Page 36 of How the Earl Entices

He fought down a groan of longing and turned away.

The road to London had just become insufferably long.

Chapter 11

“Andover Pike!” The driver slapped his hand on the roof of the mail coach as he stopped the team.

While the men on top of the coach tossed down the mail to the post boy waiting at the crossroads, the eight passengers inside the compartment shuffled positions on the bench seats as two of them disembarked. The compartment was still cramped, but Grace was no longer squeezed against the wall. Not the most comfortable travel arrangements, but at least they were moving.

“Where are you two headed?” the vicar traveling with them asked with a friendly smile.

“Basingstoke.” Ross threw a glance at Grace as he settled onto the seat facing hers. His long legs brushed against hers as he stretched them across the small compartment, sparking a prickle at the backs of her knees. He knew it, too, based on the knowing curl to his lips.

With a peeved sniff, she tucked her legs back against the bench beneath her so that she wouldn’t accidentally touch him.

Accidentallytouch him? Good heavens, she’d straddled the man that morning! Starting innocently enough, just to keep him quiet while the men were at the door, the encounter had grown into so much more. And quickly. So quickly, in fact, that she almost couldn’t find the will to stop it.

She’d wanted him to kiss her. God help her, she’d wanted him to do so much more to her than that.

It simply couldnothappen again.

Ross sent her a private smile, as if the aggravating devil knew what she was thinking. Or worse, as if he were remembering that pre-dawn encounter and what it was like to have his hands on her. And wanted to do it again.

With a flush heating her cheeks, she turned toward the rain-drizzled window. If he didn’t stop looking at her like that, she’d have no choice but to kick him.

“Ah, lovely town! Should be there in less than two hours,” the vicar informed them. As if in challenge, the coach lurched as one of its wheels stuck momentarily in the mud before breaking free. He amended grimly, “Perhaps.”

Tonight, they’d have separate rooms. Sharing a bed again was unthinkable. She couldn’t risk that Ross might attempt to kiss her again, or the even greater risk that she’d let him.

“Where are you traveling from?” the vicar pressed politely.

“Weymouth,” Ross answered, the lie coming easily.

“Traveling on business or pleasure?”

“Business of a sort. I have a bit of land in this area.” Ross fell into easy conversation. “Rocky sheep pasture mostly, with an old hovel I’ve been meaning to tear down.”

She arched a brow at that whopper of a lie, only to earn a conspiratorial wink from him. The Spalding fortune was one of the largest in England, and the bit of land was most likely thousands of acres, the hovel a grand manor. But the vicar believed him, and their ongoing conversation made the otherwise mind-numbing travel bearable.

The coach groaned around them as its large wheels dipped into a deep hole on the muddy road, and she offered up a quick prayer, hoping they wouldn’t have to step out and push. Again. No post-chaises had been available that morning, so they’d gotten the last two seats inside the fully loaded mail coach. They weren’t making nearly as good of time as they’d done yesterday, thanks to rutted roads, frequent stops, and mud puddles so big they threatened to swallow the entire team. But each mile still brought them closer to London.

An hour later, the coach stopped again. This time, all four of the other passengers disembarked, with the vicar wishing them well on the rest of their journey. When two women climbed onboard, Ross changed seats to sit beside Grace.

The coach rolled on, but now there was none of the friendly banter that had made the past hour tolerable. Instead, the two women huddled closely together and whispered frantically to each other.So peculiar. They clutched at each other’s hands, their eyes glued to Ross as if they expected him to pounce like a wolf.

“Is something the matter, ladies?” he asked with a concerned frown, exchanging a glance with Grace, who was as bewildered about their odd behavior as he. “Should I signal to the driver to stop the coach?”

They both froze, like deer startled by a hunter.

Then one of them swallowed nervously and replied, so softly that her quavering voice was barely audible above the rumble of the wheels, “You look like that man.”

The other woman nodded. “The one who’s wanted by the authorities.”

Ross didn’t move, yet Grace felt him stiffen.

“Oh yes!” She laughed to alleviate the sudden tension. “The dangerous fugitive from Chilworth gaol. We were caught up in the search for him last night, weren’t we, Mr. Thomas?”

“No, not him,” the first woman countered.