of the night.
According to Harrison, the messenger Zeke sent hadn’t conveyed any specifics about the earl’s decline in health. The runner relayed only that the earl’s condition was serious, and that Caden should return home immediately.
He drank more whiskey. At least Harrison’s coach was comfortable, and his horses fresh. He should reach Derbyshire by daybreak—unless the weather worsened. By the sound of this wind, that was a distinct possibility.
***
A sound akin to a woman’s sharp cry dragged Caden from a fitful sleep.
He sat bolt upright and peeled open gritty eyes. He could see nothing in the jostling, dark carriage. He rubbed at his neck, stiff from the awkward posture he’d assumed in slumber. What had awoken him?
Outside, the wind howled in violent fury. That answered that.
He pushed the curtain aside to peer, bleary-eyed, through the rain-spattered pane. The moon had managed to sneak from behind the clouds, enough so he could make out sheeting rain and downed branches.
A monumental gust of wind slammed into the carriage, causing it to lurch up onto one side. In less than a blink, the wheels slammedback down. Caden heard an alarming crack, but the carriage barreled on.Enough.
He thumped the trap door above his head. It opened a sliver, and rain sluiced inside.
“Aye, sir?”
“We haven’t passed an inn?”
“The lord and lady ordered me t’ make haste and t’ stop for naught.”
“What utter nonsense. Stop at the very next inn you see. We’ll wait out the storm and recommence our journey come morning.”
