Loving Julia by Karen Robards Page A

realized the cold was the least of her problems. The carriage lurched and jolted horribly as the earl raced them on. Jewel pressed herself back against the cold seat, feeling more and more seasick with each passing minute. She shut her eyes as the curricle drove on, jolting through the ruts with complete disregard for her increasing misery. If it did not stop soon, she realized, she was going to be sick.
    Finally she was. All over the natty leather inside of the curricle, and the earl’s highly polished black boots.
    “Good God!” said the earl as he reined in his horses. When she had finished retching, and sat leaning weakly back against the seat with her eyes closed, she heard him say, “Hold ’em for me, Jenkins.” Then she felt the warmth of his hand beneath her chin. She only wished she could wrap that warmth around all of her. She was so sick, and so cold, and so bloody miserable.
    “Why didn’t you tell me you were feeling unwell, you foolish chit?” The earl sounded only a trifle testy, which against all reason had the effect of sending Jewel’s temper soaring.
    “If ya ’ad the sense of a bloody goat, ya would have known it! Not bein’ a sailin’ man, I’m not accustomed ter ’avin’ my insides shook about like they was caught in a ’urricane on the ’igh seas!” She opened her eyes and glared at him. Behind her, Jenkins gave a brief cough that might have been a muffled laugh.
    “I’ll thank you to watch your tongue, my girl,” the earl responded, his eyes narrowing on her face.
    “Push and tosh,” Jewel said rudely, and closed her eyes again. At this point she didn’t care about offending the earl. She didn’t care about whistling a home and food and care down the wind. All she cared about was letting this impossible, arrogant man know that she was not quite a nothing, to be subjected to horrible discomforts as though she didn’t matter at all.
    “My lord,” he said quite calmly as though he was merely instructing her again in the correct form of address. She had half-expected him to respond to her rudeness with anger. But instead she heard the creak of springs as he climbed out of the carriage, then to her surprise felt his hands beneath her armpits. Opening her eyes wide, she stared at him as he lifted her down.
    “See to the carriage, would you, Jenkins?” he threw over his shoulder as he pulled her arm beneath his so that it was pressed close to the hard warmth of his body. He urged her to walk back the way they had come. Jewel did, feeling stronger as she gulped in the cold air and felt the solid ground beneath her feet.
    “Sorry about yer boots. My lord,” she surprised herself by muttering. Then he smiled, that warm charming smile that lit up his eyes. She stared, dazzled by the impact of it at close range. He was too beautiful to smile—what it did for that gorgeous face was unfair.
    “They’ll clean,” he said, and fished in the pocket of his coat for a silver flask.
    “Drink this,” he said, handing it to her, and Jewel obeyed. The straight scotch burned going down, but the effect was warming and she took another long swallow.
    “Enough, or we’ll have you drunk.” He took the flask from her, regarding her with cold eyes that she found almost comforting because they were familiar. “If you are fond of the bottle, you’ll have to learn to do without. Ladies do not drink hard liquor.”
    “Ya shouldn’ve give it ter me if ya dinna wan’ me ter drink it,” Jewel retorted, and was rewarded by an easing of his expression. He didn’t smile again, but he no longer looked so cold.
    “TouchÉ. If you think you can bear up now, we should be getting on. I dislike spending nights on the road.”
    “I dislike riding,” Jewel muttered, but was not surprised to be escorted back to the now cleaned carriage and lifted aboard. He was a moment or so behind her, and Jewel took perverse pleasure from watching his high-and-mighty lordship wipe his stained boots on what few