Page 9 of Make My Wish Come True
“Ah,” he said in surprise. “I’d forgotten about Christmas.”
“It’s still over a week away,” she told him. “Plenty of time.”
“Not much,” he said ruefully. “I shan’t have gifts for anyone.”
“I’m certain your presence will be more than enough gift for your family,” she protested
He made a face. “A fleeting pleasure, compared to a new bonnet one might wear for a year or more!”
“Oh, no!” She twisted and gripped hand, almost fiercely. “You’ve been away at war. Having you return home safely after that will be better than a hundred new bonnets!”
He looked a little surprised at her outburst, but then his fingers squeezed hers. “Perhaps. I hope it will be—though a hundred bonnets is aiming far too high. I understand bonnets to be very important, and I wouldn’t want to overreach.”
“Better than twenty of the most fashionable bonnets in England,” she answered fervently.
The captain laughed, and Gwen smiled, irrationally pleased by that.
The landlady wound her way through the crowded room to them and plunked down a small teapot and cup, a foaming tankard, and a glass of wine. Gwen poured her cup and clasped it close to her face, breathing in the steam greedily. She drank her tea while the captain downed his beer.
“Are you hungry?” he leaned down to ask.
She hesitated, but the soup in Ipswich had been a long time ago. She nodded. Again he signaled the landlady, and by the time Gwen had finished her pot of tea, two bowls of rabbit stew had been delivered to their table. It wasn’t as good as the soup had been, but it was hot and filling. By the time she pushed back her bowl with a contented sigh, the captain had already finished his. He leaned back in the hard wooden seat, his head against the windowsill behind him, his eyes closed.
The poor man. He’d been fighting a war, sleeping in the mountains of Spain, before rushing home to see his ill grandfather. He had obviously intended to travel swiftly and comfortably, in his own travel chaise with hot bricks and a blanket. Instead he was stuck with her—and with Reggie, who made him sneeze—at this smelly, crowded inn, without a bed to sleep in. And he hadn’t lost his good humor or his manners.
She eased out of her seat; he didn’t stir. She collected the empty dishes from their table and carried them to the kitchen, then slipped out to the necessary. When she came back, he’d stretched out his legs under the table, but otherwise hadn’t moved. As quietly as she could, Gwen shifted the table to the side, both to give him space and to shield him from other patrons. She found the landlady and asked for a blanket, which the woman handed over more willingly than expected. “I’ve sent young Bobby around to ask about rooms,” she added. “Tell your husband.”
Gwen didn’t bother to correct her, since the captain hadn’t done so earlier. “Thank you,” she said, and went back to the captain.
He slept on, his head fallen heavily to one side. Gently Gwen rolled up the edge of the thick brown scarf he still wore and tucked it under his cheek. Aside from a frown twitching across his brow, he didn’t stir. Something protective unfurled in her chest. This man had been so kind to her and offered her his protection. The least she could do in turn was make him more comfortable as he slept.
It wasn’t as stifling here in this corner, where the wind found every gap around the windowpanes and made the lantern above them flicker. But the bracing air was fresh, and when Gwen draped the blanket over the captain, he sighed as if in contentment.
She resumed her seat in the corner. Tucked between him and the wall, with cool air on her face, the long day began to catch up with her as well. Despite the landlady’s words, no young man had appeared in the taproom, and the landlady was still running to and fro, serving and cleaning and shaking her head at patrons. Gwen’s eyelids felt heavy, and she braced her shoulder against the corner wall.
Just a few minutes’ doze, she thought, and that was the last thing she remembered.
Chapter 6
Adrian woke with his head resting on a woman’s breast, his hand on her thigh.
It felt absolutely marvelous, and he inhaled, pressing his face into the soft, warm flesh. His brain couldn’t quite tell him whose breast it was, but she smelled beautiful. She felt rather beautiful, too, as he moved his hand up her thigh. She stirred and her legs parted slightly, and his fingers slipped of their own accord between them. He made a low, involuntary growl of appreciation. He hadn’t woken with a woman beside him in a long time, not since a brief affair with Paloma, a Spanish beauty who’d allowed his troops to shelter in the garden of her finca in Andalusia two years ago.
And he shouldn’t be sleeping on a woman now. That thought bloomed in his mind as the woman in question stirred again, and abruptly he remembered who she was. He raised his head and looked at Miss Barrett just as she opened her golden hazel eyes.
She didn’t frown, just gazed drowsily at him. Honey-blonde curls drooped around her cheeks, and she looked every bit as enticing as she smelled, flushed and languorous. Adrian realized she’d been asleep propped into a corner, and he’d fallen right on top of her. For a moment he didn’t move, unsure how to extricate himself. Slowly he righted himself, belatedly snatching his hand from her thigh. She was thoroughly clothed, but he’d felt the intimate shape and heat of her, and his whole hand tingled with it.
He cleared his throat as she blinked wider awake. There was a blanket over him, thank God, that hid his aching cockstand. He made a fuss of fishing out his pocket watch while discreetly adjusting his breeches. Beside him, much too close beside him, she sat up and gave a soft gasp. From the corner of his eye, he saw that the cloth around the neckline of her dress had been dislodged, and she was trying to tuck it back into her bodice. He’d had his face pressed to the bared swells of her breasts.
Which had felt like silk against his cheek.
“It’s seven o’clock,” he announced without looking at her. They’d been here three hours. How long had he been sleeping on her? How had it happened? He didn’t even recall closing his eyes. He couldn’t forget the feel and scent of her skin. He couldn’t stop wondering what it would taste like. “I wonder if the boy’s had any luck.”
“Oh,” she said, her voice raspy. She cleared her throat. “Yes, I wonder.”
“I’ll, er… I’ll go ask.” He jumped to his feet, offered her the blanket without looking at her, and charged through the room in search of the landlady.
“Aye,” she told him, when he finally located her. “I didn’t like to wake the pair of you. Mr. Kittridge has a spare room he’ll allow you and your wife. He’s vicar at St. Mary’s, but a mile up the road.”
