Thank the Lord that when Gray had promised to keep Charlie safe, he hadn’t given his word that she would be comfortable. Ever since they’d left the dinghy behind and continued on foot to the coastal village where they purchased horses, their journey had been a rocky one.

The dwindling light had made for treacherous footing. More than once, Charlie had tripped over her skirts or a crevice in the path. Once, the injury had cost them minutes as he’d examined her ankle to her vociferous protests. It hadn’t been broken nor, so far as he could tell, sprained, but even though she had waved off his assistance, her uneven gait from there on had warned him that the appendage continued to give her pain.

In the village, they’d stopped for a quick meal, and after paying over three quarters of the blunt he and Stills had brought with them, they’d managed to part the villagers from three mangy nags. If he hadn’t been so desperate for horses, he would never have bought the skinny, shaggy beasts that he feared at first wouldn’t hold up to his weight.

However, although they were clearly malnourished, the placid beasts obeyed readily and bore his weight with aplomb. Without taxing Charlie’s ankle any longer, they continued on their way. However, night upswept them before too long, rendering them all but blind. He carried a lantern on a long pole to light their path, but somehow they still had to stop for large stretches of time to search out the path where it became overgrown. And then, to crown their misery, it began to rain.

“We should have taken the road to London,” Stills grumbled as he led the horses one by one to a thin ribbon of water for them to drink.

Gray pretended not to hear. He had chosen this path because it led to Tenwick Abbey, closer to the coastal town than London even if the roads were not as well-traveled. With luck, he would find his mother in residence there and he would be able to impart his warning with a clear conscience.

For the moment, he had the health of another stubborn woman to contend with. He positioned himself so his shoulders blocked the view of his second-in-command as he folded Charlie’s damp skirt above her ankle. The appendage was clad in silk stockings, not quite sheer enough to judge the pallor of her skin beneath. “Has it been giving you grief?” he asked.

She pressed her lips together and shook her head. “I’ll persevere.”

He kept his eyes on her face as he gently poked at her ankle, searching for any spots that seemed unduly tender. He found one, but it produced only the barest cringe. She didn’t flinch or yank her leg from his grasp.

When he finished and tucked her ankle beneath her skirt once more, she raised her eyebrows. “See? I’m no more than bruised, if that.”

He crouched on his heels. The overhang of the tree over the thick, pronounced root where she sat shielded him somewhat from the steady rainfall. Given the gurgle in the distance, he suspected the storm would soon become much worse. He needed to find them shelter for the night before the weather worsened. An inn, if he could manage. Although farms dotted the countryside, he didn’t think that Charlie would much appreciate bedding down in a hay loft. “You haven’t been as talkative as usual.”

She rubbed her face with both hands. He suspected she did so to cover a yawn. He bit back one of his own. It had been a long day, and they had been traveling by land for hours.

“It’s raining. What inclination I have to chatter has been washed away.”

He grinned. “Is that the secret to rendering you speechless? I’ll have to remember that for the next time we get in an argument.”

She gave him an arch look, the corners of her mouth curling in a smirk. “It won’t help you win.”

From feet away, Stills called that he’d found the path once more. Gray stood, offering his hand to Charlie to help her to her feet. She accepted with grace. When she stood, she didn’t appear to be favoring her ankle. He wondered how much of that composed mien was born of sheer stubbornness.

Renewing his conviction to seek out an inn with all possible haste, he helped her to her horse and lifted her into the sidesaddle. “Thank you,” she said as she gathered her reins.

He mounted and followed Stills, who had taken command of the lantern. Gray didn’t protest; his arm ached from holding it aloft, and he relished the respite. “How much longer can you ride?” he asked Charlie as they set off.

She straightened her spine. “As long as it takes.”

Liar. She wasn’t nearly the horsewoman he’d hoped. If her mount hadn’t been so demure, she would have landed on her rump more than once. A rump that, given her unfamiliarity with riding, must be aching by now. Even his had started to give a twinge.

Although the obstinate woman seemed set on enduring whatever hardship befell them, he knew for everyone’s sanity that he’d best find them a place to rest for the night—and soon.

* * *

A thin birch free fallen across the path shouldn’t have been cause for alarm. Bitters—the name Charlie had given to her horse because the color of his mane reminded her of the last dredges in the bottom of a teacup—was tall enough to step over the log with ease. However, the moment he hopped over and stumbled, her heart jumped into her throat.

She shrieked, echoing the horse’s whinny. He danced sideways, in clear pain. Charlie dropped the reins and clutched twin handfuls of his mane to keep her seat. She nearly did, but as the horse stepped wrong again, he bucked.

“Charlie!”

She could barely see the mane in front of her, let alone the man shouting her name. Her vision swam as panic gripped her. She struggled to hang on as the horse bucked again beneath her. She forgot to breathe.

A man’s strong arms plucked her from her horse and deposited her in front of him. The hard wedge of the saddle dug painfully into her rump, but she didn’t care. This mount didn’t roll beneath her like a ship during a storm. She wrapped her arms around Anthony’s warm torso and buried her face in his wet collar. He was no drier than she, but the heat of his body soaked into her and slowly relaxed her. Her shivers abated. Her heartbeat slowed to normal as he rubbed his palm over her back.

“Are you hurt?”

She shook her head, still buried in his collar.

Lieutenant Stills called, “Bad news, Captain. The horse seems to have thrown a shoe. We’ll have to keep to a slow pace, and it won’t be able to bear a rider.”

Anthony swore under his breath. His arm tightened around her until he abruptly released her. She continued to cling to him.

“We can’t ride like this,” he said softly. “It isn’t comfortable or practical. You’ll have to sit behind me.”

When she raised her gaze to him, she found his eyes dark in the pool of light cast by the lantern. “You’ll let me ride with you?” In her opinion, that was the very definition of not being able to keep up.

“You’ll have to,” he said matter-of-factly. “Your horse cannot bear your weight. He can scarcely bear his own.”

She bit her lip and looked down. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to harm the horse.”

The touch of his hand was cold as he dipped his index finger beneath her chin and used it to raise her gaze. For a moment, his touch lingered. His gaze fastened on her mouth. Did he fancy kissing her at that moment? She licked her lips, anticipating his touch.

Instead, he dropped his hand and cleared his throat. “I doubt it was anything you did. The shoe must not have been nailed on straight. These nags aren’t in the best condition, so I wouldn’t put it past that village to have done shoddy farrier work as well. Are you fit to move? I need to transfer you behind me if we’re to continue.”

Burying her disappointment over returning to the reality of their search, Charlie nodded. With Anthony’s help, she moved to sit sidesaddle behind him. She wrapped her arms around his waist for balance as they set off again. His warmth and the lack of a need to concentrate on what she was doing made her sleepy.

When she cracked a yawn, Anthony said over his shoulder, “Don’t worry. I’ll find us a place to weather out the night as soon as may be.”

She almost resented the promise of a bed. When it came, she would have no more excuse to touch him.

* * *

Gray had begun to despair of finding anywhere to bed down, even the barn of a local farm. Fortunately, as the track widened and began to grow passable again, they came to a crossroads. At the crux was a shabby little inn, two stories tall. It would have to do.

The innkeeper didn’t seem particularly pleased to be roused from bed after midnight. The proprietress’s frown deepened as she noticed who was at her door. Her dress, hastily donned, gaped over her upper chest. Her hair resembled a bird’s nest.

Gray straightened his shoulders. “Madam, I beg your pardon for arriving so late in the evening, but we are looking for a place to spend the night and rest our horses. I am Captain Graylocke of the Royal Navy, and this is Lieutenant Stills.”

“And would she be your wife?” The woman’s voice dripped with censure.

Charlie bristled. She drew herself up, no doubt to deny the accusations, but Gray slung his arm around her shoulders and tucked her into his side. “She is,” he lied. “You may address her as Mrs. Graylocke.”

Given the way Charlie stiffened next to him, he would come to regret giving her that moniker, albeit temporarily. He only prayed that she wouldn’t speak the truth. The innkeeper didn’t seem likely to grant them shelter at this hour if she believed Charlie to be a fallen woman.

Fortunately, Charlie held her tongue—likely a testament to how exhausted she was. She leaned into Gray’s embrace. He wondered if her ankle was giving her grief.

The innkeeper’s face softened as she returned her attention to Charlie. “You poor dear, you’re soaked to the skin. Why don’t you come in and sit for a moment? I’ll rouse my husband to tend your horses while I start a fire in two of our rooms. We’ll see you and your husband settled straight away, Mrs. Graylocke, don’t you fear.”

Two rooms. Gray swore inwardly. He hadn’t thought far enough ahead. In the ton, most husbands and wives kept separate rooms. However, they were far from London; she hadn’t recognized him as a duke’s son, or she would have jumped to accommodate him regardless of Charlie’s fictitious position as his wife. Now, if he wanted to keep up the ruse, he would have to share a bedroom with her.

To sleep in the same bed with her warm body next to him would be far too much temptation.

Heedless to the torture to which she subjected him, the innkeeper bustled into a modest common room filled with wooden tables and benches. Stills remained outside, holding the horses and the lantern while he found the stables. The only light inside the establishment came from a tallow candle perched atop the nearest table.

“How long have you two been married?” the older woman asked as she found a second candle and lit it from the wick of the first.

When Charlie looked a bit panicked, Gray answered for them both. “Not long,” he said, biting off his words.

“On your honeymoon, are you?” For all her earlier sourness, she seemed in a remarkably amiable mood now. “I had wondered why a captain in the Royal Navy would be so far inland. I thought you gents never strayed from a port city like Brighton.”

Gray smiled tightly. “It’s true, I would never abandon my duty for anything less than life-changing.”

When the innkeeper opened her mouth—perhaps to quiz them further—he cut her off.

“Forgive me, madam, but it is extraordinarily late, and we’ve been riding all afternoon in search of a proper inn. Could we beg you for the bed now?” He caught Charlie’s hand, finding it cold. “And perhaps a cup of tea or something hot to eat if you have it.”

“Oh, dear me, yes, of course. Let me go stoke those fires up first thing and wake my husband. Don’t want your companion…”

“Lieutenant Stills,” he supplied when she trailed off.

“Yes, don’t want this Lieutenant Stills to be out in the rain any longer than necessary. I won’t be long, I promise.”

As she left, taking the second candle with her, Gray lowered himself onto a bench next to Charlie. He still held her hand. He warmed it between his, despite the fact that he was likely no warmer. What he wouldn’t give for a hot bath. That, unfortunately, was impossible.

After a moment, Charlie whispered, “Thank you.” When he looked at her askance, she elaborated. “I know you want to press on.”

He switched to warming her other hand. “If we don’t stop, we’ll fall dead on our feet tomorrow. The horses, as well.”

She didn’t say anything further. When he was done warming her hands, she retracted them onto her lap. He felt strangely bereft without them.

Stills entered shortly thereafter, soaked to the skin and looking as though he was near to dropping. Gray accepted his and Charlie’s packs. Stills barely said two words before the proprietress returned to lead them to their rooms. “I’ll cook you up a hot hash and bring it up straight away.”

She showed Gray and Charlie to their room first—a blessing, for it meant that he would soon be rid of his wet clothes. Once he entered the small room, equipped only with a bed, a chair and writing desk, a bedside table, and a dressing screen in the corner, he recalled that he was sharing this room. Without looking at Charlie, he shut the door and offered her one of the satchels he carried.

“You should remove your wet clothes before you catch a chill.”

She nodded and accepted the pack, peeking inside. The firelight from the hearth gave off a warm glow that lit across her cheekbones. Even with her hair limp and bedraggled, she looked beautiful. She toed off her slippers, keeping them by the door, before she tiptoed to the bed and set the satchel on the floor next to it. She extracted a long white nightgown. Despite the light pouring from the fire, she carried the candle from downstairs to the dressing screen. When she began to disrobe, the shadow of her figure showed through the screen.

Lud! He turned his back and bent to remove his boots, setting them next to her slippers. Despite his attempts to keep his thoughts on the fire, their mission, or what he intended to wear to bed—certainly more than his smallclothes, given that they now shared a room—he couldn’t banish the image of her removing her dress.

When she stepped from behind the screen, the reality was no better. Her wet hair rendered the white fabric sheer in places near her shoulders and upper chest. The firelight seemed to make her eyes bluer and her cheeks rosier. Hastily, he plucked his clothes and retreated behind the screen. There was a small basin there with a bar of soap and a damp cloth. He used it to wash himself quickly before he donned new clothes and stepped out from behind the screen. When he did, he found Charlie seated at the writing desk, brushing her hair. The only place for him to sit was the narrow bed. He perched on the edge.

After a tense moment, he asked, “How is your ankle?” He tried valiantly not to look at her bare foot as he did.

She wagged the brush at him. “I’m in perfect health, Anthony. I’ve already said as much multiple times.”

He hadn’t noticed a limp while she walked, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t concerned. She must be as saddle-sore as he was, but he couldn’t possibly ask after the state of her bottom. The ankle would have to do.

His gaze plummeted to the hem of her nightgown. Her bare feet poked out the bottom. As he watched, she curled her toes in and tried to tuck them beneath the nightgown. A swatch of her ankle came into view as she rearranged the gown, including a faint purplish bruise. She had been hurt during the walk but appeared much too stubborn to admit it.

As he opened his mouth to push the topic further, a knock at the door interrupted them. Although he was clad in no more than his shirtsleeves and breeches, he crossed to the door and opened it. He tried to bar the view of Charlie.

The proprietress was there with two plates of the hash she’d promised, along with a steaming pot of tea. He accepted the tray and thanked her, promising to put the dishes outside the room when he’d finished.

When he turned, Charlie stepped away from the writing desk to give him room to set down the tray. She slipped past him toward her satchel to put away her hairbrush. “That smells divine. I know we ate in the last town, but I’m famished.”

He smiled and poured her a cup of tea. When she settled on the edge of the bed, he passed it and the plate to her. “Traveling so much tends to work up an appetite.”

He contemplated sitting next to her. He wouldn’t be as tempted to ogle her neckline, but they would be far too close. He took the seat in front of the writing desk instead. He started to eat the hash, cubed chunks of meat cooked alongside cubed root vegetables, but he scarcely took two bites.

Now that they had stopped for the night, the day—and the week—caught up with him. His mother’s life was in danger, and here he sat, idle with a hot plate of hash. If he’d been alone, he wouldn’t have stopped. Perhaps he would have tried to trade in his horse for a fresh one and catch an hour’s nap, but then he would be back in the saddle, pressing on to Tenwick Abbey and praying to find his mother there safe and sound. Instead, he had to think of Charlie’s health. Even if she hadn’t complained, he couldn’t push them to exhaustion the way he might do himself.

He rubbed his forehead as he stared at his food, no longer hungry. What if he didn’t make it in time?

Charlie’s delicate touch to his knee returned him to the present. Her eyes glimmered with concern when he raised his gaze. “We’ll do everything we can. We will save her. Neither you nor I will settle for anything less.”

Her voice held such a note of conviction that he suspected if he asked her to push on after an hour’s rest she would willingly do so. He clasped her hand, taking what comfort she offered. Mother had touched her, as well. Perhaps she didn’t love his mother in precisely the same way she loved her own, but she loved Mother all the same. He hadn’t known how much he’d needed an ally in his worry before now. If he’d been alone… it wouldn’t have been the same.

“Thank you.” His voice was hoarse. He offered no other words. He had none to offer.

It was enough. Even after they returned to their meals and she retracted her hand, her presence in the room reminded him that he was not alone in this.

Despite his lack of appetite, he ate every scrap on his plate, wanting to keep his strength up. Charlie didn’t quite finish hers, for all her pronouncement of hunger, but he didn’t push her. Instead, he collected their plates and cups and set them outside the door, as instructed. Down the short corridor, another tray rested outside another room, presumably Stills’s. Gray shut and locked the door.

When he turned, he found Charlie standing as well, wringing her hands, and she nibbled on her lower lip. Her hair had started to dry, fluffing out from her head and lightening in color. When she stopped nibbling on her lip, the rosy hue of her mouth beckoned to him. He swallowed hard as he relived their last kiss, and the one before. His reasons not to kiss her again were growing thinner by the day. “Which side would you like?”

Lawks! She thought he meant to sleep in bed next to her? A bed that size meant that he would be pressed intimately against her. The thought fired his blood. He crossed the room, and until he reached her, he didn’t know what decision he would make. Kissing her could lead to… irrevocable things. He wanted her, unable to deny that fact any longer. But he still had his honor, his word.

He reached past her to take one of the two pillows. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

Her blond eyelashes fluttered in front of her eyes as she blinked a few times in a row. “You aren’t going to sleep in the bed?” She licked her lips, enticing him further.

He bit back a groan. She stood close enough for him to feel the heat of her body. Swallowing hard, he thrust the pillow between them as a shield against the temptation. “It wouldn’t be proper.”

She frowned. “Proper? Anthony, I trust you.”

Therein lay the problem. She’d already shown him once that if he wanted to kiss her, she wouldn’t stop him. Where was the line? Better he not risk crossing it.

“Perhaps you shouldn’t.” He leaned forward to kiss her soft cheek. “Good night, Charlie.”

Tucking the pillow under his arm, he marched to the fire and stretched out in front of it. A moment later, the floorboards creaked, and Charlie draped the bed’s thin coverlet over his body. When he twisted to thank her, his mouth dried at how near she was. She curled her toes.

“The bed has a sheet as well. I don’t need it. Good night, Anthony.”

As she climbed into bed, he faced the fire once more and tried to will himself asleep.