Lost in Your Arms by Christina Dodd

Author:Christina Dodd
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 17

Enid woke to hear the racket of the metal wheels on the track, to feel the jostling of the train. It had been daylight when she had finally succumbed to slumber in the specially built sleeping compartment. Now, a single candle burned in the sconce on the wall. When she parted the velvet curtains to look outside, she could see nothing but black night, without a star or a glimpse of the moon. They— she, MacLean, and their entourage— must be crossing a desolate region indeed; the northlands, she supposed, or they might even have crossed the border into Scotland. She didn't know how long it took to travel so far; she had never traveled by train before.

Blinking, she sat up in her bed. A light blanket had been pulled over her, by Kiernan MacLean, she supposed. She wondered where he'd wandered off to, then cursed herself for her curiosity. He had been with her when she'd gone to sleep; he had spent every moment with her since they'd left Blythe Hall, talking to her, stroking her hair, acting so much like a loving husband that she wanted to cry or shriek or cling to him and beg him to tell her everything would be fine.

She had not. She had maintained a serene façade— which she feared had not fooled him at all.

Sliding out of the bunk, she quietly performed her ablutions.

She couldn't nag him. She couldn't sob on him. She most certainly couldn't make love with him again. He was not her husband. She couldn't treat him like one.

Although— she faced the little mirror set above the table in the corner— he acted like a husband. He had untied the red wood cravat at her neck and loosened the buttons on her green velvet jacket, opening them and baring her neck down to the vee of her breasts. Perhaps he had done so to make her comfortable, but she knew he had taken delight in the sight of her bare skin, and in his right to make free with her clothing.

With a sniff, she brushed at her skirt, pulled on her sturdy black traveling boots, and arranged her garments to respectability again.

At least he hadn't tried to make love to her. She couldn't allow that. True, they had already taken a bite from the apple, but now she knew the facts. She knew right from wrong. She had clung to her morals through dreadful times when abandoning them would have made her life much easier. She could never make love with MacLean again— and she hated the pang that went through her.

She almost wished she could tell him, but Mr. Throckmorton had been quite specific in his instructions, and Enid feared he was right. Perhaps if they interfered with the return of MacLean's memories he would never find the truth that lurked beneath the surface of his mind.

She heard the murmur of men's voices in the compartment beyond the sleeping room, and she cautiously peered out the door.

MacLean sat with his legs propped up on the facing seat, talking to Harry.

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