“No, I’d rather wait down here,” she muttered, as the memory of how he’d swept her up in his arms flashed through her mind. He’d been so hungry for her, he hadn’t taken the time to find a bedroom. For heaven’s sake, they’d both been so lost to passion, they hadn’t even undressed.
No, she couldn’t dwell on those heated, transforming moments. That way lay madness.
“I’ll go into the next room,” he said.
“No…” She reached out to stop him, before she remembered she’d lost the right to touch him.
The gaze he leveled upon her was distant. “I’d prefer that, if you don’t mind.”
She braced against his coldness. He sounded worse than a stranger. He sounded like he hated her.
“I’ll see if I can find us something to eat. I know there’s some brandy in the cellars.”
The thought of food made her gag. “No, thank you.”
“Would you like a fire?”
“No, no, it’s a warm night.” His attempts to ensure her wellbeing made her want to scream.
“If Meg isn’t back by dawn, I’ll set out for Upton.” He still spoke in that distant voice. “It’s ten miles away, but I should find help there.”
Sally made herself stand up straight. “I want to box the chit’s ears,” she said bitterly. Although she couldn’t blame her niece for this almighty mess. It was all her fault.
“No doubt.” Charles gave her a chilly bow. “Then I’ll wish you good night.”
“Thank you.”
She watched him go through to the hall, then return with her pelisse which he dropped over the back of a chair. “In case it gets cold later.”
“Thank you,” she said again, and crossed the room to look out the window at the moon. After a moment’s bristling silence, she heard him leave again.
She didn’t look around. She couldn’t bear for him to see her tears.
* * *
Chapter Thirteen
* * *
Charles stirred from his uneasy doze to hear the outside door opening behind him. He shifted and groaned. He was too tall to sleep in a chair—and a hard chair at that.
“Sir Charles?” Meg stood on the threshold, carrying one of the lanterns from his curricle. She looked windswept and tired, but unharmed, thank God.
“Miss Meg,” he said, standing up, buttoning his coat.
“Where’s Aunt Sally?”
“Asleep in the next room.” He checked his watch. It was nearly eleven o’clock. “Where the devil have you been?”
“I got… Oh, there you are, Aunt Sally.”
“Are you all right, Meg?” she asked, coming through from the room where she and Charles had made love.
After all that had happened between them, seeing Sally felt like a punch to the solar plexus. On a wave of bitter misery, the events of the night rushed toward him. The wonder of having her in his arms, the sweetness of her surrender, followed by those devastating words that pulverized his every hope.
His hungry eyes ate up the sight of her. She’d put on her pelisse and found enough pins to tidy her hair. She looked almost respectable. But her lovely face was pallid and drawn, and the thickness in her voice revealed that she’d been crying.
Hell, he hated that he’d made her cry. His hands clenched into useless fists at his sides as if he prepared to fight some unnamed foe. Although the tragic truth was that when it came to his battle to win this exquisite woman, the dragons had emerged victorious.