Follow My Lead (38 page)

It was a brutish, forceful kiss. Something claiming, branding her with his mouth. But just as soon as Winn had wrapped her mind around its occurrence, it was over.

She met his gaze, flushed hot, bewildered. His breathing had become harder, but his expression had not changed.

“I told you,” he said softly, yet iron laced his voice, “I intend to finish this.”

Then without another word, he left her in the alcove to seek out Hecht and buy their tickets to Austria. Left her with a coin in her hand, and a hunger that did not originate from her stomach.

Left her breathless.

Winn decided it best that conversation be relegated to the weather. Luckily, it began to rain.

It started just outside of Linz. Previous to that, conversation was stilted at best; jammed into a hot carriage with several other passengers, Winn tried to maintain as much physical distance as possible—she did not allow herself to lean into him or slack against his strong side.

The carriage they took made many regular stops in small towns, and the axles were somewhat delicate, slowing its travels—to the point that a trip that should have taken a day and a half took over two. Winn felt herself growing antsy at their pace . . . but found she could not speak of it to Jason, could not even seek the calming comfort of his hand over hers.

That kiss in the alcove was the last time he had touched her.

She could feel Jason’s eyes conspicuously not on her, holding himself away. Because it was what she had wanted. What she had dictated. They spoke only of what was necessary. What was polite. And the ache she felt, as if she had plunged a knife in his side and ended up nicking herself. Guilt and resolution, all in one.

But then, a heavy summer storm started, with thick droplets coming down in violent fury, thunder and lightning shaking and blazing the sky at turns. Having been in a carriage for two days straight, the cut to the thick air was a welcome relief . . . for the first twenty minutes. After that, the rain became soaking, even within the confines of the carriage. Everyone in the public coach—a varied assortment of travelers that rotated and altered when various stops were made—were terribly happy to decamp to the coaching inn that served as their destination in Linz.

“I’m practically drowning!” Winn cried in the hubbub of the inn’s entryway. Their carriage was not the only one to seek refuge from the storm. The taproom and stairs were crowded with equally saturated guests, packed in humidity and misery.

“There’s no way we can sleep in the hall tonight,” Jason grumbled, running a hand through his hair, shaking off the wet. The previous two nights, when the carriage stopped for the evening and everyone put up for the night, Jason and Winn were entirely without funds for a room. The last coin they had was the one that Winn used to purchase a loaf of bread . . . which lasted them up until yesterday. At the first inn, they were permitted to sleep in the taproom—but had to wait until it cleared out, well after midnight. At the second inn, they were allowed two somewhat comfortable chairs in the main entranceway on which to sleep.

Winn woke up every time the door opened. Which was regularly.

Lord, but did she need a good night’s sleep.

“You seem to be correct . . .” Winn said, her eyes taking in the crowded space. The door whipped open with every new entrance, letting in a burst of wind and rain that soaked the floor six feet into the room. And sometimes, the wind opened the door of its own volition.

“I’ll go and ask about the stables,” Jason said, bumping into her as he himself was bumped by another traveler, eager to make his way to the innkeeper at the front desk. He pulled back immediately—the past two days of distance forced on him by Winn having had its desired effect. He no longer sought to touch her. “See if I cannot trade work for a place to sleep.”

She nodded. “And I shall ask the same about the kitchens.”

Jason turned and ducked back out into the weather.

Winn felt the tide of guilt crash against her once he was out of sight. As strained as she had been toward him, he was still doing everything in his power to protect her, to provide for her. Even now, having arrived in Linz, when they had no more money and no easy way of earning any (true to form, they had not come across any small towns in need of a Duke to clean their stables, or even a regular Englishman; nor did they require the butcher batering or kitchen cleaning Winn could provide), he was trying. For her. Doing what he needed to do.

Ever since they crossed the border into Austria, Winn had felt that she was so close to her goal. So desperately close. All she had to do was get to Vienna. And they would, she thought, her hand going to her locket, pulling at it in her worrisome way. Once they had a good night’s sleep, they would be on their way.

She eyed the innkeeper, swamped with travelers applying for rooms.

Squaring her shoulders, she approached him.

Now, it was time for her to do what
she
needed to do.

“I do not understand,” Jason said as Winn lead him into the small room she had procured from the innkeeper. The smallest room they had, and boasting a window so thin it would not serve as an archer’s post on an old castle. But it did not leak, and was above the kitchens, therefore benefitting from the warmth of the stove fires below. Add to that the clean linens and—she sat gingerly on the bed—not too uncomfortable straw ticking, and it was the most beautiful place she’d seen in days.

“What did the innkeeper say?” Jason asked, confused skepticism on his features.

“He said this room was barely used in any case, and that if we promise to help clean up the gardens in the morning—they’ll be fairly ruined in the downpour—there will be breakfast in it for us, as well as supper tonight.”

“That’s awfully kind,” Jason replied, standing still in the doorway. There was nowhere but the bed to sit and he was still dripping. “But considering the number of people downstairs, a bit
too
kind.”

“I . . . I don’t think so,” Winn said, unable to meet his discerning eye. “Sometimes people are kind without cause. Think of Frau Heider or Herr Wurtzer. Both of them kinder than they needed to be. Perhaps the innkeeper is just the same.”

He advanced on her. Not in a predatory way, just slow, considering steps that made Winn want to squirm in her seat.

Standing directly in front of her, he tilted his head to one side, regarding. Studying. Then finally he asked, “Winnifred, where is your locket?”

She jarred at the sound of her full name on his lips, even as her hand went automatically to that space at the base of her throat, knowing she would find it empty. She sighed, letting her shoulders sag. “Perhaps the innkeeper does not deal strictly in kindness, but nor is he unfair. We get this room and supper for the evening. And, again, if we help with the gardens, breakfast in the morning. Indeed, I doubt a pawnbroker would have given us the equivalent.”

When he didn’t say anything, his mouth set in that hard, considering line, she felt the impulsive need to fill the oppressive space.

“And consider the clamor downstairs! Neither of us would have been able to sleep, and given the last few nights, sleep is of the utmost importance. I know . . . Jason I
know
we could get to Vienna if we just had a decent night’s sleep and a meal. So I traded my mother’s locket. It’s worth it. Heavens, we can
walk
to Vienna—the Danube connects the two cities. All we have to do is follow the river east for a few days.” She looked up at him, saw his gaze falling dispassionately down on her as she rambled.

“Stop looking at me like that,” she ordered. “I did what was necessary. That is all. I thought you’d be pleased. To be dry and safe for a night.” She threw her hands in the air. “Well, say something!”

He nodded, his mouth still pressed into that line, his jaw clenching beneath his beard.

“Wait here,” he finally said. And with that, stalked out the door, closing it behind him.

Leaving Winn alone in the small room, seated on the bed, unmoving. Certain of only one thing: Even with all her study, the male of the species was still a complete mystery.

I
T was two hours later before Jason made his way back to the coaching inn. The rain still came down in sheets; he was soaked to the skin. He looked at no one, not the innkeeper that Winn thought “fair-minded,” not the other patrons in the taproom, as he plodded up the stairs to the small room Winn had traded her one heirloom for.

Her necklace. Jason didn’t know what enraged him so much when he saw that it was gone . . . just that she did not look herself without it. She had nothing to hold on to when she was thinking, nothing else in her wardrobe that was remotely feminine—even her dress was shaped after a man’s shirt—but, still the idea of her slim neck without its shine disturbed him in a way he did not like.

And so he did something stupid.

He opened the door of the tiny room to find Winn sitting on the bed in the same position as when he’d left her. The only sign of movement was the tray of half-eaten stew and potatoes that sat beside her.

“Where did you go?” she asked.

In response, he dropped her locket on the tray next to her. She tried to seem unaffected as she touched it reverently, picked it up, and held its weight in her hand. She tried, but to his trained eye, she failed.

“But I only gave it to the innkeeper . . .” she started, her voice impossibly thick.

“And he had already given it to a lad to hock. I had to track him down and then the shop he sold it to,” Jason replied gruffly.

“But we have no money, how did you . . .” And then her eyes shifted from the locket to him. He could feel her gaze rake down his body and land on his hand.

His naked hand.

She stood up abruptly, rattling the tray of food. “You should not have done that!” she scolded, her face flying to his face.

“Probably,” he agreed spitefully, and then turned to the door.

“Jason, you should not have done that—that is your ducal signet ring!” She followed after him. “That’s worth a hundred times my necklace!”

“Then it’s too bad the lad sold it to a swindler,” Jason replied, anger lacing his tone. “I couldn’t get more than your necklace for it.”

“Why?” she cried, throwing up her hands. “Jason, why couldn’t you have just let me do this . . . so we could get a good night’s sleep and go on in the morning?”

“I. Don’t. Know,” Jason replied, throwing open the door and stomping down the first few steps, knowing full well Winn was on his heels. “Maybe it’s because I have a hundred thousand reminders of my title at home, where as you only have that stupid necklace to remember your mother by. Maybe it’s because you don’t seem to have any other heart than that one, and so I thought it best you keep it. Maybe it’s because I’ll be
damned
if I’m going to let you sacrifice anything more to get to Vienna, because while I go back to my stately houses and silk cravats and all the other ridiculous things that I own once this is over, you have really little more than that locket and your own will to guide you through the rest of life. So I did it, and I’m not about to tell you which shop has my ring, so you’d best get used to it.”

She pulled back as if struck, blinking at the fury of his speech. Of his feeling. Jason, too, was surprised by the strength of his argument. They stared into each other, on the cramped staircase leading down to the noisy kitchens, his breath coming hard and hers coming not at all. Finally, he turned and continued stomping his wet boots down the stairs.

“Wait . . . where are you going?” Winn cried, skipping after him.

“You said we were allotted supper—I’m going to the taproom to drink it.”

“Wait . . . Jason, would you stand still a moment?” She caught up to him, caught his arm. He turned. Still on the stairs, she was one or two above him and therefore at a height with him. And therefore, did not have to stand on tiptoe to kiss him.