back inside the carriage, she had to wait for Charles, who was in conversation with Pierre. Leaning a little closer to the window to study her companion when he was unaware that he was being observed, she gazed at him, her green eyes becoming darker, her soft skin a little pinker, her lips parting as she breathed faster, caught up in a sensation she herself did not understand.
As though somehow he had sensed her curiosity, he suddenly turned. And there was something about the way he looked at her that made Maria shudder before snatching her gaze away from him. He had no right to look at her in that way—that openly bold and dangerous way. No right at all. There was something about him that made her feel odd and nervous and excited, tingling with the rush of unfamiliar sensations invading her body. That feeling made her angry with herself and even more angry with him for being the cause of it.
Then they were off again.
It was dark when they reached the inn where they were to stay for the night. Pierre followed his passengers inside, carrying the valises. The inn was serviceable and clean, the air permeated with a delicious smell of food. The public room was full of people, mostly men drinking and discussing the worsening state of affairs in Paris. Their entrance attracted looks—secretive, sideways looks, suspicious, unreadable minds behind expressionless faces. Maria shuddered, having no desire to come into contact with any of them. Charles managed to engage two rooms.
‘I think I’ll go straight to my room,’ Maria said. ‘I would like my meal sent up if it can be arranged. I’ve had nothing to eat since midday and I am dying of hunger.’
Charles smiled at this youthful appetite. ‘I’ll see to it. I’ll stay and have supper with Pierre. Go on up. The maid will show you to your room. I’ll see you later.’
As she headed for the stairs an untidily garbed peasant who had imbibed too much rose from a table and came to stand in front of her as she followed the maid, his smile a lecherous leer. He swept her a low, clumsy bow.
‘Mademoiselle,’ he declared. ‘And who do you belong to, pretty wench?’
‘Madame,’ she corrected him coldly, remembering her part and looking away disdainfully.
The man sought to move. His limbs refused to respond as they should and he teetered precariously on one leg before toppling on to a nearby stool. He raised his gaze, but, seeing only the tall, powerful and glowering figure of the young woman’s husband where the daintier form had been a moment before, he blinked, his eyes owl-like.
The gentleman stood there, smiling his icy smile. ‘The pretty wench belongs to me. She is my wife, so if you know what is good for you you won’t follow her. Understand?’
The man glowered in sullen resentment and looked away. Charles watched Maria climb the stairs, and only then did he turn away to seek out the driver of their coach.
After eating her meal, Maria sat before the bright fire, her thoughts flitting between her aunt and Constance at Chateau Feroc and her home in England. Gradually the night grew quiet. After preparing for bed she slipped between the sheets, thinking it would take her a long time to fall asleep, but after the fatigues of the long journey, added to the comfort of the soft warm bed, she was plunged at once into a deep sleep.
When she woke up in the darkness, it took her a while to realise where she was. She lay listening to the wind rattling against the window panes, but underlying this she heard the sound of gentle breathing. Troubled and uneasy, she lay quite still. The sound came again—a low snore. Fear stirred inside her. There was someone in the room with her. She sat up swiftly, rendered motionless by the scene that confronted her, for in the light of the still-glowing embers of the fire she was horrified to see her escort stretched out in a chair, his legs propped on the chair opposite.
‘Oh!’ she gasped, deeply shocked by the indignity of this discovery.
She had not taken in the sense of his last remark to her when they had parted—that he would see her later, and in the confusion of their arrival, she had forgotten that people who were married shared the same room—and the same bed. She realised that although their marriage was a sham, to allay any awkward questions from suspicious travellers, it was imperative for them to keep up appearances—but he didn’t have to take it so literally—did he?
Quite suddenly the numbness left her and gave way to sheer horror and panic. Scrambling out of bed, she crossed towards him. He had removed his boots and was attired in his breeches and white lawn shirt. She stared at him with disbelieving eyes, not knowing what to think or how to feel. His dark hair was ruffled and a stray lock fell across his brow, and the hard planes of his face were softer in sleep. Without the cynical twist to his mouth, he looked vulnerable and incredibly youthful, and she noticed how outrageously thick his eyelashes were.
For a man who was involved in the dangerous business of reaching Calais unmolested, each road they took beset with dangers, he seemed offensively at ease.
Sensing her closeness, he was suddenly alert and his eyes snapped open. As he met her hostile gaze, his brows arched in surprise, and a slow appreciative smile spread across his lips.
It was a disconcertingly pleasant smile, and the fact that even through a haze of social embarrassment she could recognise it as such, increased rather than diminished her hostility.
‘You cannot be aware of the impropriety of such a visit to a lady’s bedchamber at this hour, or you would scarcely have ventured to knock on my door, let alone admit yourself.’
‘When I came in you looked in a state of delicious comfort and I certainly had no intention of disturbing you.’
Maria flushed. She didn’t like to think he might have stood watching her as she slept. Not knowing how to deal with a situation of this nature, she tried to distract herself from her inner turmoil and avoid his gaze that seemed to burn into her by watching the occasional spark erupt from the glowing embers in the hearth, but she found it impossible when every fibre of her being was on full alert to Charles’s presence.
When she saw his eyes sweep over her body, even though her nightdress was concealing, she felt her modesty, so long intact, was being invaded by this man’s gaze, this stranger, who was beginning to alarm her awkward, unawakened senses.
Folding her arms across her chest in an attempt to protect her modesty and fervently wishing she had a shawl or something else to throw over her nightdress, she glowered at him.
‘Unfortunately I have nothing with which to cover myself.’
Charles chuckled softly. Even in these extreme circumstances she felt it unspeakably shocking that he should see her like this. If she knew how long he had ogled her during her sleep, she’d realise it was far too late for her to try to salvage her modesty.
‘That’s a bit like closing the stable door after the horse has bolted. I assure you, it would not wipe from my mind the loveliness I savoured when I came in.’
Maria gasped, her cheeks burning. ‘Have you no shame? How long did you stand there looking at me?’
It took an Herculean effort for Charles to drag his gaze away from the shape of her body outlined beneath her nightdress in order to meet her gaze. ‘Long enough to know that the sight of you in your bed was sufficient to waken the slumbering dragon in me that I fear will not be easily appeased.’
In spite of his unrelenting stare, his glowing eyes devouring her as if he were strongly tempted to do more than just stare, Maria was distracted and
