“I’m going to secure a room,” Arran said in a repressive tone, slinging a satchel with enough belongings for a one-night stay over his arm.
Simms chortled, utterly unperturbed. “Good thinking. It’s going to snow soon, I can smell it in the air. But my lord, one word of warning…”
“Yes?”
“I got talking to some of the locals, they were grumbling about their lord lieutenant being a right bastard and that peers were bloodsucking leeches. They demanded to know who I drove for. So I said my employer Mr. Elliott was a gent and generous with coin for good service. Just as well you chose the faster, more modern carriage without the crest, eh, otherwise we might have been left on the roadside to be robbed and murdered.”
Arran rubbed his jaw, unsure whether to laugh or groan. In truth, his father’s mantle of Marquess of Kyle remained an uneasy fit, and he’d chosen the secondary carriage to enter London discreetly and get his bearings first. Presenting himself here as no more than a well-to-do gentleman held great appeal, and it would only be for one night while they waited for the new axle bolt. “Duly noted. But send one of the lads ahead with letters for Lady Sarah and the townhouse, to let them know we’ve been delayed. I don’t want them to worry.”
“Aye, sir.”
Rolling his eyes, Arran pulled his heavy greatcoat tighter and made his way from the stables to the inn. After stomping his boots to get rid of the icy mud, he pushed open the wide wooden door and strode into the welcoming coziness. There was a thick rug on the floor, wreaths of mistletoe and holly at the windows, and a fire burned merrily in the stone fireplace, so he paused to remove his leather gloves and warm his hands.
“Lovely, isn’t it?” said a husky, sultry voice to his right, one that etched itself into his mind in an instant.
He turned his head, his heart nearly pounding out of his chest, for a few feet away stood the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on. Although beautiful was far too bland a word to describe wide hazel eyes with long black lashes, rosy cheeks, carnally full lips made to be kissed, and a riotous mop of chocolate-brown curls pinned haphazardly atop her head. As for her body…Arran barely suppressed a raw sound of pure lust. While she wore a modest ensemble of thin wool shawl and a plain, serviceable blue cambric gown, the garments strained against luscious plump curves. Christ, his hands positively itched to undress her so he could learn the shape and weight of her full breasts and the softness of her ample hips. Then the flavor of her sweet little cunt as she came on his tongue, and the erotic contrast of creamy rounded backside marked with dark pink patches because she’d begged him to spank her for being so very, very naughty…
Stunned at his instantaneous and unruly response to a stranger, Arran cleared his throat. Bloody hell. If the poor woman glanced down, she would see stark evidence of the effect she had on him. He needed to move before he disgraced himself completely. “Lovely indeed. Do excuse me, I’m just on my way to secure lodgings.”
Bowing, he quickly turned on his boot heel and marched over to where an older woman wearing a well-tailored gray gown and spotless white apron stood behind a wooden counter. Thankfully she was no temptation whatsoever. “Good afternoon, madam. Are you the person to speak to about securing a room for the evening?”
“Yes, sir,” she replied, with a polite if slightly impatient smile. “I am Mrs. Vine, the innkeeper’s wife. But there is just one room left, and we only accept married couples. This is a respectable establishment. No bachelors or spinsters, we don’t want any bad behavior, and coin doesn’t bend the rules.”
His heart sank to his toes. The woman had obviously had this exact conversation with more than a few people today and looked battle-hardened. “I see. The weather—”
“There’s another inn five miles away. You could try there. Don’t know why so many bodies want to travel near Christmas.”
“Quite,” he murmured, frustrated beyond belief. Of course, he’d found the one place in England where his title and bachelorhood made him undesirable. But just when he was resigned to spending the night in a stable, a feminine hand curled around his arm and sent a jolt of heat through him.
Her. Somehow he knew, but he glanced down to confirm, and indeed a newly familiar pair of hazel eyes regarded him boldly.
“Have you secured us a room, husband?” she said, in that same husky voice that wrapped around his cock and squeezed it. “I am ever so weary of travel.”
Arran inhaled in astonishment at the petite stranger’s brazen announcement to all and sundry that she was his wife. Yet even as she lied like a courtesan, her hand trembled a little around his arm. Hmmm. Not nearly as confident as she appeared. This beauty had a tale to tell, and he found himself intensely curious to know how she’d come to be alone and unprotected at this inn. Not to mention an odd compulsion to comfort and assure her that all would be well.
Christ. Had he gone mad? How could he run the full gauntlet of emotions—all within the space of a few minutes—about a wicked little liar? Yet right now, on Christmas Eve and standing in the only half-decent accommodation for miles, with diabolical weather on the way and a strict rule of married couples only…he needed the wicked little liar’s help.
Arran straightened his shoulders and patted her
