nodded curtly and allowed him to slip the lute from her hands. He handed the instrument over to Ashby. “Attach this to your saddle, Ash. And guard it with your life.”
His friend nodded agreeably, a ghost of a smile still hovering about his mouth. Both men spurred their horses and set off.
Although headed toward a popular city such as London, the road was neither large nor smooth. Thick, green foliage lined the pathway, with an occasional tree limb having blown across the way. Boulders littered the thoroughfare and were difficult to see in the moonlight that came and went in odd snatches.
Garrett found it hard to keep Ebony at a canter with so many bumps along the way. The woman sat as straight as a board in front of him. When holes in the road forced him to tighten his hold on his passenger’s narrow waist, he found her slender build deceptive. She had soft curves that melted into him as Ebony sidestepped a piece of debris or tried to avoid a rut.
Garrett found the contact pleasurable yet it filled him with guilt. Though he’d not led the life of a monk since Lynnette had left, having such sweet temptation literally in his lap caused his mind to race in directions he knew it shouldn’t go. He willed himself to concentrate on the road and not the woman in his arms, though it seemed an impossible task.
The night wind grew cooler as they rode, and as she shivered, Garrett noticed for the first time that she was without a cloak. Rather than listen to another outrageous tale of how she’d lost it, he simply drew his own cloak from where it whipped in the wind behind him and wrapped it around them both. She went rigid at his touch but he tucked the cape securely about her, nonetheless. Immediately, her chills ceased, and he sensed the tension draining from her.
A faint, “Thank you, my lord,” swept back to him, so soft that he wasn’t sure if she had spoken or if it was the whistle of the wind.
After an hour of silence, the road smoothed once again. Gradually, Garrett felt her become limp in his arms. Instinctively, he cradled her until she fit snuggly against his chest as he, too, let himself be lulled by the horses’ hooves beating a constant rhythm in the dark night.
Her scent was intoxicating. It was light, something floral that he couldn’t quite place. She leaned back fully into him now, her head braced against his jaw. He moved slightly and inhaled, her wavy hair tickling his cheek as it came out of its braid. He reached up and took a strand, the color of wheat, soft and inviting, and rubbed it between his fingers. He suddenly longed to see all of her hair unbound, to be able to run his fingers through the strands slowly, sensually.
Startled, Garrett came out of his reverie. Holy Christ! What had come over him? He looked quickly over at Ashby. His friend gave him a lazy smile before returning his gaze to the road ahead.
Garrett tried to think rationally. Who was the young woman seated in front of him, the one who’d had him thinking lustful thoughts for the first time in ages? More important, why did she claim to be his wife?
Of course, she’d told them how her husband’s name frightened off the robbers. Garrett knew some called him Satan Himself—although never to his face.
He knew he was feared by many and loathed by a few more. Yet Lynnette had brought a softness to him for a short while. When she fled, the softness became harder than stone. Now, it was only in sweet Lyssa’s company that he became human.
So if this chit had heard tell of him, then she was wise to use his name to cower the thieves.
But had there been any thieves? Her tale seemed implausible. So why was a lady—for surely she was a lady, her clothing and regal bearing, as well as her cultured tone, testified to that much—in the middle of nowhere? She had no obvious jewels, no money, no protector. Her story was full of holes.
And then there was the faint scar, high on her cheekbone, another intriguing mystery. What lady of breeding carried a scar across such perfect features?
Why did he feel the urgent need to protect her? Especially when he didn’t even know her name.
His thoughts raced as they rode. Yet as dawn broke over the horizon and they