This was not how Joanna had envisioned their journey to Cork.
The carriage ride had been pleasant enough, particularly after Michael got over his little fit of pique. The innkeeper had practically fallen at their feet when they entered his establishment, ordering meals and baths prepared, offering up anything else he thought they might want or need. The food, too, had been good, enjoyed in the private parlor with Michael and a few happy memories of meals past.
But there had been only the one room available, and the prospect of discussing sleeping arrangements discomfited her more that she was prepared to admit. Nor could she partake of the bath that had been brought up without Michael’s help undressing, yet he stood motionless behind her as if the ties and buttons were some kind of mysterious puzzle.
“Don’t be so missish,” Joanna told him over her shoulder.
“I’m not being missish,” he shot back. “I simply don’t know where to begin. The last time I undressed you, your clothing wasn’t this complex.”
The last time I undressed you. That one phrase shredded her concentration and she could feel warmth creeping up her neck. Dear Lord, when was the last time he’d made her blush?
Probably the last time he’d undressed her.
“There are only buttons and ties. It shouldn’t be that difficult.”
He continued to stand statue-still behind her, and she imagined him watching the pink flush stain her skin. He used to kiss her where she blushed, brushing his soft lips wherever the color rose. Was he thinking of that? Was he fighting the urge to do it again?
“Michael.”
“Yes, darling.”
She choked back a laugh. His response had been almost reflexive, even after the years they spent apart—a far cry from the cold civility she had received from him only days ago. “At this rate, the bath will be ice cold by the time I get into it.”
“Right.”
She felt a tug at her waist as he untied the ribbon there, then a succession of smaller tugs as he made his way through the buttons down her back. Another tie negotiated, and the bodice of her gown fell into her waiting arms. She stepped out of it and her petticoat at the same time, draping them over the bed before once again presenting Michael with her back.
“Just laces?” she heard him ask.
Joanna nodded, catching the slightest whiff of lavender as he bent his head and set to work on her stays. She’d made him sachets of lavender before they were married to keep with his clothes, and the scent brought back a wave of memories. Not the big events, but the private moments they’d shared: curling up together before the fire on chilly evenings, clandestine looks exchanged across the room at social functions, kisses stolen while clearing the table after meals.
She’d never missed him so much as she did just then, and she mentally cursed the blackguard who had forced her away from her husband for five lonely years.
Her stays peeled away from her body and Michael stepped back, catching the letter that slid down her back. “What’s this?”
“Part of that secret correspondence I mentioned.” She turned and held out a hand, hardening her facial expression to shield her thoughts.
He placed it on her palm without comment, but watched with interest as she secured it among her belongings. “You were carrying it in your corset?”
“Who would think to look there?”
“Good point.”
He continued watching her as she placed a foot on the bed frame, rucking up her shift to unstrap a sheathed dagger from one thigh before repeating the process with a small flintlock pistol on the other.
“That’s new.”
“The pistol? Yes.” She handed it to him and adjusted her shift, noting that she was wearing practically nothing while he was still fully clothed. “I bought it the last time I was in London.”
He turned it over, running a finger across the engraving on the end of the barrel. “You never used to carry a gun.”
“I knew you didn’t like them.” She took it when he offered it back to her and set it on the bed with the dagger, then turned to him and began unbuttoning his tailcoat.
“And once I was no longer in your life, you decided my preference didn’t matter.”
“No. I needed the added protection of a firearm, and I’d promised you I would always keep myself as safe as possible.” She circled around behind him and helped him slide off the coat, breathing in the smell of lavender once again.
“You were honoring your promise to me, even after you’d left me?” He turned around to face her with a furrowed brow, his mouth drawn down into a frown.
Joanna nodded. “I left that day on an assignment. You remember?”
“I remember.” Those two words sounded more Irish than English and his eyes shifted to her shoulder.
She knew he was picturing the moment they’d said their goodbyes because she was picturing it, too—lying in his arms in their bed the night before she left, the down coverlet shielding them from the chill in the air.
“I was planning to return to you, Michael. I swear I was.” She tilted her head, catching his gaze and holding it. “I promised you a full accounting after we are finished with Sir Arthur, and you’ll have it. But let me say now that I didn’t stay away willingly. I never abandoned you, never stopped believing we’d be together again.” She reached up and stroked his cheek with the tips of her fingers. “I was always your wife, and I always loved you.”
He cupped his hand around hers and brought it to his lips, brushing a kiss over her cold fingers before releasing them. “You told me that you would always be honest with me, and I dearly want to believe you. But I spent five years with no communication from you in any form, and that’s going to be difficult to just let go of.”
Strictly speaking, she’d sent a note a few months after her departure from Ireland. But since there had been nothing for years after that, she decided not to argue about such a small detail. She took a half-step back, putting some space between their bodies. “I know it is. And perhaps when you’ve heard my side it won’t be so hard to believe. Until then, will you at least consider the idea that I didn’t simply walk away?”
“I will.” He said it without hesitation. For Michael, that was as good as a solemn vow.
Unless he’d changed in ways she was unaware of these past five years.
~~~
That night did not pass peacefully for Michael. He and Joanna slept side by side on the bed, she in her shift and he in his shirt, neither touching the other. The arrangement left him feeling confined and cramped, though physically he was neither. He kept waking up, afraid that he was laying on her long hair, that he had moved too close to her, that one of his arms or legs was somewhere it shouldn’t be.
Why had Joanna told him her exile hadn’t been voluntary? Why tell him that but nothing else? He finally gave up and grabbed his pillow, sprawling out on the hard floor in an effort to regain his sense of equilibrium. After two minutes on the wooden planks he knew he’d ache in the morning, but it would be worth it to calm his mind and relax his body.
The next thing he knew, he was being shaken awake as the sun was beginning to rise over the horizon. “Already? It feels like I just fell asleep.”
“I didn’t sleep so well, either,” she confessed. “But we can always nap in the carriage.”
Nap while his head banged against the window, she neglected to add. But it was better than sleep deprivation, and they needed to cover many miles today. Perhaps there was a pillow or two stored under one of the carriage seats. He pulled himself up from the floor and cast about for his clothing, distracted by the sight of Joanna standing before him holding her stays.
“Lace me up?”
Perhaps helping her into her clothes would trigger fewer emotions in him than helping her out of them had last night. It wasn’t just the physical aspect of undressing a beautiful woman that got to him, though that had its own merits. That he had loved—and still did love—the woman in question with his whole heart, that he had her back in his life after a years-long absence, had thrown him off balance. It was like the past and the future had mixed together in some sort of porridge, and he couldn’t tell the original ingredients apart anymore.
He rubbed his eyes and nodded. “Come here.”
They ended up helping each other to dress and repack the items they’d taken from their luggage, for Michael’s fingers were as sluggish with his own buttons and ties as they were with Joanna’s. But they were both ready when Joanna’s driver arrived to collect their things.
“Can we talk about why you slept on the floor last night?” Joanna asked, once they were on their way. “I thought we’d decided that the bed was big enough for both of us.”
“I needed space,” he replied with a shrug. When she narrowed her eyes in a hard stare, he clarified his statement. “I needed physical space to stretch out. It’s been five years since I slept in a bed with another person, and I’m no longer used to sharing.”
Her mouth opened as if she were going to speak, but no sound came out. She cleared her throat and tried again. “You never spent even a single night with...company?”
“No.” His brows drew down over his eyes. “Why would I?”
“Because I disappeared without a trace for far longer than I told you I’d be gone. Because I could have been dead, or captured, or mistress to another man.”
He was seated across from her once more, and slid his foot across the floor to touch hers. “You were my wife, and you continued to be so even when we were no longer in the same city. I’d never hurt you that way.”
“I didn’t...I was never unfaithful to you, either.”
Before her words could sink in, the carriage came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the road.
“What—”
“Stand and deliver!”
The shout came from outside the carriage, and Michael sighed softly. “This is the disadvantage of traveling as a person of some fortune.”
“There is a pair of carriage pistols in the compartment under your seat,” Joanna told him in a low voice. “Do you still carry your cudgel?”
“Yes, I have it. How fast can you get to—” He was cut off when the door flew open and the barrel of a pistol appeared.
“Out of the carriage,” a male voice ordered. “And keep your hands where I can see them.”
Michael exited first, noting that the highwayman had been considerate enough to let down the stairs, then turned to offer Joanna his hand. She trembled as she took it, her eyes wide and darting around.
“What do you mean to do to us?” she asked in a tremulous voice.
Michael nearly laughed. She was no more afraid of this highwayman than she was of a kitten, but her performance was magnificent.
The barrel of the gun motioned them away from the carriage and Michael drew Joanna’s arm through his, escorting her to the side of the road. “There, there dear, we’ll be just fine as long as we do what the gentleman says.” He shifted his gaze to the owner of the pistol, a younger man wearing finely tailored clothing. “Isn’t that right?”
The highwayman smiled. “Just so. We only want your valuables, then you’ll be on your way.”
Joanna’s hands covered her face and she began to sob. Michael slipped his arms around her, pulling her close and stroking her hair. “Shh, we’ll be all right.”
“There’s another one with the horses,” she whispered to him. “He’s headed this way.”
“Must have knocked your driver unconscious,” Michael whispered back. “Or killed him.”
“Let’s hope not.” She buried her face against his coat, holding his lapels in clenched fists and taking in great gulps of air as if she were trying to bring herself under control.
This second highwayman entered the carriage and Michael could see him searching the seats and floor. Looking for what? Joanna’s jewels—with the exception of what she wore—were packed away in her baggage, along with her expensive gowns. The carriage pistols were finely made and would fetch a good price if sold, but the highwayman found then pushed away the box that contained them.
“Something isn’t right,” he murmured, kissing her forehead.
The first highwayman fished a canvas bag from the pocket of his tailcoat and opened it up, approaching Michael and Joanna with a friendly smile. “Let’s get that jewelry off you, madam, and into my bag here. Sir, if you wouldn’t mind assisting your lady?”
Michael set Joanna away from him and turned her around to undo the clasp of her necklace. “Just stay calm, my dear. I’m sure they are nearly done with us.” He leaned down and kissed her temple. “I’ll take this one.”
She nodded and sniffled as he drew the necklace off. “Good.”
Michael turned, holding out Joanna’s necklace to the highwayman. When the robber reached for it Michael grabbed the barrel of his gun and yanked it out of his hand, crashing the butt against his head. Joanna disappeared—presumably to deal with the one searching the carriage—and Michael had to remind himself that the best way to keep her safe was to make sure she didn’t have any unexpected assailants. His blow to the highwayman’s head stunned the man but didn’t knock him out so Michael tried again with his fist, wishing he could get to his cudgel—it was specially made to deliver a forceful blow without killing the recipient, and kept Michael from injuring his hands by delivering punches.
Fortunately, this recipient went down with relative ease. Michael retrieved Joanna’s necklace and pocketed it before dragging the highwayman off the road and into the adjoining field. He’d wake up surrounded by vegetation which ought to disorient him, slowing him down should he try to return to his partner—the next best thing when there was no way to tie him up.
When Michael returned to the carriage Joanna had the second highwayman face down on the road, her little pistol pointed at the back of his head.
“Who sent you?” she barked.
“He didn’t tell me his name. Only that I was to rob a coach carrying a red-haired lady and no footmen, and I wasn’t to harm anyone.”
“What did he want?” When the highwayman didn’t answer, she placed her foot on the small of his back and pressed down. “What did he want?”
The highwayman groaned. “A letter. He said it would be for Sir Arthur Wellesley, and that it would be difficult to find. I’ve been robbing carriages all week looking for it.”
“Just your bad luck that you chose us, then.” He nodded a vigorous yes, squeezing his eyes shut as Joanna removed her foot from his back and knelt beside him. “Will you be robbing anyone else this week? Or ever again?”
“No, I swear.”
She glanced up at Michael and acknowledged him with a smile. “Hold this for a moment, will you please?”
She held out the pistol and he took it from her, keeping it carefully aimed at the highwayman on the ground. Joanna first removed one of her shoes, then slid her skirts up to her thigh and removed her silk stocking.
“Let’s get them tied up and get away from here.”
She bound the highwayman’s hands tightly with her stocking, then helped Michael drag him into the field with his accomplice, who was still unconscious. They bound him as well with Joanna’s remaining stocking and headed back to the carriage.
“Well, you were right,” he told her, taking her hand as they walked. “They didn’t think to look there.”