downstairs."
"Yes, m'lady." The girl seemed eager to be gone.
"And, Nettie?"
"Yes?" she asked, poised by the door like a nervous bird ready to spring from a cage.
"I—I seemed to have scraped my leg during my expedition this evening. Could you perhaps ask below-stairs for any antiseptic that might be available?"
Nettie's brown eyes widened, but she wisely bit back any questions she might have of her lady's wanderings.
"Yes, m'lady. O' course."
The abigail nodded nervously, sketched what she clearly hoped was a proper curtsy, then hurried out of the room, leaving Veronica alone in the spacious bedchamber with its huge bed.
Veronica heaved a sigh of relief now that she had her servants busy with their business.
She glanced down at her skirts, wincing at the stain of blood near her left thigh. The cover of night had kept the sight from Shelton, no doubt. It had taken all of Veronica's strength not to limp back to her mount while at Fountains. She'd put up a brave front, not daring to let her coachman realize she'd been injured.
She now gently pressed her hand atop her left thigh, feeling fully the bandage Julian had wrapped about her scrape. He'd tied the strips of cloth tight, but not too tightly.
Veronica's cheeks warmed at the memory of his ministrations and the remembered feel of his callused but gentle hand along the underside of her thigh. He'd near taken her breath away with the feel of his soft touch... his kisses.
Imagine.
She, who had never, ever, allowed any man near her for longer than was necessary, had actually found herself melting in Julian's arms, returning his kisses.
Veronica sharply reminded herself she'd been in shock from the dogs, her mission, and the report of Shelton's gun. Though she'd compromised herself, no one save herself and Julian knew the truth. And who would the man be telling, anyway?
No one, of course.
He clearly had something to hide, and was known as a lowly Riverkeep, to boot. If he ever did repeat his tale of meeting a daughter of Earl Wrothram's at Fountains, he could not possibly tell it to any one worth note.
Her secret moments of shameless indiscretion would remain just that. A secret.
As for the package she sought, Veronica believed wholeheartedly the man would search for it. For some inexplicable, stupid, foolish reason, Veronica trusted Julian would search the abbey and would keep an eye out for anyone who might place the packet there this night.
Veronica now felt a bit better, having gone over all the facts in her mind. She began to relax. She unbuttoned her short-waisted spencer, looking about her.
The bed of her rented room was ridiculously large. Obviously this inn had been constructed at a time when travelers of the road invariably shared a bed with strangers.
Veronica's face flushed at the thought.
She glanced at the curtained window, her mind skirting back to Fountains. To Julian.
What type of bed had he fashioned for himself in those ruins? Could he truly have made a home in the prisons, of all places?
She hoped not.
Much later, dressed in a fresh gown of spotted muslin and carrying a light shawl, with her hair repaired and neatly pinned by Nettie, Veronica went downstairs to the private parlour she'd requested to be reserved. It appeared she'd been awarded the coffee room, now cleared of customers.
Shelton was standing at the door. "I shall stand watch while you dine, m'lady," he said, his tone indicating that not even wild horses would budge him from the doorway.
Veronica was about to tell him that wouldn't be necessary as she was wondering if Julian might make an appearance with word about the package. But she knew her coachman would not be coaxed away, and in truth, the sounds coming from the occupants of the nearby taproom and from the revelers out in the street of the village made Veronica realize it was best to have Shelton nearby.
The celebration of Midsummer's Eve had taken on a decided intensity during her ablutions, no doubt with many
"Yes, m'lady." The girl seemed eager to be gone.
"And, Nettie?"
"Yes?" she asked, poised by the door like a nervous bird ready to spring from a cage.
"I—I seemed to have scraped my leg during my expedition this evening. Could you perhaps ask below-stairs for any antiseptic that might be available?"
Nettie's brown eyes widened, but she wisely bit back any questions she might have of her lady's wanderings.
"Yes, m'lady. O' course."
The abigail nodded nervously, sketched what she clearly hoped was a proper curtsy, then hurried out of the room, leaving Veronica alone in the spacious bedchamber with its huge bed.
Veronica heaved a sigh of relief now that she had her servants busy with their business.
She glanced down at her skirts, wincing at the stain of blood near her left thigh. The cover of night had kept the sight from Shelton, no doubt. It had taken all of Veronica's strength not to limp back to her mount while at Fountains. She'd put up a brave front, not daring to let her coachman realize she'd been injured.
She now gently pressed her hand atop her left thigh, feeling fully the bandage Julian had wrapped about her scrape. He'd tied the strips of cloth tight, but not too tightly.
Veronica's cheeks warmed at the memory of his ministrations and the remembered feel of his callused but gentle hand along the underside of her thigh. He'd near taken her breath away with the feel of his soft touch... his kisses.
Imagine.
She, who had never, ever, allowed any man near her for longer than was necessary, had actually found herself melting in Julian's arms, returning his kisses.
Veronica sharply reminded herself she'd been in shock from the dogs, her mission, and the report of Shelton's gun. Though she'd compromised herself, no one save herself and Julian knew the truth. And who would the man be telling, anyway?
No one, of course.
He clearly had something to hide, and was known as a lowly Riverkeep, to boot. If he ever did repeat his tale of meeting a daughter of Earl Wrothram's at Fountains, he could not possibly tell it to any one worth note.
Her secret moments of shameless indiscretion would remain just that. A secret.
As for the package she sought, Veronica believed wholeheartedly the man would search for it. For some inexplicable, stupid, foolish reason, Veronica trusted Julian would search the abbey and would keep an eye out for anyone who might place the packet there this night.
Veronica now felt a bit better, having gone over all the facts in her mind. She began to relax. She unbuttoned her short-waisted spencer, looking about her.
The bed of her rented room was ridiculously large. Obviously this inn had been constructed at a time when travelers of the road invariably shared a bed with strangers.
Veronica's face flushed at the thought.
She glanced at the curtained window, her mind skirting back to Fountains. To Julian.
What type of bed had he fashioned for himself in those ruins? Could he truly have made a home in the prisons, of all places?
She hoped not.
Much later, dressed in a fresh gown of spotted muslin and carrying a light shawl, with her hair repaired and neatly pinned by Nettie, Veronica went downstairs to the private parlour she'd requested to be reserved. It appeared she'd been awarded the coffee room, now cleared of customers.
Shelton was standing at the door. "I shall stand watch while you dine, m'lady," he said, his tone indicating that not even wild horses would budge him from the doorway.
Veronica was about to tell him that wouldn't be necessary as she was wondering if Julian might make an appearance with word about the package. But she knew her coachman would not be coaxed away, and in truth, the sounds coming from the occupants of the nearby taproom and from the revelers out in the street of the village made Veronica realize it was best to have Shelton nearby.
The celebration of Midsummer's Eve had taken on a decided intensity during her ablutions, no doubt with many
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