Taken by Storm (12 page)

And, bored.

She wondered what his reaction would be if she behaved just a little bit . . . badly.

“Really, Dr. Lord . . . I think that if one has to work, they should have a job like yours. Your day must be so very interesting, treating sick animals and saving their lives. I mean, all you had to do was
touch
Shareb’s leg, and the limp went away, just like that! I think you are wonderful.”

He shrugged. “Your praise is appreciated, but I did nothing to heal your horse’s lameness.”

“Do you think it was the bandage, then? The weights?”

“No, I think you have a confoundedly smart horse who has no desire to pull a chaise.”

“You mean, the lameness was all an
act
?”

“Aye, and a very good one, at that. Even had me fooled—til he forgot which foot was supposed to hurt.”

“Oh, no, Shareb would
never
do something deceitful like that! He’s an angel.”

“Yes, and so was Lucifer.”

“Dr. Lord,
really
. I would expect you to exhibit more loyalty and respect toward your patient! And to compare my sweet and innocent horse to the Devil . . . That is unkind.” She raised her voice and called, “Isn’t it, Shareb?”

As if in agreement, the stallion tossed his head.

They continued on for another quarter mile, and the doctor’s reluctance to be drawn into a conversation about Maxwell, combined with her full stomach and an overindulgence of ale at the coaching inn, began to weigh on Ariadne’s eyelids. She looked up at him, wondering what he had
really
done to cure Shareb’s poor, hurt leg. Surely, he must have worked some sort of magic. First the dog, then Shareb. . . .

And that shoulder of his, so very close to her own, was looking pleasantly inviting.

Lud, she was as drawn to him as animals seemed to be. But why? He was an uncommonly handsome man, her animal doctor, but she could have had her pick of handsome men before Father betrothed her to Maxwell, and none of
them
had made her heart beat just a little bit faster in her chest, as this man did.

“Dr. Lord?”

“I am beginning to dread that tone of voice. . . .”

“I think I ate and drank too much back there, as I am just getting so-o-o-o sleepy. . . .” She yawned prettily, and eyed that safe, solid shoulder. “Perhaps if you tell me about what your own horse was like, it will help me to stay awake. Was he as special to you as Shareb is to me?”

A shadow darkened the veterinarian’s eyes, and he smiled wistfully. “Yes. He was . . . very special.”

Ariadne said nothing, trying to keep her heavy eyes open and her mind off his shoulder. She wondered very much if he would mind if she leaned against it and went to sleep.

“What was his name?”

“Ned.”

“Ned. What a gentle, simple name.” She yawned, again. “I’ll bet he was much better suited to pull this chaise than my Shareb is.”

“Yes, I’m afraid he was. Much easier on my arms and shoulders.”

“Is Shareb still pulling?”

“Pulling?” The veterinarian grinned. “I’m beginning to suspect this animal is not a riding animal, but a plow horse. He is devilishly strong and hard on the bit.”

She tightened her hands in her lap, grateful that he hadn’t hit upon the truth of what Shareb
really
was. Especially, since they’d taken the weights out of the bandages and Shareb’s stride had returned to the long, fluid trot that was putting the miles behind them with tell-tale speediness. She figured their secret was still safe, though.

That is, as long as the doctor never saw him in a full gallop. . . .

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Do you want me to drive for a while? I promise to try harder this time to control him.”

“No. I’m fine, really. Sit back and enjoy the scenery.”

She tried, but could not, for the scenery that was two inches from her body was far more interesting than that of the surrounding countryside. Emboldened by the ale, feeling liberated without her identity and the clothes that would have proclaimed it, she gazed up at her companion’s face, the sweep of sunlit hair that fell over his forehead, the shape of his nose and the intent keenness of his eye. Though he was a commoner, his profile was nothing short of aristocratic.

“Dr. Lord?” The motion of Shareb’s powerful trot jouncing the chaise was making her all the more sleepy.

“Yes?”

“I think I should not have had so much ale.”

He looked down at her, suddenly concerned. “Are you ill?”

“No, merely tired. I mean, I usually do take a nap in the afternoon, because I keep very late hours—Town hours, you know—but between this sunshine, the motion of the chaise, a decided lack of sleep and now, the ale . . . well, I hope you can forgive me if I am not quite awake.”

“There is nothing to forgive.”

“Even if I use your shoulder as a pillow?”

He just turned and looked at her with that flat, indiscernible stare that said more than a thousand words.

“I know, it is most inappropriate . . . but there is no place in this little vehicle in which to lay down, and I am so very sleepy.”

“We could stop at an inn, if you like.”

“No, no, we shall do that tonight. I want to put London—and my brother—well behind us. Besides—” she covered her mouth, trying to keep her yawn to ladylike proportions— “that’s not what I asked you. I asked if you’d mind.”

“Not at all,” he said, a bit tightly.

She smiled her thanks, curled her arm around Bow, and carefully lowered her cheek to the veterinarian’s shoulder. He stiffened, the muscles beneath bunching with tension, but there was no place for him to move, nowhere for him to go, nothing he could say or do, really, that wouldn’t make him look petty and ungentlemanly. He had taken off his coat, and his shirt smelled of soap and clean wind. Ariadne closed her eyes in contentment. But her face had no sooner touched the soft fabric when the chaise hit a bump, painfully smashing her teeth together. She tried again, settling her cheek against the hard muscle and closing her eyes.
Ahhhh
. . . . She smiled, and sighed . . .

And began to sink into slumber.

The chaise hit a rut and her cheek slipped from his shoulder. Blinking in annoyance, she stared gloomily ahead, growing more perturbed by the moment.

And then the doctor’s arm went around her shoulders, pulling her close to his body and coaxing her head down into the cup of his shoulder. Ariadne closed her eyes, feeling his warmth and strength surrounding her, hearing his heart beating beneath her ear, knowing that he would keep her safe while she slept and never let anything happen to her.

Suddenly, all was right in the world.

She felt her body twitch, grow heavy. And then, with a sigh, she smiled against his shirt, rested her hand against his knee, and went to sleep.

# # #

The traffic had thinned out the further they got from London, and they passed nothing more than a team of draft horses that Shareb ignored, a fast-trotting mare who elicited enough of the stallion’s interest that Colin had to touch him with the whip to keep his mind on business, and an old shepherd who, with the help of a faithful dog, was bringing home his flock for the evening. The sunlight was rusty, the shadows long and reaching by the time Colin finally decided to start looking for a place to spend the night.

His employer was still asleep, her cheek nestled in the cup of his shoulder, her little hand lying innocently across his knee. For the hundredth time in the last hour, he looked down at her, and felt his heart skip a beat.

She fit within the circle of his arm as though she’d been made to it. Her cap was perched loosely on her coppery hair, and she smelled sweet and warm. She did not snore. She did not twitch. She merely lay there against him, soft and lovely and painfully beautiful.

Damnation, how I envy you, Maxwell!

He could not take his eyes off her. His chest tight with feeling, he looked down at the top of her nose and fair cheek, and after a moment of long, careful hesitation, bent down and kissed her brow.

Her skin was smooth and sweet and soft. He shuddered, looked up—

—and saw two pretty girls standing at the side of the road with their ponies, giggling and pointing at him.

“My son,” Colin said, blushing furiously.

Their high laughter followed him.

“Bollocks,” he swore.

Shareb-er-rehh snorted.

“Yes, you would think it’s funny, damned horse!”

Lady Ariadne stirred, stretched, and opened her eyes. But she did not lift her head from Colin’s shoulder. “What’s so funny?” she murmured, sleepily.

“Nothing.”

“I don’t talk in my sleep or anything, do I? Or God forbid, drool. That would be quite ghastly and embarrassing, drooling.”

“You did not drool. And if you talked in your sleep, you spoke to yourself, because I did not hear you.”

“Mmmmm.” She closed her eyes, and belatedly, Colin realized he still had his arm around her back and shoulder. He leaned back and tried to pull his arm away.

“Dr. Lord . . . please don’t. I’m so comfortable . . .”

“This is unseemly.”

“Only if I deem it so. And I don’t. So please, let your arm stay where it was.”

He sighed, allowing her to take his arm and pull it about her like a blanket. Tightness coiled in his loins, and he mentally counted off how many days, how many more hours, he would have to put up with this sweet torture.

He looked down at her, but she was asleep once more.

“Heaven help me,” Colin said, and drew her close.

In a few days, she would belong to Maxwell.

But for the moment, she belonged to him.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I ‘ave only one room left. Ye might try Mrs. Downing’s place back up the road a mile or two—sometimes she ‘as a few extra rooms, and would probably be able to take ye in. On second thought, yer horse—be it a mare or a gelding?”

“Stallion.”

“Oh, then forget
that
,” the innkeeper muttered, waving his liver-spotted old hand in dismissal. “Won’t put up a stallion, Mrs. Downing won’t. Husband got killed on one and she won’t ‘ave one in her stable. Says they’re too wild and unpredictable.” He straightened up, put a hand on his hip and with a twisted grimace, jerked the crick out of his back, allowing Ariadne to see beyond him and into the tavern. It was dark, gloomy, and low-ceilinged, with great beams and rafters darkened by centuries of pipe smoke; quite ordinary as taverns went, with lanterns cutting swaths of cheer through the smoky gloom, maids rushing around with plates of food, groups of men engaged in lively conversation. The pungent scent of smoke and greasy meat hung in the air like a fog. “Well,” the man said, impatiently. “I have one room left, take it or leave it.”

Ariadne saw her companion reach up to palm his brow and rake his hand back through his hair, making it stand on end before it tumbled haphazardly back into place. The veterinarian was tired—she could see it in the faint lines around his eyes, the grimace of pain he’d tried to hide when he’d stepped down from the chaise and, walking up to the door of this coaching inn, all but dragged his leg behind him.

“Thank you, but I think we’ll continue on and see what’s up the road a bit,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck and turning to leave.

Ariadne caught his arm.

“Nonsense,” she said, counting out some coins and pressing them into the innkeeper’s hand. “This is the third coaching inn we’ve tried tonight, and yours is the only room to be had. My poor . . . brother is very tired. We’ll take the room.”

“But—”

“Now
Colin
, don’t argue with me. I’m right this time, and you know it. Sir? If you’ll be so kind as to show us where your stable is so we can tend to our horse?”

“Let me get the ostler and ‘e’ll take care of ’im—”

“That is very kind of you, but we would prefer to do it ourselves,” Ariadne said.

The innkeeper knotted his receding brow and regarded them thoughtfully, then dropped the coins into his pocket. Turning, he cupped his hands over his mouth. “Meg! Guests! Show ‘em where the stable is, would ye?” He turned back to them. “Take care of yer horse, and by the time ye get back in I’ll have a good supper on the table, waiting for ye.”

A serving maid, wiping her hands on her apron, sauntered around the corner, looking over her shoulder and laughing at something someone had said back in the kitchen. She was buxom and pretty in a rustic sort of way, with yellow curls tumbling about her shoulders and blue eyes that were alive with humor.

She shot a ribald report back to the unknown person in the kitchen.

And then she saw Colin Lord.

The narrowing of the eyes, the sudden, silky smile, the passing of the tongue over the full lips—Ariadne saw it all, and was filled with a sudden, unreasonable, sense of irritation.

“Right this way . . . gentlemen,” the woman said huskily, casting a long, assessing look at Ariadne’s companion. Then she picked up a lantern and glided past him, looking coyly over her shoulder to make sure he was following.

Totally unaware of and completely oblivious to the serving maid’s interest in him, the veterinarian merely removed the spectacles he’d donned earlier in an attempt to rest his tired eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose, and followed the woman out of the inn.

“Methinks you have an admirer,” Ariadne said, a bit more sharply than she intended, as he put the spectacles back on.

“I beg your pardon?” He stopped and looked at her, his eyes confused behind his glasses.

Ariadne jerked her head toward the serving maid, who was several strides ahead of them and rolling her hips exaggeratedly as she walked. “I sincerely doubt that brazen display is for
my
benefit!”

The doctor frowned, looking more confused than ever. “Oh. Her. I hadn’t noticed.”

Ariadne grabbed his arm and yanked him forward. “Never mind. I swear, Dr. Lord, you’re as blind as a bat sometimes!”

They followed Meg outside, and across the drive to the darkened stables. The wind had become gusty, the summer air heavy and charged. As they approached the stable, a cat melted out of the darkness and wound itself around Colin’s ankles, mewing plaintively and gazing up at him with adoring, feline eyes. He reached down to pick it up while Meg unlocked the door.