He’d been silent through their meal. He’d felt Emily’s gaze on his face a number of times, but hadn’t met it. Finally, he set down his knife and fork, pushed his plate away, leaned back in his chair-and raised his eyes to hers.

She looked at him for a moment, then asked, “What’s wrong?”

“No carriages.” He explained the problem, and the increasing urgency.

Her gaze grew distant, then she said, “You asked at the major coaching inns. What about some of the smaller ones?”

He frowned, but before he could reply she leaned closer, laying one hand atop his where his rested on the table. He quashed an impulse to turn that hand and close it about her slim fingers.

“No.” Her gaze slid past him, lingered for an instant, then returned to his face. “I was thinking, for instance, of this inn. It doesn’t have carriages for hire-well, nothing bigger than a gig-but it’s family run. And families have cousins, and uncles, and know other connections in the same business.”

She again looked past him. He realized she was looking at the innkeeper further down the room.

“Why not ask our host?” She looked back and met his eyes. “We’ve been here two days, and they’ve been very good-interested in a nice way, not pushy, and Arnia and Dorcas get on well with the innwife. She helped with a tisane for Jimmy’s headache.” Enthusiasm infused her expression. “It won’t hurt to ask.”

Looking into her face, he tried to remember caution. “We’ll have to take them into our confidence-what if, once we do, they think it too dangerous for us to remain here?”

“They won’t turn us out-not if we explain properly.” It was she who squeezed his fingers. “Come on-let’s try.”

He hesitated for a moment more, then returned the pressure of her fingers, reluctantly released her hand, and rose.

They’d dined relatively late, and the other diners-locals for the most part-had already left. Only three men remained, sharing a jug of wine. The innkeeper was amenable to joining Gareth and Emily at a small table in one corner. At Emily’s suggestion, he summoned his wife to join them. She came, curiosity in her eyes.

Gareth commenced by explaining he and most of their party were English, which came as no surprise, yet with Napoleon’s defeat only seven years past there were formalities to observe. Luckily, most Frenchmen, especially those in trade, had reverted to treating the English with their customary, occasionally arrogant, tolerance. Nevertheless, Gareth omitted to mention his part in the earlier war, saying only that he’d been serving in India until recently, and was presently on a mission coinciding with his return to England.

In the sparsest of terms, he outlined their journey, and explained the existence and the intent of the cultists.

Eyes wide, the innwife asked about the cult. Leaning forward, Emily replied. Before Gareth could reassert control, she’d taken over relating their tale.

Her descriptions were more colorful, her answers more direct, and rather more sensational than his. He wasn’t at all comfortable with her tack, let alone her openness, but one glance at the innkeeper’s and innwife’s faces and he shut his lips, and let Emily hold the stage.

And it was a performance. She seemed to know just what to say, and how to respond to the innkeeper’s many questions. It wasn’t just what she said, but how she said it; her attitude seeded theirs.

All he was required to do was sit back, look suitably serious and sober, and offer corroborative nods and words when appealed to.

By the time Emily reached the point of explaining their requirements, the innkeeper and his wife were their devoted supporters. Their party may be English, but the cult was heathen, and violent and vicious. The innkeeper was in no doubt as to where his duty lay.

Gareth had considered Emily’s notion that the innkeeper’s family connections would be sufficient to get them what they needed a long shot, but she’d been right. Spurred by their story-indeed, clearly thrilled to have been trusted and asked-the innkeeper summoned his sons and dispatched them hither and yon.

An hour later, numerous uncles and cousins had gathered, and the noise in the now otherwise empty front room had escalated as people exclaimed and shouted suggestions. Gareth had never seen the like before, but within a surprisingly short time, two fast traveling carriages had been organized, along with two experienced drivers who were very willing to offer their services in defeating the so-alien cult.

He shook hands with the two grizzled war veterans who had volunteered to take the reins and drive them to the north coast with all possible speed. “Thank you.” They’d discussed and settled on their payment. “There’ll be a bonus at the end, too.”

“Heh!” one said, making a very gallic gesture. “The money is one thing, but to be part of an action against a worthy enemy again-that is a better incentive.”

The other nodded emphatically. “But yes. Life has grown boring, you understand. A little excitement-this is what we seek.”

With the good wishes and enthusiastic support of the innkeeper’s family, their departure was organized for the day after the next.

“So you will have only tomorrow to get ready,” the innwife yelled. She flung out her arms in an all-encompassing gesture. “No matter-we will help.”


The gathering turned into something of a family occasion. Gareth took his lead from Emily, and they remained for some time, chatting with those who had come at the innkeeper’s summons to so readily offer them aid.

He was still somewhat stunned that they had, but they were sincere in wanting to assist him and their group against the cultists, and he was equally sincere in his gratefulness.

Eventually Emily bade the company good night and retired. Shortly afterward, he did the same, climbing the stairs to his room. The din from downstairs faded as he closed the door. Crossing to the small side table, he lit the lamp upon it, then quietly, still pondering the garrulous warmth of those downstairs, he undressed.

He’d doused the lamp and was lying on his back, stretched naked beneath the covers, arms crossed behind his head, staring up at the dim ceiling, when the handle of his door turned.

He came instantly alert, but in the same instant, somehow, he knew.

Sure enough, the door opened and Emily, clad in white nightgown and cloak, whisked through, whirling to shut the door quietly behind her before turning to peer at the bed.

The room was cloaked in shadows, but she saw him, and relaxed.

Even more alert, and distinctly intrigued, he watched as she clearly debated, then elected to walk to the side of the bed further from the door.

Muscles all but imperceptibly tightening, he waited, unmoving and silent, to see what she would do, say.

She halted when she was close enough to meet his eyes. She narrowed hers fractionally in warning. “Don’t say a word.”

He wondered why she’d thought he would argue.

Letting her cloak fall, she reached for the covers, and slipped into the bed. He shifted to give her room. His greater weight bowed the bed, and with a muffled squeak, she rolled into him.

Just as he lowered his arms and closed them around her, gathered her close. Bending his head, he nuzzled her hair, breathing deep and feeling the essence that was her sink to his very bones. He found her ear with his lips, lightly traced the outer whorl. Sensed her shiver. “What now?” he breathed.

She dragged in a breath. “Now…” She lifted her head, looked into his face, one small hand rising to frame his jaw. Then she levered up on one arm, rising above him. She looked down into his eyes. “Now this.”

And she kissed him.

He kissed her back, took a long moment to savor the sweetness she so flagrantly gifted him with. Sensing she wished it, he let her keep the reins. For now.

She leaned into him, all soft, warm curves and slender, feminine lengths. Lying on his back beneath her, something within him purred. Closing his hands about her waist, he lifted and shifted her more fully upon him, settling her so her taut belly lay over his abdomen, the haven between her thighs just above the head of his engorged erection-both promise and torment, temptation and salvation. He vaguely recalled he’d decided to forgo her and this for the present, while they were traveling, but he could no longer remember any pressing reason why.

No convincing reason why he should decline the heaven she was so blatantly offering-and she’d come to him, after all.

She was already his-that was beyond question-so there was no reason he shouldn’t indulge.

So he did.

Increasingly ravenously.

It gradually dawned that while she’d initiated the exchange, and had chosen the position, she didn’t know quite how to proceed.

He showed her. Urged her up so she was on her knees straddling him, reached up, stretched up, and helped her draw her nightgown off over her head.

She flung the garment to the floor. She was already heated, already breathless and panting, already aching for him to fill her. The look she flung at him-eyes blazing fire in the night-said it all.

Before she could reach for him, and make matters that much more complicated, he hauled in a breath, locked his hands about her waist, positioned her, then nudged past her slick swollen folds and eased into her.

Eyes closing, her expression one of fraught bliss, she took over and sank down. Down.

Wriggled at the last, and then, wonder of wonders, she’d enclosed him all.

He sucked in a tight breath, closed his eyes in sheer lust as experimentally, she tightened about him.

Then she settled to ride him.

By the time he’d recalled her reportedly wild and expert ride down from Poona, she’d reduced him to a state of ravening urgency almost impossible to deny.