“What have we got, boys?” The voice that now echoed from the inn didn’t laugh. She sucked in a breath and started counting. She hadn’t expected to see him so soon. She wasn’t ready.
Sophia straightened as fully as the low ceiling allowed. Slow drizzle made it difficult to see from where the voice would emerge, but before long, a man—familiar and yet not—emerged, his bulk filling the entire door frame.
“Little Sophie, is that you?”
Even from across the courtyard, she felt his gaze like a sudden pressure to her chest. It had been an age since anyone had called her Little Sophie. She pressed her lips together and tried to ignore the sarcastic tone to his question.
“I suppose you’ll be wanting a hand, Madam?” he called from the dry stoop of the inn.
“If it isn’t too much trouble.” Sophia waited and watched as Blake slipped his worn leather boots from his feet and yanked his woolen socks off. He then rolled his rough work pants to his knees, revealing long muscular calves—much to the amusement of the cackling animals.
Sophia was so cold her lips wouldn’t do what she wanted and her teeth began to chatter against one another. “You needn’t undress. Just come and fetch me.”
“I’ve already lost one pair of shoes to that mess and the stepping boards. I won’t lose anything else to it. I don’t know what the fuss is anyway. I’m sure your fine carriage is more comfortable than my inn.”
The pits of hell couldn’t be any more uncomfortable, though at least there she’d be warm.
As Blake took his first step into what had to be ice-cold mud, Sophia gave in to curiosity and studied the man he’d become. Brown wavy hair cropped short, a hint of gold shining through as a lone ray of sunshine pierced the clouds overhead.
What drew her eyes more than anything else—and kept them fixed—were Blake’s arms. A workman’s muscles now bulged from shoulder to elbow where over a decade ago he had been skin and bones.
Instant and unexpected warmth curled through her torso as she imagined those strong arms holding her close.
Sophia shook her focus free, disgusted at herself.
“Your chariot, Madam.” Blake held those arms out in front of her and waited, yet to meet her eyes with his.
“I don’t think this is a good idea. I’m really heavier than I look.” Would his fingers curl about her back and legs? Was he as warm as he looked?
Blake raised one dark brow, his gaze contemptible as he took in her gray half boots, her ruined, travel-stained gown, lingering on the swell of skin rising above her neckline to finally—finally—meet her eyes. The swirling color nearly swallowed his pupils whole, fairly stealing her breath away.
Until he spoke.
“If I can handle the cows in the paddock, I think I can handle you.”
The guffaws of laughter and back-slapping made Sophia’s cheeks hot. Her anxiety made her words harsher, more childish, more defensive. “You cannot speak to me like that!” she huffed. “Where is the owner? Perhaps he will be a gentleman and rescue me.”
“I doubt it, Duchess. Now will I carry you or would you like to go over my shoulder?”
She lifted her chin. “You wouldn’t dare.” Blake’s mouth curved into a grin to rival Lucifer’s and he took a menacing step forward. Too late she recalled the words wouldn’t, couldn’t or can’t only ever served as a challenge. Clearly what occupied the space between his ears hadn’t developed as much as his body had.
“Make your decision.”
But Sophia didn’t really hear his words. She was caught up imagining what those long fingers and strong hands were capable of. She must be delirious. There was no other explanation. Surely a decade and a half away from the place she once called home made them veritable strangers?
Within a breath the world around her tilted and she found herself upside down, her cheek rubbing against the ratty wool of Blake’s hard back as she struggled and tried to slip from his shoulder.
His hold tightened. “Cut that out, or we’ll both be swimming in filth.”
With his command, Sophia struggled in earnest until a large, warm hand closed over her bottom. Shock held her immobile, unable to utter a syllable, unable to tell him to remove both of his hands, the other of which now gripped her thigh to hold her legs still. His touch wasn’t harsh, it wasn’t repulsive or lecherous, but it was unwanted and unasked for. It had been years since a man