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He was right. That would be extremely bad for both of them. Her reputation, already hanging by a thread, would be in tatters.
“Perhaps ye could pretend to be husband and wife,” Mrs. Murray suggested.
Kendrick looked appalled. Donella certainly understood his reaction, although she couldn’t help feeling a tiny bit insulted.
“That is not an option, Mrs. Murray,” she said.
“Indeedit is not,” he said.
“Feel free to make a constructive suggestion. For once,” Donella couldn’t help saying in a snippy tone.
Kendrick ignored her jibe, regarding her with a thoughtful expression.
Donella waved her arms. “What?”
“Miss Haddon’s hair is very short,” he said to Mrs. Murray. “And she’s quite tall for a woman.”
The innkeeper looked blank for a moment, then snapped her fingers. “Aye, that she is, sir.”
“What are you talking about?” Donella asked.
“You have what she’ll need?” Kendrick asked.
“Our stable boy’s things should do the trick,” Mrs. Murray replied.
“Perfect. Then get Miss Haddon ready. I’ve got to give Foster and Davey instructions and get this blasted plan in motion.”
The wretched man thought she could pose as a boy? How charming. Donella gritted her teeth as Kendrick opened the door and disappeared without a backward glance.
The innkeeper turned to her with a smile. “Now, miss. Let’s get ye out of those clothes.”
Chapter Seven
A pat to the knee dragged Donella out of an uneasy doze.
“We’re here,” Kendrick said. “Let’s get you into a proper bed, so you can have a proper sleep.”
An unlikely image flashed through her sleep-deprived brain—Kendrick’s arms wrapped securely around her as they snuggled under a quilt. It made her jerk away from him, hard enough that she nearly tumbled off the rear of the horse.
Kendrick grabbed her wrist and pulled her forward. Without thinking, Donella wrapped an arm around his waist and flattened herself to his back to keep from falling.
Her breasts were unsecured by stays and covered only by a thin shirt and a sturdy woolen jerkin. It made her aware of her body in a way she’d never noticed before—especially when pressed againsthim. She felt curiously unfettered, as if some part of her had been let free after a long and dreary confinement.
Still, her boy’s attire was scandalous, and the sooner she donned proper clothing—and put some distance between herself and Logan Kendrick—the better.
She braced her other hand on his broad back. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle the horse.”
The poor animal, a large, sturdy fellow, had been forced to carry them for several hours, much to her backside’s discomfort. Kendrick had done his best for her, draping a thick woolen blanket behind his saddle, but no amount of padding could eliminate the misery of bouncing around on a horse’s rump.
“Och, you’ve done well under less than optimal circumstances. Hang on for a moment longer and I’ll get you down from there.”
Donella peered around the cobblestoned yard of the coaching inn, boxed in on three sides by a two-storied building and lit by a single lantern set by the front door. A small chaise and an old-fashioned travelling coach were tucked into one corner of the yard. The hushed atmosphere suggested a small inn that did not see much traffic from the main road.
“Where are we?” she asked.
“About a mile off the highway. I thought it best to avoid the larger inns.”
Given the hastily assembled nature of her disguise, that made sense. It was doubtful that Donella’s new identity would stand up to much scrutiny.
