Lottie clutched the sheet to her, and looked wildly about the room for a poker, for anything to defend her honour with. Her whole being longed for Tristan to appear and to cradle her. But when no one entered the room, she forced her hands to relax.
Her last waking thought before sleep overtook was that Tristan had not bothered to return. He was not interested in her. She wiped away a few tears and refused to cry. Crying only turned her nose red.
How everyone would laugh if they knew—the incomparable Lottie Charlton spending her wedding night alone in a filthy flea-infested coaching inn, fearful of drunken drovers and abandoned in favour of a card game by a husband who had married her out of duty. Married in a torn dress, a crushed bonnet and with an iron ring for a wedding band.
This was not how her life was supposed to go—at all.
Lottie slammed her fist into the pillow and resolved that, somehow, she would triumph. She would make this into a glorious match, if she could only figure out a way. She wanted a diffeent way. She deserved better. She would find that way.
‘Oy, you in there, get up. We need the room. You only paid until morning. It’s first light now!’
A steady pounding on the door opposite them woke Lottie from her slumber. She pushed at the unaccustomed weight of an arm around her middle and suddenly realised that yesterday had been no dream. She was married. And Tristan was in bed with her. Not only in bed, but her bottom was snuggled up against him in a suggestive manner and her whole being infused with the warmth of him as his breath tickled the nape of her neck.
He must have come in some time in the night. And so great was her exhaustion that she hadn’t woken. She should have done. Lottie bit her lip, regretting her late- night thoughts, regretting her damp pillow.
Had he noticed?
She resolved to be a better wife. She would give him no cause to run away and play cards. Her mother must have been right and her passionate response to his kiss disgusted him. She longed to have been wrong.
Half-turning her head, she caught his deep dark gaze watching her. The sight took her breath away and took all thoughts from her head. She could only drown in his eyes as deep hunger grew within her.
‘Good morning,’ he said, running a finger down her arm and sending a warm sensation pulsating through her. ‘You were sleeping like an angel when I came to bed.’
‘There is someone banging on all the doors,’ Lottie said, hanging on to the last remnant of common sense. ‘He wants money. Do we owe him money?’
‘He won’t come in here.’
‘I rather think he means business. He will kick the door down.’ Lottie fought against the tide of rising panic that threatened to engulf.
‘He wouldn’t want to damage his own property.’ His breath tickled her neck.
‘Tristan!’ Lottie covered her ears with her hands.
‘If you insist, I will see what can be done to preserve your sensibilities.’
Tristan removed his arm and stood up, totally unconcerned about his nakedness. His skin gleamed golden in the morning light. Lottie looked at his chest with its sprinkling of dark hair and then forced her eyes higher. She had been sleeping with a naked man and had brazenly pushed herself up against him. Was she a wanton creature?
He pulled his trousers on, and did up the buttons.
‘How can you be so casual about this?’ Lottie clutched the sheet and raised it to her chin. ‘We will be disgraced! He is only next door. I am sure of it!’
‘The room! Or more money!’ The pounding increased. ‘I will have the law on you.’
‘We will leave in less time than it takes to get the constable!’ a man shouted back. And a woman’s voice hurled abuse at the innkeeper.
‘Quit your blathering! You will wake the dead!’ another yelled.
‘Are you telling me to get the constable? I will and I will have every man Jack of you out of this inn. This here inn is a respectable place.’
Lottie regarded the door with horror. What was happening out there? Was the innkeeper demanding money from everyone? Was she going to be treated like some wastrel?
‘Please, Tristan, I beg you—do something.’ She made a little gesture as insults were exchanged between the innkeeper and the unknown guest. ‘I am not decent. Goodness knows what sort of mood the innkeeper will be in when he knocks on our door. Please, Tristan.’
‘Relax, Lottie. I have taken care of matters. We are safe, but if you are worried…’ He opened the door, and stepped outside, closing the door behind him. ‘Is there some problem?’
The reply was muffled, but the knocking ceased abruptly and the innkeeper went off, grumbling. Lottie rested her head against her chest. She was safe. She was not going to face the humiliation of being thrown out of the inn without any clothes on. But would the innkeeper come back? She tucked a strand behind her ear and tried to collect her thoughts.
Tristan came back to bed and put his hands on either side of her face. ‘He has gone now, Lottie. You can stop trembling with fear. You won’t have the innkeeper barging in.’
‘The shame of it. I couldn’t stand the shame.’ She concentrated on taking steady breaths. ‘That poor couple. Do you think they had just married?’
‘I have no idea. They have nothing to do with me. I did not want you to be fearful of the innkeeper.’
‘Thank you.’ Lottie watched the muscles ripple on his shoulder and her lips ached.
‘Perhaps I should have come back to bed earlier. Then you could have expressed your gratitude more properly.’ He trailed a hand down her arm. ‘But it is too late for regrets. We have to move. The day is wasting.’
‘Where are we going?’ Lottie asked quickly. If his hand continued to stroke her arm, she would lose all power of movement. All her resolutions would be forgotten before she had even risen from the bed. ‘What are your plans?’
‘To Gortner Hall, the house I inherited in the North Tyne Valley.’ Tristan withdrew his hands and stood up. He picked his shirt up from the end of the bed. ‘Where we shall spend our days.’
‘There is to be no wedding trip, then?’ Lottie hated the plaintive note to her voice. She knew their wedding was unorthodox, but she had thought they might have a trip, go somewhere before she was buried in the country. Even Henry had taken Lucy to France. A week in Calais. She was going nowhere. There were no doubt some who would say the punishment was justified, but she had always dreamt of a splendid wedding trip.
‘I had not planned to marry. There are things that need my attention. The estate was left vacant for a long period. There is much to do. It will be restored to its former glory.’
‘Lord Thorngrafton’s coachman has gone.’ Lottie wrapped her arms about her knees. She had to be practical. She had to put aside her girlish fantasies, even if it pained her to do so. She had not married a fairy-tale prince; she had married Tristan, a man who had inherited a small, vacant estate. In time, things would improve. She had to be practical, but there remained a little piece of her that wished she didn’t. The sooner they arrived at Gortner Hall, the better. A long, low wail resounded through the room and gave Lottie an idea. ‘Shall we take the express? There is one that runs to Carlisle. I overheard Henry speaking about it the other night at dinner. The speeds are incredible—over forty miles per hour in some places. The first-class carriage has real armchairs.’
Tristan’s