One Unashamed Night Read Free Page A

few seconds before it had tipped and his case might be anywhere. A pity! The clothes inside it would have been an extra layer that he would have to do without, though with the driver recovered he could ask for his cloak to be returned at least.
    He listened to the rustle of Beatrice-Maude Bassingstoke dressing, her arm against his as she wriggled into the extra layers. A thin arm, he realised, the bones of it fragile.
    Finally she seemed ready. He wanted to ask her if she had a hat on. He wanted to know if her boots were sturdy. He voiced none of these questions, however, deciding that silence was the wiser option and that Mrs Bassingstoke seemed, even on such a short acquaintance, a rather determined woman and one sensible enough to wrap herself up warm against the elements.

Chapter Two
    T he weather had worsened when they slipped outside half an hour later, Taris Wellingham carefully replacing the door and patting wads of snow in the gaps that he felt along both edges.
    Bea was relieved in a sense to be away from the carriage and doing something, the wait almost worse in the extreme cold than this concerted push of energy, though her heartbeat rose with the fear of being swirled away by the wind and lost into greyness.
    As if he could read her mind his hand reached out and clamped across her own, pulling her with him towards the horses, who were decidedly jumpy.
    His fingers skimmed across the head of the big grey nearest to him, and down the side to the leather trace, hardened by ice.
    ‘You take this one.’
    He held his hand out as a step, and she quickly mounted, abandoning propriety to ride astride. Gathering the reins in tight, she stepped the horse away from the tree. Her hat was a godsend, the wide brim gathering flakes and giving her some respite from the storm. She watched as Taris Wellingham gained his seat and turned the horse towards her, his cloak once again in place and the hat of the younger man jammed in a strange manner down across his ears.
    ‘We’ll ride south.’
    Away from the direction they had come, which was a sensible choice given the lack of any buildings seen for miles.
    Please, God, let there be a house or a barn or travellers who knew the way well. Please, please let us find a warm and safe place and men who could rescue the others. Her litany to an everpresent and omnipotent deity turned over and over, the echoes of other unanswered prayers she had offered up over the years slightly disturbing.
    No, she should not think such thoughts, for only grateful vassals of the Lord would be listened to. Had not Frankwell told her that? Squinting her eyes against the driving snow, she lay low across the horse, the warmth of its skin giving her some respite from the cold and she kept her mind very carefully blank.
    Quarter of an hour later she knew she could go no further. Everything was numb. Taris Wellingham on the horse beside her looked a lot less uncomfortable, though she knew him to have on fewer clothes than she did. A man used to the elements and its excesses, she supposed. A man who strode through his life with the certainty that only came with innate self-assurance. So unlike her!
    When the shapes of two travellers on horses loomed out of the swirling whiteness she could barely believe them to be real.
    ‘There…in front of us…’ she shouted, pointing at them and amazed that Taris Wellingham had as not yet reacted to the sighting. The shout of the newcomers was heard and they waited in silence as the men came abreast.
    ‘The coach from Colchester is late. We have been sent to find it. Are you some of that party?’
    ‘We are, but it is a good fifteen minutes back,’ Taris shouted. ‘The wheel sheared away…’
    ‘And the passengers?’
    ‘One dead and two more lie inside with the driver, who is badly injured.’
    The other man swore.
    ‘Fifteen minutes back, you say. We will have to take them over to Bob Winter’s place for the night, then, but that’s another twenty or so