For the Love of Lila by Jennifer Malin Page A

turning down the counterpane. She murmured something to herself, the pounding rain drowning out all but the words “no alternative.”
    A burst of thunder exploded outside, and they both jumped. No alternative . She was right. He could think of nothing. He swallowed hard. “I promise I will not...”
    His throat closed around the rest of the sentence.
    “I know.” Her voice sounded tight as well. “You needn’t say more. In fact, perhaps the less said about this, the better. We can only mortify ourselves further.”
    Another crash of thunder made her start again. She chafed her arms and, beneath her rolled-up shirtsleeves, he saw that gooseflesh had risen on her skin. She finally met his gaze, wringing out a thin smile. “We could be in a worse predicament, I suppose. Had we been caught driving in this, our lives would have been at risk, not simply our composure.”
    Composure . Interesting that she’d chosen that word rather than reputation or virtue . His composure was indeed shredded. He focused on the rest of her statement, the significant part. “We are safe here. Let me assure you that you are safe, Miss Covington.”
    She kept her gaze on him but turned slightly, observing him from the side, obviously wary. He would never take advantage of her, but she had no way of knowing so for sure. Perhaps now she had come to regret their bargain to travel together. Indeed, she must have longed to trade her clinging breeches for a modest gown. He wished she could, too. A few yards of billowing fabric might have helped clear his head of the sensual speculations he struggled to fend off.
    He opened his mouth to offer more assurance, but what good would more words do? She’d been right to suggest the subject be dropped.
    Setting down his bag, he rubbed his palms together. “I believe I shall go down to the taproom for a drink. That will give you a few moments of privacy. I will tell the staff to hold our stew until I come back up to join you—a half-hour, shall we say? Longer, perhaps?”
    Another clap of thunder sounded, and she glanced toward the window, her face pale. “A half-hour will be enough, thank you.”
    He felt an instinctive drive to stay and comfort her. Ludicrous! His presence was the very source of her unease. Instead, he mumbled a goodbye and grappled to unlock the door.
    Once in the hall, he strode away from the room, combing a hand through his damp hair. Good Lord, this would be an unbearable night, perhaps as uncomfortable as sleeping in the stables would have been, though in quite a different way. He would tarry in the taproom as long as possible. Some good hard cider might help ease his nerves before bed.
    Bed! His mind flashed an image of Lila Covington climbing into the bed upstairs, dressed in a sheer nightrail, her black hair cascading down her back. He shook his head fiercely. If he didn’t halt such images from the start, he’d be plagued with them all night.
    He trudged into the taproom, frowning deeply. If he got a wink of sleep that night, he would count himself fortunate.
     

CHAPTER FIVE
     
    Lila stared into the dark, listening to rain beat on the window above the headboard. She would be lucky if she got a wink of sleep all night. Electrical storms always unnerved her, and tonight she had double cause for insomnia. Even during breaks in the weather, she had been agitated by an awareness of Mr. Wyndam’s presence. She had tried to compose herself by reviewing all the grounds she had not to be afraid of him. For goodness’ sake, he had been sound asleep for hours. Eventually, she’d had to acknowledge that fear of him must not be her problem. What unsettled her was her attraction to him.
    From the direction of the trundle bed, she heard a soft snore, barely audible under the noise of the storm. To sleep through the last few claps of thunder, he must have been very tired indeed, though the cider he had quaffed downstairs had likely helped. His “half-hour” in the taproom had turned