“He’s good with a fire, too.”
“I’m no useless aristocrat,” he said drily. “Life on a ship prepares a man for any circumstances, including finding himself alone with a beautiful girl in the middle of a snowstorm.”
She cast him a mocking look. “And teaches him a smooth line in flattery, too, it seems.”
He merely spoke the truth, but if he started telling her how wonderful she was, he didn’t trust himself not to offer physical proof of his admiration. “What on earth are you doing?”
She’d wrestled the door open and wind cut through the room. He leaned over the fire to keep the frail flicker of heat alive.
“I’m getting some snow to melt for water. We’ve got the makings for soup. Are you hungry?”
Yes, and not just for soup. “Something warm would be nice.”
She was outside only moments. The door slammed shut behind her as she fought her way back into the hut. He crossed to take the heavy iron pot she’d filled with snow and set it on the hook above the flames.
“I’ll have to compliment the landlord on his arrangements.” She headed for the shelf of supplies and began to sort ingredients.
Rory didn’t smile as he pulled a chair up to the table and sat. When the villagers had conspired to advance his courtship, he’d been amused—and touched. And he’d certainly appreciated any opportunity to hav
e Bess to himself.
But now, because of that conspiracy, potential disaster loomed. At least from Bess’s perspective.
“If we stay here all night, there will be repercussions,” he said gravely.
“It will be all right.” She brought two onions, a heel of desiccated bacon, and a few shriveled turnips, potatoes, and carrots to the table.
He hadn’t expected her to collapse into hysterics—his Bess was made of stronger stuff than that. But surely the threat of scandal deserved more attention than she gave to a few old vegetables. “Your reputation will be in shreds.”
She returned to the shelves. “We’ve got barley, too, and split peas. We definitely won’t starve.”
“Capital. Did you hear what I said?”
She carried a couple of jars across. “There’s chamomile for tea, and some sort of liquor. It’s probably filthy stuff, but it might help to keep us warm.”
Rory caught her wrist before she moved away again. As the room warmed up, they’d both taken their gloves off, so he felt her pulse racing beneath his fingers. She wasn’t as calm as she appeared on the surface. “Bess?”
She regarded him wonderingly. “You’ve never called me Bess before.”
He released an impatient breath. “Never mind that. I just want you to know that I’m a man of honor.”
Her eyelids flickered down, and she stared at his large tanned hand encircling her pale wrist. “This isn’t London or even Newcastle. People here understand that emergencies happen.”
“If we’re alone until morning, there’s no help for what we must do.”
She pulled away and returned to the shelf where she rooted out a couple of bowls, a sharp knife, and a ladle. “I’m not going to make a fuss.”
“You won’t have to.”
She looked back, blue eyes deep and serious in the golden light. He realized that she was fully aware of the trouble they were in. “Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it.”
“We could try to get back to the Abbey. It can’t be much more than a mile.”
Her lips turned down in dismissal. “In the dark in a blizzard? And both of us on foot and not dressed for this weather? We’d be taking our lives into our own hands.”
“It would save a scandal.”
“I’d rather stay alive.” She began to chop an onion with impressive efficiency. “I grew up in this valley. Trust me when I say this is likely no more than a flurry.”