“A hot meal, warm bath, and a few hours’ rest? Sounds heavenly.” She let out a breathy sigh that lit him up like a furnace.
He’d be alone with her at the inn. A stupid, dangerous idea. Anything could happen. Something would happen, because she was a lit match to his tinder. She set him on fire with a mere glance. She was doing it right now, looking fragile and beautiful, swallowed up in his jacket and her small hand still gripping the hat pin. “Ewan, there’s something I must show you before we leave this awful place.” Her lips were pursed and her brow adorably furrowed in the way it furrowed whenever she concentrated her attention on something complicated. Never him. He wasn’t that complicated for her.
She was one hell of a complication for him.
Reluctantly, he set her down and followed her to the cellar, but made certain to keep hold of her. She was still weak and wobbling on her feet. That he wanted to touch her, needed to touch her was of no moment. He was thinking only of her. Not of his damn male urges.
She pointed to a row of crates stacked along one of the cellar walls. “Some of these are filled with gunpowder. What use would Ashton have for such a large store?”
“I don’t know.” He opened a few of them and let out a long, low whistle. “There’s enough powder here to level an entire building.”
“Look, there are numbers stamped on each crate. Four, five, six, seven.” Her lips pursed again.
“What’s troubling you, lass?”
She looked up to meet his gaze. “Where are crates one, two, and three?”
***
Ewan wasn’t going to think about anything other than getting Lily safely home. After that, he’d deal with the crates of gunpowder. Likely they’d been stolen from a local armory. Those numbered one, two, and three were probably still there, safely under lock and key. “I’ll ask Edgeware to investigate the matter once we’re back in London. This is the sort of inquiry best left to his discreet efficiency.”
“I suppose. Even if Ashton did steal them, he’s safely in Mr. Barrow’s custody and unable to cause more mischief.”
Ewan could see the matter still troubled her despite his assurances that it would be resolved. That’s how Lily’s brain worked, noticing problems and dwelling on them until she’d worked them out. Not just small problems, but the great unknowns of life. Had she always been this way? Even as a little girl? Would their children be just like Lily?
He took a deep breath. Bloody hell. Marriage and children. He wasn’t ready for any of it. Were all dominant male baboons this cowardly? Did baboons think this hard about commitment and procreation? Or did the dominant male just stick his pole wherever he found an opening, giving no thought to the consequences?
He led Lily back upstairs. As he closed the cellar door behind them, Jasper came bounding down the hall, heading straight for Lily in a great, furry ball of excitement, his tongue hanging out of the side of his mouth and tail wagging furiously. Having been relieved of guarding Ashton, the dog’s first thought was to find Lily. Not that Ewan blamed him. Lily had a way of getting into one’s heart... or under one’s fur, in Jasper’s case.
Lily let out a squeal of delight and knelt down to greet him. She gave him a fierce hug, burying herself in his damp fur. “My hero! I knew you’d find me. I never doubted for a moment.”
“Wrooolf! Wrawooolf!”
“Oh, you missed me?” She scratched Jasper behind the ears, and he went from mere dog happiness to dog-in-ecstasy happy. “You were worried about me? Worried that the bad man would hurt me before you reached me? What a good, brave dog!”
Ewan was jealous. Pathetic. Jealous of his own, damn dog. But Lily’s hands were all over that furry beast, her breasts pressed against his thick coat, and all Ewan could think of was having Lily’s hands all over him, and having his hands all over Lily’s breasts. Right. He wasn’t complicated.
He wanted Lily.
***
The two of them left Sparrow Hall the moment George finished patching up his shoulder. The damage turned out to be a flesh wound after all, the bullet merely grazing him so there was nothing to dig out. Within the rain-drenched hour, they reached the inn he’d noticed on his way to Maidstone. It looked cozier and more charming by daylight, or what passed for daylight amid the gloom of rain and black, rolling thunderclouds. The innkeeper ran out to greet them, fussing over them as they hurried inside. “We ran into a little trouble,” Ewan said, not quite a lie. “I’m Lord Carnach.”
“We’re honored to have ye with us, m’lord. Look at ye, all cold and wet. I’ve got a fire started. Come into the parlor and keep yerselves warm while the maids ready yer chamber. Ye’ll have our finest.”