for the evening, then we’ll start for London as soon as the weather clears.”
She nodded, but said nothing else. Her wide eyes looked around the carriage, and he was thankful he’d thought to light the lanterns, especially since the storm quite obviously frightened her.
He held a book out to her. “I was reading this, but perhaps it will take your mind off the weather.”
Her gaze was wary as she took the offered book. “Oliver Twist?” Her delicate brows rose.
“Ah, you must have assumed I couldn’t read.”
She narrowed her gaze. “No, I would not have wagered you a Dickens man.”
“I enjoy most books.” He chuckled at her wide-eyed expression. “Don’t look so surprised. Perhaps you do not know everything about me.”
If they had met under different circumstances, if she had not first met his deceptive younger brother, perhaps she would not always assume the worst of him.
“I never claimed to,” she said.
“Perhaps not, but you have made several assumptions.”
She opened her mouth to presumably argue, then closed it. The motion served only in highlighting the perfect shape of her lips.
Thunder boomed and lightning flashed, brightly illuminating the inside of the carriage. Tilly’s green eyes were wide and lit with fear. He swallowed his irritation. He couldn’t make her like him or even endure him. And they couldn’t begin fresh. None of that mattered, he supposed. At the moment, she was obviously frightened and damn it all if he wasn’t enough of a gentleman to find that unsettling.
“We shall be at the inn shortly.”
She nodded.
“Have you always been afraid of storms?” he asked, gentling his tone.
She did not turn her gaze away from the window, though all that was visible was rain spattering against the glass and the flicker of the lightning.
“I, myself, cannot abide heights. I’ve never been up to the tower in my own estate.” He shook his head even thinking about those spiraling stairs that wound their way up to the tallest turrets.
Her breath broke in a shudder. “I have been afraid of them for as long as I can remember.” She rubbed her hands against her arms, comforting herself. “My mother always told me I was foolish. That there was nothing to fear from the weather and I would do well to spend my energies elsewhere.”
He’d pull her to him and offer his body and warmth as comfort if he thought she would accept it. But considering how much she loathed him, he felt certain any touch from him would earn him a boxing of his ears rather than gratitude.
Not a quarter of an hour later and the carriage rolled to a stop outside the inn. The Hairy Boar—not the most inviting of establishments, but considering the alternative, it would have to do. He handed her his large black cloak, then opened the door. Rain pelted inside the carriage.
“We’re going to have to run for it. Do be careful of your step, you’re likely to lose a slipper in the mud.” He helped her down, thankful to at least have a hat to shield part of his face from the rain. She’d pulled the cloak over her head so she was mostly protected. He grabbed her hand and pulled her behind him to the opening in the stone wall that surrounded the inn. In what seemed to be seconds, the downpour had saturated his clothes. Tilly said nothing as he practically dragged her behind him.
Finally they reached the front door and he pulled it open. The cloak still covered her head, but he could see water dripping off her nose, and wet ringlets framed her face. It would seem his cloak left much to be desired as a protectant against a downpour.
“Keep your face covered. We’ll get you out of those wet clothes soon enough.”
He haggled with the innkeeper and managed to secure them a room, but it was the last remaining room and they would have to share. Sullivan decided to wait until they were alone upstairs before he explained the situation to Tilly. They didn’t need her creating a scene in front of the other guests. The tavern behind them was busy, filled with loud, boisterous men and a couple of serving wenches. A servant had been sent ahead to light the fire and bring in additional bedding.
Tilly followed him up the stairs to the corner room on the third floor. The old Tudor-style inn was in need of some repair but seemed clean enough. Finally, they were alone in the room. When the servant closed