The Blood of a Baron - K.J. Jackson Page 0,39
their bodies were always viscerally attracted to each other, it in no way could lead to more between the two of them.
That was too risky. There was no future with the man in front of her. She had to remember that. Above all, she needed to find a way to distance herself from him before she was in so deep, she started to believe there was a way for them to be together.
There couldn’t be and that was the harsh truth of it. She ruined him. He hated her. Those were inescapable facts.
But getting home to Gruggin Manor was turning into a wispy hope that was looking slimmer and slimmer with each step her horse took.
Not that Wes had bothered to share where he was taking her. They’d been on the horses and out of London for hours, the sun was setting, and she still had no idea where he was taking them. Wherever it was, she realized Mr. Smith was behind her for only one reason.
To protect her.
For what little she knew at the moment, she had complete faith that she was as safe as she was ever going to be. Wes in front of her. Mr. Smith behind her—who was only half a head shorter than Wes and clearly strong, but in a leaner, crafty way. It hadn’t escaped her that the man was shockingly handsome—so much so that she had awkwardly stared at him for far too long when Wes introduced her to him. So long that Wes had thrown an arm between them, picking her up and setting her on her horse without a word.
With dusk darkening the already grey and cloudy skies, they crossed up over a ridge on the road and a village came into view.
“We stop here.” Wes said the words without turning around, his deep voice gentle into the drizzly air about them, belying the tense set of his shoulders. The only words he’d spoken in the last three hours since they’d last changed horses.
He prodded his horse forward and within minutes they had stopped in front of a coaching inn just as the sky had darkened to a deep grey, the wind blowing in rain that fell in earnest. Wes dismounted and then moved to help her down from her horse.
She looked down at him as he wrapped his hands about her waist. “Where are we?”
He set her onto her feet, his hands not moving from his grip around her middle. He glanced up at the inn, looked to Rune already opening the front door and then settled his gaze on her. “We’re in Basingstoke.”
“And where are we going?”
His hands dropped from her and he turned to the stable boy that had grabbed the reins of her horse. “We’ll need three fresh horses in the morning. Ones with the most endurance in the stable.” He untied the haversack on the back of his horse and then slid the boy several coins.
“Yes, sir.” The boy led two of the horses away.
She stared at him in the rain, watching the water stream off the front lip of his topper.
He wasn’t going to tell her. The simplest of questions, and he wouldn’t even tell her where they were traveling to. Much less why. She was the one that had almost been killed. She had every right to know where he was dragging her.
Wes turned to her, his mouth in a tight clamp that wasn’t about to open, and he set his fingertips on the small of her back, steering her toward the door of the coaching inn. They stepped into the public space of the inn to find Rune already striding back toward them, keys in hand.
“I have the rooms.” Rune handed a key to Wes. “Number five, third level on the end.” He glanced at Laney and she was struck by the copper-green color of his eyes. She hadn’t noticed them earlier when she’d first met him. He looked to Wes. “You can go to wash and I’ll order food.”
Wes nodded. “Thank you.”
Wes’s fingers pressed into her back, nudging her toward the staircase that lined the far right side of the entryway opposite the dining room.
Her feet shuffled forward, the whole of the last day piling onto her shoulders—and the most glaring fact of it all was that she’d lost complete control of her surroundings and the ability to decide anything for herself. Heat spun in her chest, anger starting to brew into a wicked storm she didn’t think she could control much