A voracious hunger burned in him, and he took what she offered.
A knock sounded behind him. “Are you in there, miss? It’s me, Betty, and me mum.” With an effort Ned mustered the remaining shreds of his self-control. He dragged his mouth from hers, steadied her, then turned and opened the door.
Betty and her mother entered, bearing bedding and nightclothes. They bustled about, making up the trundle bed.
Ned stood back, watching the women snapping and smoothing sheets, the view from the window—unrelieved darkness, there was nothing to see—anything but Lily.
She’d seated herself in the chair by the hearth and remained there, gazing into the fire as if fascinated. He couldn’t see her face, couldn’t tell what she was thinking.
He forced himself to breathe slow, deep breaths as he fought to regain a semblance of cool indifference. He told himself repeatedly that he was glad they’d been interrupted.
His body knew it for a lie.
What had possessed him, kissing her again? He’d spent the last part of the walk distancing himself from that first imprudent and inappropriate kiss, making it clear to both of them that it meant nothing.
And then to kiss her again. Madness. But her words had eaten at him. It was my first-ever kiss. Did I do it wrong?
He couldn’t leave her thinking that, could he? An ungentlemanly thing to do.
He snorted. So gentlemanly to kiss her half senseless. He glanced across at her. She hadn’t moved, hadn’t lifted her gaze from the dancing flames and glowing coals.
The truth was she kissed like an angel. A very earthy, sensual angel, ardent but untutored. A combination of eagerness and innocence that simply . . . unraveled him.
Blame the first time on the moon, the night, even the blasted owl—a moment out of time—but to do it a second time? What had he been thinking?
The truth was there’d been no thinking at all. Only reacting. What was he—a green boy to be unable to resist the innocent offerings of an unwitting siren? For siren she was, to him, at least.
But Lily Rutherford was not for him. He was standing in for her brother, that was all.
The women finished their arrangements. Mrs. Baines left first, adjuring Betty not to keep the young lady awake half the night with her chatter.
“I’m so glad you wanted me in here with you, miss,” Betty confided when her mother had gone. “Pa went and rented out my bed to a gentleman downstairs—I think he must be a lord or summat, I never seen a man dressed so fine and fancy in me life. I thought I was going to haveta put Jimmy out of his bed and him sleep on a mat on the floor until Ma told me your brother wanted me to sleep in here with you, for your reputation.” She threw Ned a sunny smile. “Pa’s in the doghouse but Ma’s right pleased with you, sir.”
The news didn’t please Ned at all. He’d decided to sleep on a bench in the taproom like Elphingstone, and keep an eye on the fellow. Lord knew where he would be lurking now. Ned didn’t trust him an inch.
He glanced at Lily, but there was nothing to be said now, not with Betty there—and that was a good thing, he told himself. He took his leave, saying, “I’ll bid you good night, then. Sleep well, ladies”—Betty giggled at the idea of being a lady—“and lock this door.”
He waited outside until he heard the lock click. As he turned, he glimpsed a long nose and a well-pomaded curl of reddish-brown hair slide into the shadows along the hallway. Elphingstone, sniffing around.
With a sigh Ned seated himself ruefully on the stairs. It was going to be a long, uncomfortable night.
The landlady was still on the landing. She eyed him curiously. “Sir?”
“Would you bring me a blanket, please?”
“A blanket, sir?” She took in what he meant and her eyes widened. “You’re going to sleep here? On the stairs?”
He gave her a cool look as if to say, Why not? It was not for her to question his actions. If he took a fancy to sleep on the stairs, that was his own business.
But her brow cleared and she gave him a warm, motherly smile. “I did wonder before whether the lass really was your sister—well, arriving with no luggage, and the state of her!—but I can see now you truly are her brother, sir, taking such good care to protect her from all possible harm. I’ll bring you up a blanket and a pillow too, sir—and a nice hot toddy.”
She bustled off, leaving Ned muttering irritably under his breath. Of course the inmates of the inn would speculate about the state of his “sister” arriving in an almost-naked state and with no luggage. He’d bet his last penny Elphingstone would have wormed that out of them already.
The landlady returned and, under her motherly eye, Ned wrapped himself in the blanket, smiling until she left him alone. How the devil had he landed himself in this fix? Lily Rutherford’s future was no business of his. She still dreamed of marrying for love, still thought that escaping from her abductor was all that mattered. And that she was safe now.
Safe! She was in almost as much danger of a forced marriage now as she’d been with that swine, Nixon.
He should have found her a safe place and left her there—with some respectable matron. Or in a convent, surrounded by nuns.
Ned sipped the hot toddy gloomily. Where was a nunnery when you needed one?
He could see exactly where this affair was leading and could see no way out of it. The last thing he wanted was responsibility for a helpless virgin, but what choice did he have? He couldn’t have left her in the state in which he’d found her: half frozen, filthy and still dazed from whatever drug she’d been given.
Stripping her of her wet clothes had been the only possible thing
