Page 24 of Along Came a Rogue

“Are you chilled?” he murmured against her hair, misreading her reaction.

He released her and moved across the swaying compartment to pull up the other bench seat and reach inside the box for a lap rug. He found one and tucked it around her like a blanket. She couldn’t help but smile at that. They were fleeing through the dark night for their lives, but he was worried she might be chilled.

He knelt on the floor and looked up at her, his eyes solemn with concern. “How are your feet?” he asked gently. “Did you burn them?”

She shook her head. “They’re just a bit tender, that’s all.”

Dubious of her assessment, he reached down to her bare foot where it peeked out from beneath the singed hem of her dressing robe, and she caught her breath as his large hand folded warmly around her ankle so he could examine it in the dim light of the carriage lamps. When his fingertips stroked carefully over her sole, soothingly drawing curving circles against her skin, she closed her eyes with a sigh. Having his hands on her, even in such an innocent touch, felt so good that she could barely sit still.

He released her left foot and reached for the right, to again trace his fingers over her. But this time, she would have sworn that his hand reached further up her calf, that his fingers lingered longer against her skin. And this time, the feeling that warmed up her leg was anything but soothing.

He slipped his fingers between her toes.

She caught her breath in a trembling gasp. Oh, sweet Lord! He was slowly gliding his fingers between her toes in the most delicate caresses she’d ever felt in her life, and every inch of her tingled, electric. How was it possible that a simple foot rub could be so erotic? Or if his hands were all the way down on her toes, how she could feel each slow, slippery slide of his fingers ache all the way up between her thighs?

She swallowed, afraid he might feel her trembling again and wrongly think she was in pain. Or worse, to think that she was some shameless wanton, so easily titillated…even if she was. Because no matter how much she wanted him—and heaven help her, she wanted him desperately—some lines could not be crossed now. Not even with Grey.

“No burns, then?” she forced out, as lightly as she could, yet her voice still sounded husky to her own ears.

“Nothing serious.” He caressed his fingertips along the bottom of her foot in soft, slow circles. “But I’ll examine them again in the morning to be certain.”

If this was how it felt to be examined, she didn’t think she could endure it a second time. Not without insisting that he examine all of her with those wonderful fingers of his, just as slowly, just as tantalizingly…She nodded tightly. “If you insist.”

He sat next to her and took her back into his arms, angling his long legs across the compartment to give her as much room as possible. Even this small gesture made her eyes sting with gratitude at his thoughtfulness.

He tucked a curl behind her ear. “Close your eyes, brat,” he urged, “and try to rest. I’ll watch over you.”

I’ll watch over you…If only it were that simple, she thought sadly. But at least for this night, she could let someone else take care of her.

With a sigh, she laid her head against his chest and closed her eyes. Rocked by the swaying carriage and lulled by his heartbeat in the darkness, she fell asleep in his arms.

Chapter Five

The next afternoon, Emily lay curled up like a cat on the bench next to Grey, her head resting against his shoulder and his arm lying lazily across her back. Since leaving Snowden, she’d spent the night and most of the next day sleeping. She hadn’t realized how exhausted she’d truly been until she had this opportunity to sleep, safe and protected. Yet she’d rested more peacefully than she’d ever imagined possible in such a cramped position in a cold, bouncing carriage while the dark day grew more and more chilly and wet around them.

All thanks to Grey. Whenever he brushed his hand over her back or shoulder, or took the liberty of tucking a stray curl behind her ear, the gentle touches comforted her and nearly lulled her back to sleep. Oh, she could easily grow used to this.

A sigh of contented relaxation escaped her, the soft sound earning her another stroke of his hand down her back. Very easily.

The day hadn’t been all silence, though. Between naps, they talked comfortably like old friends. He was fascinating, even more so than she remembered because the years had tempered his brash personality and given him a maturity she found intriguing. He told her stories about Spain and the War Office, but she noticed that he never shared anything from his childhood or the days before he joined the army. While that hadn’t surprised her, it hurt her more than she wanted to admit that he didn’t trust her with that part of his life.

In her turn, she described childhood adventures with Thomas, the two of them often ganging up on helpless tutors and nannies, and how he taught her how to ride and shoot as well as the boys. She shared her old dream of being an artist and even described her school days, although hiding most of the bad incidents and injecting far more happiness into the telling than she’d ever felt as a pupil. Whenever Grey asked about her life since she’d married, though, she answered in such a vague manner that he wouldn’t be able to draw any definite conclusions. She wasn’t yet ready to talk about her marriage. Not even with him.

She sat up and stretched, her muscles stiff from the ride. A glance outside at the sky confirmed that the weather hadn’t improved.

“Are we going to stop for the night, or are we driving straight through again?” she asked, concerned both about being caught in a storm and about highwaymen.

“We’ll stop.” He slid to the bench across from her to give her more room. “We’re far enough away now to be safe, and Hedley needs to rest.”

“Of course.” They’d stopped just before dawn at an inn to change out teams, to buy food, and apparently, as she discovered when Grey came back to the carriage with a greatcoat for himself and a pair of shoes for her, to literally buy the clothes off the innkeeper’s back. Grey sent word back to Yardley for the maid to travel to London and meet Emily at Chatham House, and Hedley hired a man to be a second driver so that he and Grey could rest between turns in the driver’s seat. After only a short break, they’d driven on, to put as much distance as possible between themselves and whoever tried to burn them alive.

Emily could use a night at an inn, too. Despite the naps, her aching body craved the softness of a mattress, and her belly longed for a hot meal.

She sighed gratefully. “I never suspected the thought of spending the night at a posting inn could be so appealing.”

“A hot meal, a warm hearth,” he drawled as he arched a sardonic brow, “and a room that doesn’t burn down around you in the middle of the night?”

“Heavenly!”