Asher felt the delicate glide of fingers through his hair. A soft press of lips to his temple. And when he drew in a breath, it smelled of strawberries.
He smiled and pulled the warm body next to him closer. “Good morning.”
“Careful,” Winn said with a light laugh. “You’ll spill our tea. And after all the pains I went through to carry it up the ladder, you are required to appreciate every single drop.”
At that, he opened his eyes, a frown knitting his brow. “You left the loft on your own? Without waking me first?”
Blinking, he saw her sitting up, the handle of an earthenware pint in her hand, and his arm wrapped around her shapely legs.
“I did wake you. Several times, in fact,” she said, tsking him for not remembering. “We even had a conversation where you argued that you were fully conscious and that your eyes were open. They were not. Though you have surprisingly lucid conversations when you are still asleep.”
“My valet has mentioned something to this effect before,” he said absently as he rose up to his elbow. Taking the cup, he drank down a good portion of the tepid—but thankfully strong—brew. “Did I say anything else?”
“Hmm . . . nothing of import. You did, however, refer to me as Mrs. Strewsbury and scolded me for not waking my husband with a kiss. You said it was quite rude to badger you when you were clearly awake, and clearly in need of kissing.”
Asher couldn’t recall ever blushing in his life, yet the sudden swell of heat prickling his cheeks indicated it may very well have been happening in that instant.
Embarrassed, he cleared his throat. Then, sitting up, he averted his face and carefully studied the construction of the cup and the dark liquid down in its depths. “Thank you for the tea.”
“I brought a muffin, too,” she said, producing a brown cake within a folded cloth, which he took with gratitude, inclining his head. “Although I am sorry that the kitchen didn’t have any strawberries yet this season. You indicated that you enjoy them more than any other berry you’ve ever tasted.”
Asher coughed on his first bite. Her hand descended to his back, patting him between the shoulder blades, and he took another long swallow of tea. He wished his sleep self wasn’t so bloody transparent.
Deciding it was time for a change of topic, he said, “Did you sing like a lark again this morning, or did you venture on a sunrise raid through the kitchen?”
“Neither,” she said with a shrug. “I just . . . thought you’d be hungry.”
The hesitancy in her tone gained his full attention. As always, she was lovely, with her hair tied back in a black ribbon and wayward ringlets brushing her temples and cheeks. However, she was a terrible liar. She blinked owl-eyed at him and pulled her bottom lip between her teeth.
Suspicious, he set his tea and bread aside. His gaze traveled the length of her green dress, all the way down to the shawl draped over the bottom half of her legs and feet. And when he peeled the russet wool away, she immediately tucked her slippers beneath her.
“Winn, lift your skirts.”
She splayed her hand over her knees and scooted over an inch. “Such a scoundrel. But we should really be on our way. In fact, I’ll climb down the ladder first and then yoouuu—”
He snagged her about the waist and drew up her hem to see her shoes—one with his handkerchief tied in a neat bow on top—and her calves.
Her lovely, bare calves.
“Where are your stockings?” Yet he already knew. “You sold them, didn’t you?”
Only Winn would sacrifice the last thing of value she possessed. Only Winn would do something so impulsive, so maddening, so utterly . . . selfless.
And only Winn would come into his life at the worst possible time.
She sighed and turned to press her forehead to his. “We’re running out of time, Asher. You need to be back in London in a few days. So I had this notion that, if we had the money, we could catch the next mail coach to my aunt’s. Then you’d be able to—”
He kissed her, sinking headlong into those lush, welcoming lips. Damn it all. Why did she have to be an heiress? It would be so easy to fall in love with her.
Sliding a hand to her nape, he angled his mouth over hers, punishing both of them by deepening the kiss, tasting her sweet surrender. Falling in love with Winn was a terrible idea. Marriage would only trap them in the same chaos he’d endured all his life. He couldn’t bear the thought of inflicting that hell on her. And yet . . .
He wanted her to be his. In fact, he’d never wanted anything or anyone so much. He ached from wanting her. To see her face every morning. To lie beside her every night. To hear her voice and to make her laugh. And if the circumstances were different, he’d give himself over to this love that was burning like an ember inside his chest. He’d let the flames consume him.
He’d beg her forgiveness for the deal he’d made with her father, and do whatever it took to win her heart and marry her. And he wanted it so much that he could hardly breathe.
Asher broke the kiss, panting as if he’d just tried to scale a mountain but couldn’t reach the summit. He pulled her close and realized all his thoughts were selfish ones.
His circumstances weren’t different. If he didn’t find a way to earn enough money and make it back to London in time, they might never be.
“Don’t be angry with me,” she said.
“I’m not. I just wish that you weren’t so . . .”
“Foolish?”
He took her face in his hands and shook his head. “Remarkable, in every conceivable way.”
Tears suddenly gathered in her eyes. “You will not think so when I tell you that the next mail coach will not come until tomorrow. And by then, I fear it will be too late.”
He pressed a kiss to her lashes, her nose and her lips once more, the surrounding skin reddened by his whiskers. “I should have taken better care with your soft skin and shaved before I kissed you.”
“You are rather prickly, but I don’t mind,” she said, lightly brushing her fingertips over his jaw and making him want to be petted by her all day long.
But they didn’t have all day.
“How much coin do you have?”
Reaching behind her, she produced the coins, resting on the flat of her palm. It wasn’t much, but with a little ingenuity it might end up being enough.
He laid his hand over hers, the copper and silver growing warm between them. “Winn, if I ask you to wait for me, would you?”
She searched his gaze and, in the quiet moment that followed, neither one of them drew a breath. “Do you mean . . . here, in the loft?”
To be honest, he wasn’t sure what he meant. His thoughts were a jumble of ifs—if he could get her to her aunt’s in time . . . if he could return to London in time . . . if he could make the fortune he thought he would . . . if he could free himself . . . if she forgave him . . . if everything went to plan . . .
But the vision of the future was opaque and uncertain. So of course, he wasn’t asking her to wait for him forever.
Was he?
“Stay here for a few minutes,” he said at last. “I’ll return shortly. And please, whatever you do, don’t say that thing you always say before disaster strikes.”
She smiled and tipped forward to press her lips to his once more. “I’ll be right here.”
* * *
Asher shaved his morning’s beard with his boot knife and the water Winn had left in a pitcher at the bottom of the ladder. Staring at his warped reflection in the copper still, those ifs swirled inside his head, the future more uncertain than ever.
But he was determined to change that.
He left the boiling house and crossed the yard behind the Grinning Boar. Heading toward the street, he was trying to figure out a way to procure a coach and driver, one willing to take them the rest of the way to Yorkshire for less than a crown.
With an absent glance out at the town square, it appeared far different than it had last night, almost idyllic. In the gleaming light of morning, the cobblestones teemed with men and women tilting their hats in welcome, milling about the shops, toting baskets, driving carts. There were even children playing by the well. In such a setting, he doubted he’d successfully rouse a game.
Distracted by his thoughts, he nearly ran headlong into Mr. Lum, staggering down the pavement beside his laughing, gangly cohort.
Asher’s boots skidded to a full stop before he had the presence of mind to retreat around the corner. He pressed his back against the shingled wall, his pulse racing.
“Shut it, Jamey,” came Lum’s gravelly voice. “You’re giving me a bleedin’ headache.”
“You’re just grogshot. A fine cup of tea will set you right again. And you’ll be glad to know that, while you were dead to the world, I made inquiries. Seems as though there haven’t been any mail coaches who stopped by here with anyone like Holt or his heiress. So they can’t be ahead of us, can they?”
“Of course they aren’t ahead of us. That little gig can fly. Mark my words, we’ll find Holt and his heiress before they can reach Gretna Green. Then, with both of them tied up, we’ll send a letter to Waldenfield offering him first claim on getting his daughter back. For a price, of course.”
“But . . .” Jamey hesitated. “I thought we were supposed to take the heiress back with us, too. So the marquess can do the extorting to Waldenfield.”
Asher’s blood went cold, listening with dread. So that was the plan his father had hatched—to ransom Winn to her father?
“Oy! And who says we won’t?” Lum shouted, then lowered his voice, speaking in singsong as if to a child. “But first we’re going to play nice and friendly with the man who has all the money. That’s the way we’ll get some for ourselves.”
“Ah.”
“Idiot. Come on, then. Let’s get our gig. The blighter who runs the carriage house made me pay him up front like I wasn’t good for the money, and I don’t want to be around when he realizes that the coin’s newly minted, if you ken my meaning.”
“But I been waiting all mornin’ for ham steaks and soft eggs, and you’ve still got that guinea from the bloke yesterday.”
“I’m not about to spend good coin if I don’t have to. If these country folks are too stupid to mistake a brass farthing for the genuine article, then they get what they deserve.” Lum sighed. “Though I could use a cup of tea, and considering you inhale as fast as you eat, I don’t expect it’ll matter much. Besides, we know where they’re going. We’ll either catch them in Gretna Green or somewhere along the way.”
Asher frowned and heard the door to the inn close. He thought Shettlemane had already sunk as low as a man could go—stealing from his own son and sending henchmen after him. Apparently, he was wrong.
This changed things considerably. It was one thing to have Lum after him, but after Winn, too? No! Asher wouldn’t allow her to be in harm’s way.
Icy fury and desperation surged through him. It had the peculiar effect of centering all his thoughts. Now, with his mind clear, he realized he only had one option.
He had to steal Lum’s curricle.