Page 65 of Lord Ashley's Beautiful Alibi
“A wheel.”
His eyes held mirth and not a small amount of pain. “We’re stuck here.”
She managed to sit up. Then she threw up her hands. Frustrated, hungry for all the kisses they’d discussed, she could tell Kane was about to laugh at it all.
She glanced at her gown—crooked, her hem above her knees. Him, his waistcoat askew, his cravat unwound. She traced a finger in the air at his condition. “Hmmm. Shall we hop out and help them repair the wheel?”
“We could, but I must wait a minute.”
“I see.” She did. He was in no condition to hop anywhere. She chuckled, crossed her arms, and waited until his erection had receded and the liquid, rushing need in her body stopped singing to her. “So shall we get out and let them have at it?”
They did. They were no sooner out and sitting beneath a canopy of trees than a bloody wild wind and rainstorm came along and doused them all in the space of two minutes. Soaked, Kane traipsed to the cab and opened the hamper, then retrieved a flask of whisky for him and Gus and another for their coachman and groom.
Tipsy and wet, happy and stupid with their condition, they enjoyed the sun as it reappeared.
The town of Varennes, which they should have reached that afternoon, appeared in their carriage window after midnight.
*
After much poundingon doors of three different inns, their coachman found one with the only vacant room available. The two-story inn looked well appointed and respectable, across the street as it was from the famous church where the Bourbon royal family had been discovered by a localgendarmein ’93.
Their groom let down the steps for Kane.“Monsieur,thepropriétaireof the lastauberge de calèchesaid this is the most expensive in town. I hope this is satisfactory.”
“It is, Albert. We are grateful. Go find your rest above the stables. We will not venture out early. Sleep well.”
*
“Of course,” Gusgroused once inside their room, “the only accommodations they have are meant for one person in this closet!”
She stood in profile to Kane and sucked in her stomach. He had his challenges ridding her of her stays. His fingers fumbled from lack of practice. Kane could not improve in the art of lady’s maid, at least in doing the usual tasks. Many a fantasy Gus entertained, that Kane might abandon all thought of the stays and devote himself to touching her skin. Alas, he must be a Puritan, for his fingers did only their job. His diligence irritated her, and tonight, after so many like this one, she was testy.
She pointed to the bed that would hold only one. “It would be better if I were invisible. And that looks like even a five-year-old would cry over it.”
Kane winced. “The linens look clean and the mattress firm. I’ll sleep on the floor.”
“On what? We have no quilts, no coverlets.”
“We’ll use my frock coat and your pelisse.”
It sounded sensible, but less than an hour later, he was beside her. “Move this way.” He put her to her side, moving heras easily as if she were a twig. Her derrière tucked against his hips. As usual.
She silently smiled into the black night. “This is no way to rest.”
“What else would you like to do, hmmm?”
So many things I have no experience to imagine!But she elbowed him. “Close your eyes.”
He nuzzled her nape and kissed her there. His lips were sweet and soft. “Mineareclosed.”
And mine stay open to the possibility of what I miss here in this bed.
But she could not ask. Would not lead him there. That way lay too much trouble. Regret. An end to their camaraderie. Awkwardness.
*
Sunlight seeped intothe only window in the room, and Kane gave up the quest for sleep with harsh blue invectives for the bed.
Gun ran her fingers through her wild hair and appreciated the sight of naked, masculine flesh before her. Oh, he had worn breeches to bed, and nothing else. But her breath hitched at the breadth of his bare shoulders and the lean agility of his hips in snug breeches. She tipped her head, licking her lips at the sight of him without layers and layers of clothes. She longed to draw her finger up the indentation of his bicep and trace the vein that curved from his elbow to his armpit. How was a man made so well that his torso rippled like the wind as he moved? And his melting gaze caught her admiring him.
