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ANGELETTE DIDN’T SLEEPat all. She couldn’t have said whether that was because the hay scratched and the smell of manure in the stable gave her a megrim or because Daventry slept right beside her.Heseemed to have no trouble sleeping. And as dawn grew nearer and gray light filtered into the building, she couldn’t stop her gaze from straying to him.
How could he be just as handsome now, with straw in his hair, stubble on his jaw, and dressed in wrinkled clothing, as he had been the first time he’d stepped into her dining room? Angelette was certain she looked a fright. But Daventry’s unkempt appearance only made him look more attractive. Strange, as she’d always thought she liked well-groomed men. She’d never seen Georges unshaven. If, on occasion, she mussed his hair by running a hand through it, he quickly set it to rights again. Most men she knew were fastidious about their appearance. Daventry didn’t seem the least bothered by the mud on his silk coat or the ugliness of the boots he’d borrowed.
Perhaps that was the difference between French men and English men. She vastly preferred French men. Didn’t she?
Part of her wanted to burrow into the spot beside him and press her back to his chest. He would be warm and his body would be a comfort. But if she did press herself against him, would he take that as an invitation to kiss her, touch her? Would she object if he did?
Daventry opened his eyes. They looked large and very blue in the dim light. “Do you always stare at men when they sleep?”
“I wasn’t staring.” She looked away, annoyed that her face felt hot again. “I was about to wake you. We should go before the farmer comes to tend the animals.”
He sat up, stretching his arms wide. She couldn’t help but notice how that gesture tightened his shirt over his chest. He was muscled and not given to fat. She could see that much before she dragged her gaze away. While he pulled his coat on, she tied her petticoats up to keep them out of the way, then took the ladder down from the hayloft where they’d slept. He climbed down after her, and when he reached the bottom it was hard to miss the long look he gave her legs. She hastily lowered her skirts again.
“There’s a cellar around the back. I thought I might climb down and see if I can find something to eat.”
Her stomach groaned in protest.
He winked at her. “My feeling exactly.”
She followed him carefully in the dark until they reached the back of the barn. She didn’t know how he’d ever spotted a cellar there or how he managed to climb down without breaking his neck. But he emerged with a handful of apples.
She took two eagerly and devoured one without even pausing to take a breath. Belatedly she realized how unladylike her behavior must seem, but he wasn’t even paying attention. He was eating his own apple. When he caught her looking at him, he handed her another apple.
“We can buy bread in Paris. I have a few sous in my pocket.” Fortunately, she hadn’t discarded the pockets when she’d removed her skirts.
He shook his head. “There’s little bread in the city. The wheat crop was bad. The people are starving. That’s part of the reason behind the uprisings.”
“They must have some food for those with coin to pay.”
“You can get anything for a price, but now might not be the best time to walk the streets laden with bread. I suggest we find your friends. They’ll have sent servants to buy provisions. If they’re still in the city.”
“Not everyone runs away at the first sign of distress.”
“Not everyone has an ounce of sense,” he muttered. Stuffing a couple apples into his pocket, he gestured for her to follow him. “Speaking of which, once more into the fire.”
Seven
