Rory woke from his restless doze to see the door opening. Stretching painfully, he raised one hand to rub his stiff neck. He wouldn’t recommend sleeping the night on two chairs.
“Ned?” he asked wonderingly when his friend came into the hut, stamping snow from his boots. “What the devil are you doing out in this blizzard?”
Ned shut the door behind him. “It’s now a beautiful night. You’ve chosen a dashed unpredictable place to settle.”
Rory realized that the wind no longer howled. “How did you find us?”
“When you and Miss Farrar didn’t come back, people were worried, but couldn’t go out in the weather. Once the snow eased, I came after you. When I found the sledge, I knew you couldn’t be far away.”
Bess had stirred when Ned came in, and now she sat up without sparing Rory a glance. She looked disheveled and exhausted. Rory’s gut contracted with stabbing guilt when he saw tearstains on her cheeks. He’d hurt her when he’d brought that wild encounter to an end, and that had never been his intention.
Damn him, he should have let her down more gently, but at the time, he’d been a million miles from equanimity himself.
When Rory tore his gaze from Bess, he caught a speculative glint in Ned’s eyes. She looked like she’d survived a blizzard. Unfortunately she also looked thoroughly bedded.
“Are you on your own?”
“Yes, I tried to get here ahead of the crowd. But they’re not far behind me.”
Ned’s words were a warning. Rory and Bess had been alone for hours, and unless he was careful, they’d be irretrievably compromised. He wanted her to marry him, but not because she had to. And he couldn’t bear to think of people sniggering about her.
“Good evening, Mr. White,” she said, standing and smoothing her hands down her creased skirts. “Thank you for coming to find us.”
“It’s my pleasure, Miss Farrar.” Ned liked Bess, and he appreciated her liveliness and competence. Neither of which would save them from scandal, if the villagers chose to interpret this evening’s events in a prurient light. Guilt stabbed Rory anew, as he recalled how close he’d come to making any prurient thoughts reality.
“What time is it?” Bess ran her fingers through her tumbled hair and divided it into three strands for plaiting. Her movements were quick and deft as she confined the rumpled golden mass. Rory’s fingers itched to touch that lovely mane. His tiresome principles didn’t stop him wanting.
“Just past midnight,” Ned said, straightening his spectacles.
Rory looked squarely at his friend. “If people know we’ve been together all this time, there will be the devil to pay.”
Bess moved around the hut, tidying away traces of occupancy. Despite their dire circumstances, Rory found her quiet housewifery mesmerizing. Any man would be lucky to come home to such a wife as Bess. Good and faithful and bright.
And right now, a million miles out of reach, even if she stood mere feet away.
“I’ll say I saw nothing untoward,” Ned
said.
“Not good enough.” Rory studied his friend’s scholarly features. “A lady’s reputation hangs by a thread, and I swear Miss Farrar is as pure now as she was when she stepped into the hut.”
It was almost the truth. But as she straightened the bed and folded away the blankets, Bess’s shoulders stiffened.
“What would you like me to do?” Ned asked.
“Tell people you found me in the hollow of a tree or sheltering under a bank, and you and I arrived together at the hut to find Miss Farrar. I’ll say she and I were separated in the storm. All hell was breaking loose, so there’s no reason for anyone to doubt our story, especially if you back me up.”
“Of course I will.” Ned smiled at Bess who had stopped to watch them both with a troubled frown. “I’ll never allow anyone to question your virtue, Miss Farrar.”
She managed a smile for Ned. Again she avoided Rory’s eyes. “Thank you, Mr. White. You’re very kind.”
Ned turned to Rory. “Go and roll in the snow until your coat’s wet. Nobody will believe a word of this story if they see you looking so warm and dry.”
Rory bit back a sardonic laugh. If only Ned knew how close he’d come to diving headfirst into the snow after he abandoned Bess at that crucial moment. Grimly he headed outside and tugged at a low-hanging branch. The freezing wet snow that cascaded down his neck seemed suitable penance for his trespasses.
By the time their rescuers arrived, the hut was pristine, and Bess and her two companions sat around the table, the picture of innocence. Only Rory noticed that when she shared a lighthearted narration of her adventures with the villagers, not once did she glance in his direction.
***