Page 64 of A Problem Princess

His hand reached the end of the tie, and he hesitated. She could hear his ragged breath behind her, could feel the heat of his fingers against the small of her back. Was he fighting with himself to keep from pulling her into his arms the way she longed for him to do? Did he crave intimate touches and caresses as much as she did?

Then he hooked his finger around the last cross of the tie and pulled the lace free. The stays fell loose and dropped to the floor at her feet.

“There. All unbuttoned and untied.” He cleared his throat, shoved himself up from the seat, and moved toward the door. “Take your time.”

He was gone before she could stop him, opening the door only far enough to slip outside.

As soon as he was gone, Cordelia sank onto the seat and pulled in deep lungfuls of air to catch back her breath and slow her racing heart. She held up her hands and watched them shake. Blast that devil of a man that he had this kind of effect on her! His rejection only worsened her frustration and embarrassment.

She nudged back the edge of the curtain and peered outside. Clayton stood a few yards away in the cold drizzle near a low stone wall. How humiliating that he’d rather stand in the rain than subject himself to remaining inside the coach with her while she—

He shrugged out of his greatcoat and tossed it onto the wall, then let his cashmere jacket follow after.

Cordelia blinked. And stared shamelessly.

She couldn’t look away as he unbuttoned his silk waistcoat and laid it aside, then pulled down his braces and yanked at his shirt to free it from his waistband and pull it off over his head. Her breath hitched as she shamelessly watched the muscles in his bare back flex as he reached for his own change of clothes.

A pang of disappointment struck her when he left his breeches in place, putting on only a different shirt and brown waistcoat and jacket.

In a matter of moments, the gentleman he’d dressed to be was gone; in his place stood a man who resembled a laborer. But nothing could hide his proud bearing and powerful stance or the strength that radiated from him. He might have the muscles to disguise himself as a regular worker, but he’d never pass for a common man. Not him.

He finished tying his plain neckcloth and turned toward the carriage.

Cordelia dropped the curtain back into place before he could see her.

A few minutes later, she was dressed in the calico day dress Madame had found for her, her hair pinned loosely in a knot at her nape. Her appearance told the world she was far from being a princess, right down to the sturdy, dirt-smeared half boots and the wool shawl over her shoulders. She only wished that could be the truth.

She signaled that she was ready.

“Drive on!” Clayton called up to the driver. Instead of riding inside with Cordelia, though, he swung up onto the top of the coach and sat on the bench beside the driver. To more easily see if anyone rushed upon them to attack them. To more easily use the brace of pistols beneath his greatcoat.

To more easily stay away from her.

She blinked rapidly and stared out the window at the falling rain.

Nineteen

Clayton tossed a coin to the driver and swung down from the carriage. The inn on the edge of Chelmsford was far too busy for comfort. Several other carriages had already stopped in the innyard to change out passengers and teams, and small groups of travelers gathered around the door of the inn and inside its large public rooms. He prayed they were all too concerned with their own travel plans to suspect that a runaway princess lingered in their midst.

He beat the tiger to the carriage door and held out his hand to help Cordelia to the ground.

She hesitated, and that small gesture of distrust struck him as hard as if she’d slapped him. Then she pulled her hand away as soon as her feet touched the muddy ground.

He didn’t blame her. Her snub was exactly what he deserved.

“We’ll rest here before traveling on.” He took the small bag from her hand. At least in her borrowed dress and shawl, she looked the part of an ordinary traveler, and taking her elbow to guide her to the inn, he purposefully led her through patches of mud to dirty her half boots even more. “We’ll use the necessary, buy a bite to eat, and purchase tickets on the next available stagecoach.” He lowered his mouth close to her ear so his voice wouldn’t carry. “We need to keep to ourselves as much as possible. Try not to talk to anyone, all right?”

She nodded, but her curious gaze swung around her in all directions. “I’ve never been to an inn before.” A touch of excitement tinged her voice. “And I’ve never ridden in a mail coach before.”

He grimly replied, “You probably won’t want to ever again.”

As if to prove him correct, a palpable stench smacked them when he opened the inn door. Pungent odors of stale ale and cheap whiskey permeated the air, along with the acrid smell of burned stew and the woody scent of mildew and mold. The air was thick with smoke from the poorly vented fireplace, and an old layer of straw had been scattered across the floor, then left there for God only knew how many weeks. In the corner, a hound lifted its leg and peed on a chair.

She halted in the middle of the door, and her mouth fell open, stunned. Then she turned to Clayton and clasped his arm. “Oh, this is simply wonderful!”

Clayton watched as a second dog attempted to compete with the first on marking his territory. He muttered, “If you think this is grand, just wait until I show you the docks.”

Her eyes gleamed. “Promise?”