Snowflakes and Scandals

Chapter 6

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 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-blond 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 clambered 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.”

This time the words your wife echoed in his brain. He’d let it slide before, for Miss Barrett’s protection, but now he’d had his hand between her thighs and his mouth nearly on her sweet breast. Adrian tried not to think about that, and to focus on the fact that he’d located a warm bed for the night. “Right,” he said. “Excellent.”

He pulled on his cloak and trudged out to the stable through the downpour of sleet, where the postilion told him in no uncertain terms that he wasn’t risking his horses in this weather, not even for a short trip to the vicarage. After some argument, the stable master reluctantly agreed to lend him a horse, but only if Adrian returned the horse to his stable that night. “I’m only agreein’ on account of your lady,” he warned. “‘T’ain’t fit for man nor beast out there, but Jeannie says she’s got no rooms and the Hart can be rowdy during a storm.”

“Understood.” Adrian tramped back into the taproom and found Miss Barrett looking a bit flustered, but she met his gaze and smiled with relief when he told her there was a room and a horse to take them there.

“I don’t think we can carry both valises and Sir Reggie,” he told her.

“Nonsense! I can bundle up a few essentials and retrieve the rest and Reggie in the morning.” She clasped his hand. “Thank you, Captain, for going to such lengths for me. You would be well justified in leaving me and continuing your own journey—I know you are also anxious to reach Blackthorpe?—”

He waved his free hand. “I would hardly abandon you now! If not for me, you would be comfortably waiting in Ipswich, where the inn did not stink of spilled ale and piss pots.”

She laughed, blushing. Adrian wondered if she knew she still held his hand. “I appreciate it more than words can say.”

“I hope you still think so after our ride,” he said. “We’re going to get soaked.”

She laughed again. “I shall hardly notice, after the rest of the day!”

For a moment he just stood there, lost in the dazzling warmth of her smile. That a woman could laugh and make light of this misadventure simply floored him. Then he went to pay the bill and discovered she had already done it, while he was in the stables. The landlady nodded briskly. “A very polite and sensible lady, that one,” she said in approval. “Would that more were like her.”

“I agree,” he said after a moment. Miss Barrett had little money, but she’d paid for his supper and beer. After he’d fallen asleep on top of her and put his hand on her thigh.

He found her waiting, already in her cloak, by the door. She held her forlorn bonnet by the ribbons but looked determined and cheerful. He resolved that he would see her safely to her grandmother’s door, as quickly as he could manage, no matter what he had to do.

“I am ready to face the elements,” she told him, tugging closed her cloak and setting the bedraggled bonnet on her head.

He slapped his hat onto his head and opened the door for her. “Let’s be off, then.”

The wet snow had become a pelting, freezing rain, and puddles swamped the courtyard. They hurried to the stable, where the groom had a brown gelding saddled. After a quick stop at the travel chaise to retrieve what they needed overnight and a last question about the direction, Adrian swung into the saddle. The big horse shifted under him as he settled himself. Miss Barrett waited, her bundle under one arm. He caught the wariness that crossed her face, and realized she wasn’t much used to riding.

“I think you’ll be better in front of me,” he said. At least he could keep her from falling off, if she were in front.

“You know better than I would. I shall trust your judgment.” The groom boosted her onto the saddle, and Adrian closed his arms around her. She fit very well against him, her shoulder against his chest, her legs in front of his left knee. She squirmed a little, getting settled, and he thought that she felt just as enticing on top of him as she did beneath him. And when her cloak gapped open a little, he caught a glimpse of the lovely breasts he had so recently had his cheek against.

Stop thinking of that, he told himself.

“All right?” he asked.

She tugged her cloak closed and hugged her bundle before nodding, looking even more nervous now. “The best safety lies in healthy fear.”

He paused. “Are you frightened?”

“No,” she said, without looking at him. “Merely mindful of the fact that we’re on a strange horse, riding into a howling storm, in the dark, following vague directions through an unfamiliar town to the home of people we do not know. I undertake such adventures every other Tuesday.” She smiled a little as he laughed. “I do hope you are a captain of cavalry.”

Adrian laughed again. “I was! Fear not, I’ve ridden through worse conditions.” He pulled his cloak around them as much as possible, then rode out into the frigid night.

Icy rain lashed them like a slap, and Miss Barrett gasped, huddling closer to him. Her head tucked beneath his chin, and he caught a whiff of her scent again before the wind blew a burst of sleet into his face.

It was a little too much like Portugal, where they’d been caught in every kind of storm from blizzards to downpours. That experience came to his aid, though, as he guided the horse up the main road, turned right a half mile later, and finally saw the black shape of the church tower against the dark sky. The vicarage was just beyond it, lights glowing in the windows.

He reined in as close to the door as he could. The door opened and a short man with a ruff of gray hair around his head peered out, lamp in hand. “Captain Fitzhugh?” he called.

“Yes.” Adrian dismounted and turned to Miss Barrett. She slid gracelessly into his arms and staggered as he set her down.

“Come in, come in! I’m Mr. Kittridge, vicar of St. Mary’s as you see there.” He turned. “Catherine! Our guests are here.”

Adrian helped Miss Barrett, who had got rather wet despite his best efforts and was shivering with cold, into the house. He paused on the doorstep and pulled the bundle of his own things from beneath his cloak. He handed them to the vicar. “Thank you, sir. See that she gets warm and dry. I must tend to the horse.”

“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.