“Very good, Angelica. You did well.”
She felt for the mattress and sank down onto the bed. A fire glowed in the grate. In the warm, orange light, Brody saw tears in her eyes. He wanted to go to her, to kiss them away. Instead, he took an armchair by the fire and began unlacing his boots.
She shucked out of his greatcoat. “What are you going to do with me?”
“I don’t know yet. Have you any suggestions?”
Her shoulders sagged. “You should have left me behind.”
“No matter how much I hate you right now, I would never do that,” he said, tugging off one boot, and then the other. “If I’m partly responsible for your downfall, then I suppose I’m partly responsible for the consequences of your actions. And you, my girl, have gotten yourself into a pickle.”
Angelica smiled in spite of herself. “You’re gallant.”
“Seriously though, I’m at a loss. If you come up with something viable, by all means, tell me.”
Eventually, she asked, “Would you describe this room to me?”
Brody glanced around. It was a humble space. “You’ve found the bed, obviously. There’s a pair of night tables, and a lamp atop the one closest to you. A chair by the fire—which I am currently occupying—and a wardrobe to your right. There is a bathroom straight ahead, but no toilet. The lavatory is down the hall, I imagine. This place is ancient.”
“Is it…pretty? Quaint, at least?” she asked. “Would two young lovers spend their honeymoon here?”
He frowned. “It’s a half-timbered, Tudor affair. Low and dark.”
“Just how I like it.”
“Don’t be grim, Angelica. I know this isn’t ideal, but it’s our reality. Now, why don’t you try to get some sleep? It has been a long night, and you’ll feel better in the morning.”
She began stripping out of her clothes. He couldn’t help but watch as she unhooked her frock and hauled it over her head. She popped off her leather boots, but left her stockings. Down to only her long chemise and drawers, Angelica crawled beneath the heavy counterpane.
After tossing and turning for a moment, she finally found a comfortable spot on her back. She fluffed the pillow behind her head. It was all so obnoxiously adorable that Brody had to bite back a smile. If she had not betrayed him, every night together could be like this.
“Are you coming in?” she asked him, her eyes staring past the low, beamed ceiling overhead. After all, it was a double bed. Far larger than her pitiful pallet on the kitchen floor back home. Plenty of room for two.
If Brody went to her, he’d want to put his arms around her. He’d been careful with her before, choosing to cuddle her rather than grope. She’d been an innocent then. Now—well and truly stripped of her virginity—she was fair game.
And also wholly depended on him for everything. He was no saint, but Brody drew the line at preying upon those not in a position to say no.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
There were sounds. So many sounds. Strangers’ voices. Singing birds. Barking dogs. Motorcar horns. Laughter, and shouting. Neighbors greeting one another in the street. Angelica had almost forgot the noise of the world. She lay in bed, the covers snug and warm around her, and simply listened.
Last night, she’d been too miserable to be curious. She’d been terrified. Captain Neill’s anger—his warnings of impending rape and possible sexual enslavement—had weakened her resolve, bending her to his will. But he had kidnapped her, really. Stolen her from home, and dragged her across the countryside in the dead of night.
Now, even though she awoke in a strange place, she was afraid no longer. Angelica knew he would protect her. Despite his anger, he’d never allow her to come to harm. Captain Neill was a good man. Good men did not hurt women.
Good men did not let women hurt themselves.
Angelica realized what she had done. In desperation, she’d spread herself for the first man who would have her. Although she’d never admit it, she would spread herself for any man who would have her, mistaking the need for love with the need for…what?
Oh, she enjoyed sex, but it was companionship she craved. For a few breathless moments, someone held her. Kissed her. The fact that her lover had only wanted to empty himself inside her was inconsequential. A small price to pay for his undivided attention.
Captain Neill, however, had wanted to marry her. She had been too naive to understand before, but he’d refused her body that fated night because he had loved her. Because he had respected her enough to wait.
They could have had a wedding, and, afterwards, he might have brought her to this very inn. He would have made love to her in a bed, with care and tender concern. Not hunched over a gritty worktop, trousers ‘round his ankles.
Angelica’s first time could have been beautiful. Instead, she’d sacrificed her happiness for a few heated exchanges with a man who did not know her name.