Page 11 of Make My Wish Come True
“Of course, Captain. I’ll leave the latch on for you.”
He mounted the horse and rode back to the Black Hart, much quicker now that he hadn’t Miss Barrett in his arms. She fit just perfectly in his arms. He spent a little too much time thinking about the curve of her bottom in his lap, and then even more time thinking about how plump her breasts were when she leaned into his arm.
He was becoming far too interested in his accidental traveling companion.
He gave the horse back to the stable master and turned up his collar for the walk back to the vicarage. For the first time he didn’t curse the cold rain. It might be the only thing that cooled his imagination tonight.
Chapter 7
Gwen felt very out of her depth as Mr. and Mrs. Kittridge and their maid fluttered around her, helping her out of her wet half-boots and cloak, bringing her hot tea and a shawl, urging on her a glass of Mr. Kittridge’s own gooseberry wine. They were kind but inquisitive, and there was only so much she felt comfortable telling them.
She’d expected the captain to quickly stable the horse and return within half an hour, but the time dragged on and he didn’t come. That provoked some comment from the vicar and his wife, and Gwen unfortunately had no idea what to say. She didn’t know where he was, or what he was doing, and since she didn’t really know him, she had to invent some reason why he was taking so long.
It was even more difficult when she realized they believed her to be his wife.
The landlady at the Black Hart had said it, and she’d not protested because it had felt safer. The captain had played along very readily with it as well. Too late she realized the danger of obtaining a room under that pretense: the Kittridges had only one room, and of course a husband and wife would share it.
As the evening ticked by, and the Kittridges poured more wine and asked more questions, Gwen felt her powers of invention being tested. She told them what she knew first: the captain came from north of here, near Bury St. Edmonds. She had never been there but had family in the area and was eager to see it. They were on their way there now. The captain had been in the war, yes, in Spain. He had only recently returned to England.
At that point she ran out of truth and had to create some fiction, and for some reason she embroidered it shamelessly. Gwen found herself describing how gallantly the captain had rescued her from a runaway carriage on the streets of Salisbury. Then how he had charmed her by presenting her with a kitten named Reggie. Then how he had won her heart by buying her a new bonnet when hers was ruined, but not before he had researched the latest fashion and learned her favorite colors so he could present her with a bonnet that was the most perfectly beautiful bonnet she had ever owned.
She blamed the wine. And Mrs. Kittridge’s propensity for a bit of romantic gossip. By the time the little clock on the mantel tolled ten o’clock, she thought anyone would be in love with him—at least, the man she’d presented as Captain Fitzhugh.
It gave her a jolt when the man himself finally returned, soaking wet and half frozen. “I took a bit of a wrong turn,” he explained as he struggled out of his sodden cloak and ice-encrusted scarf. “I mistook the road in the dark, on foot.”
“Don’t say you had to walk from the Hart,” exclaimed Mr. Kittridge. “In this weather?”
“I promised to return the horse,” he replied.
Gwen realized with a start he’d only borrowed the horse to bring her here, so she wouldn’t have to walk in the freezing rain. On top of all the romantic lies she’d been telling, it was a dangerously appealing discovery. He’d better do something rude soon, or she would think herself in love.
The captain gave a groan of relief as his boots came off, and Mrs. Kittridge rushed to prepare another cup of tea while the vicar fetched a towel. Gwen helped him strip off his scarlet coat, which took some work with the wool as wet as it was. She noticed that it was worn, neatly darned in some places, including one long cut on the sleeve. She wondered if he’d been wounded, and hoped the coat had taken the worst of it. Mrs. Kittridge fussed with hanging the coat on a chair to dry, and Mr. Kittridge promised to work some magic on the boots.
“I’ve tramped this entire parish in the rain, in my thirty years here!” he declared. “I know how to treat wet boots.”
Thankfully the Kittridges were soon ready to retire. They showed Gwen and the captain to a spartan but clean room at the back of the house. The maid had laid a fire, the bed was made up, and then they were alone.
Gwen, tipsy on gooseberry wine, alone with the man she’d built into a romantic hero for the Kittridges’ sake, but also a bit for herself. How mortifying it would be if he knew.
“What an adventure this has become,” she said lightly.
He dragged one hand over his face. “I should have protested earlier when the woman at the Black Hart presumed we were married.”
“I understand why you didn’t,” she assured him. “I shall roll myself in a blanket on the floor.”
“You will not,” he exclaimed. “The bed is for you.”
She shook her head. “Absolutely not. You’re wet to the skin and half-frozen, you are sleeping in the bed.”
“This floor is a far sight more comfortable than a camp bed in Spain, where I slept for the last eight months.” He folded his arms—unhelpfully, as the wet linen clung to his muscled forearms, and Gwen was having a hard time looking away.
“This floor is far more appealing than the scullery maid’s pallet at the Two Owls in Ipswich, or that corner booth at the Black Hart, which is where I would be sleeping if not for you.”
“This floor, with this rug and this fire, is the height of luxury compared to an army tent!”
Gwen had her own arms crossed now. “And you have clearly never been a governess! I would have given my right arm for a fire or a rug, to say nothing of both!”
The captain stared at her, blinking. Gwen saw the twitch of his mouth and realized how absurd they were. A giggle shook her, then another, and then she clapped both hands over her mouth to muffle the gales of laughter that overtook her.
