Page 31 of The Bastard's Iberian Bride
She coughed to clear it. She must not let him think her weak. “Returning to Cransdall is out of the question for me. If you take me there, I will never be able to leave.”
Quiet followed, the long silence making her wonder if he’d actually heard.
“Where do you want to go?” he asked.
This inn was on the main road, the groom had said. She might have enough money to get to London, and then a bit more for her keep once she arrived. For a few days, anyway. Once she located the solicitor and one of her trustees, she would be provided for, surely.
She would not tell him those plans.
“What of your belongings we rescued today?” he asked, before she could speak.
Grrr. He was tricky, this one. She had not thought that far ahead. “They will be safe at Cransdall, surely. Kincaid and the grooms can take them back. You can return to your home.”
“And you—”
“You are not my keeper, Mr. Gibson.”
He studied her for a too-long moment, sending warmth up her cheeks. She would not look away. She would not give him the satisfaction.
“I’ll ask you to sleep on it, and we’ll talk again at breakfast.” He reached one long finger up and swept a lock of hair behind her ear.
His touch jolted her, too delicate for the man. She could feel her breath rising and falling like a bellows-blown fire, all deliciously lit up within her, with a promise of something she couldn’t fathom.
She’d scoffed at Mrs. Everly’s warnings about men. After all, her farmer had actually kissed her and she’d never felt this. And it was…wonderful.
Humor glinted in his eyes, bringing her back to earth. “Until breakfast then,” he said, and was gone.
Mabel popped back in. “Our room is ready.” She rustled about, gathering their things, and appeared at her side. “What is it, Polly? You’ve gone all pink and sweaty.” She inhaled sharply. “Did he kiss you?”
“No.”
“Oh, too bad, that. I’d warrant the man knows how to properly kiss.”
“And how would you know a proper kiss, Mabel?” She put on a stern face. “And what about Johnny?”
Mabel’s guilty look completely undid her. She laughed. “I’m stillnotgoing to marry him.”
She’d shared Shaldon’s plan with her maid, swearing her to secrecy.
“You would have a home. Little Norwick, Johnny said it is. It sounds lovely.”
Paulette caught her breath. “Youtoldhim. You promised not to gossip.” Now all the servants knew Shaldon’s plan for them to marry.
“No.” Mabel shook her head. “He just knew. And no one was gossiping. He just mentioned it when we talked.”
“Really? Well, yes, Mabel. And I could live at this Little Norwick croft, in a thatched, dirt-floor cottage with a man who was forced into marriage—he does not want it either, you know. And what a life that would be.”
Mabel bit her lip. “He’d not bequeath you a mere cottage, Polly.”
“And how do we know that? I can’t trust Shaldon, not after he sold my home out from under me.”
“So we’re back to Cransdall. And then what?”
The innkeeper’s girl who had flirted with Mr. Gibson appeared, wanting to clear the table.
She wouldn’t risk having whatever they said reported back to him.
“If our room is ready, let us go up.”
