Free Call of the Wild Wind (Waterloo Heroes Book 2) by Sabrina York Page A

there,” he said in a rough voice, as though his throat did not want to release the words. “I shall sleep on the floor by the fire.”
    She seemed shaken as well, but valiantly attempted to appear calm. “But Charles, the bed is yours.” She offered a small, crooked smile. “And I am the valet.”
    “You are taking the bed,” he said, and without another word, gathered a blanket and a pillow and fixed himself a pallet alongside the abandoned tub.
    It occurred to him that, had circumstances been different, he should have offered her a bath, but the water had cooled. And aside from all that, the thought of her in that tub, bare and glistening, threatened to unhinge him.
    Tomorrow.
    Tomorrow they would stop at another inn. She would have her own room. He would arrange for her to have a bath in privacy while he politely suffered in the room next door.
    It was the least he could do.
    He settled onto his pallet on the hard floor and tried not to pay attention to the little noises she made as she settled in. He knew there was no chance in hell he would fall asleep. Not with his cock as wide awake as it was. But it hardly mattered.
    He had so much more weighing on his soul than his fatigue.
    The fact that he was utterly besotted with Britannia, the fact that he wanted her for his very own, was a torment.
    Because he could not have her. Not as things were.
    Some men might see such opportune reunion as a sign that this was meant to be. That God was placing her in his path because they were, indeed, meant to be together.
    Charles was tempted to succumb to such reasoning, but he was rational enough to know, had a friend come to the same conclusion, he would advise him to proceed with caution.
    In his experience, God did not step in on major matters like life and death. Why would He step in for the sake of a romance?
    He was, however, not a fool. He recognized an opportunity when he saw one, and this was one he would not squander.
    Aye, he could not seduce the tantalizing Lady Britannia Halsey. But there was nothing to prevent him from wooing her on this journey.
    There was a chance John St. Andrews was simply a man who looked like her Peter, and if that was the case, she might finally be ready to release her hold on her betrothed. Something Charles could pray for.
    Beyond that, if John was actually Peter, and Britannia discovered the concerning truth about her fiancé, she might consider herself finally free of that obligation.
    She might find herself in a position to consider Charles.
    It only made sense to prepare for such a happenstance.
    Because honestly, though he hadn’t known her all that long, he was head over heels. He couldn’t envision his life without her.
     
    Though her bed was soft as down, Britannia could not sleep. For one thing, every single move Charles made, though across the room, captured her attention, making her think about him.
    For another, her body was restless. She could not forget those kisses, or the overwhelming passion he’d incited.
    She’d never felt like that with Peter. But then, she and Peter had a lovely, calm relationship. They’d never had cross words with each other the way she and Charles had. There had never been any of this irksome tension whenever the two were together.
    She loved Peter, there was no doubt about it, but for some reason, her feelings for the Earl of Wick were so much stronger. And they were not always pleasant. She did not understand why.
    What was love, anyway? Was it physical attraction or deep respect? She had one with Peter and the other with Charles. And they both confused her.
    It was foolish to fret over, though.
    She was dedicated to Peter. Betrothed to him.
    She had no business feeling anything for another man.
    The more she reflected on what had happened here, the angrier she became. Not at Charles, but at herself. She should have been stronger. She should have been able to control herself. She should have refused to succumb to that unruly passion.
    Oh,