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  He sat at small table in the far corner of the inn and rested his weary, wet head against the window. He was close to resting his eyes when a gruff voice rustled his consciousness. “What will it be for today, sir?”

  “Aside from something to quench my thirst, your country fare to fill my belly with, and a bed, that will be all.”

  The man grunted something foreign, or at least it sounded not from these parts, and walked away, disappearing to a side room where dishes clattered. The hunting trip should have waited, but seeing his friend so happy and blessed these last few days renewed the loss he felt for Cordelia.

  No one could fill those slippers. She had stolen his heart the first time she had submitted to his rather deviant needs. Were it not for his idiotic notion, sending a message to her through Brimley, the duchess might still be alive, though he was sure he would not have been.

  Downsbury would have shot him on the spot, knowing it was truly him carrying on the affair with his wife. But then again, Brimley had lost a great sum of money to the man, so who was to say how things would have ended. All he knew was that he was alone, without the love of his life, and without a single person he could turn to that would not think to toss him out on his arse. With how he liked his women, he would likely spend the rest of his days alone.

  In fact, he was rather surprised he had not been sent to jail after the dealings at Martine’s establishment. She was happy to serve him in the ways he needed, but offered little in the way of true submission. Martine, in the end, was only hired help, and what he required was a woman who was not afraid to be bound, spanked, or gagged. He enjoyed using the riding crop on occasion, but there was only one person he had used it on.

  Wycliffe shook his head. Get a grip of yourself, man. She’s not coming back. Ever.

  The gent brought him a tankard of ale and a trencher of what the man must have thought to be nourishment. “When you are ready, I will have the boy show you up to your room. How long do you expect to stay?”

  “I will only be stopping for the night, sir. Has my horse been tended to?”

  “’e has. The boy will ready him for you in the morning, after you have eaten.”

  “Very well. Much thanks for the food and drink.”

  The man walked away, and the moment Wycliffe popped a piece of dry bread into his mouth, a woman’s laugh across room nearly made him choke. It cannot be… He shook his head. No. Now I am hearing things. Hell, I think I need more sleep than food.

  Wycliffe drank his ale in one sitting, took another bite of bread, and pushed the trencher away. He was half way across the room when he saw the woman. Her smile, laughter, and posture had him convinced. The way she tossed her hair over her shoulder—an action the duchess did all too often when they were alone, especially after lovemaking. His body vibrated and hummed with need.

  He could not believe in a million years he would have found her. In the middle of the country at that. And in a tavern. She would have never set foot in an establishment such as this previously, so why now?

  All this time… Where has she been? Why hasn’t she made an attempt to send word? So many questions…I cannot even begin to fathom…

  The earl’s heart hammered violently in his chest, and his breath hitched. He did not know whether to laugh, be angry, or cry. Does Downsbury even know she is still alive?

  Time seemed to stop. He stood there until she glanced up from the conversation she was having with a patron. Her head tipped to the side, and when her eyes widened, he knew that she knew.

  Christ, it is her.

  *TO BE CONTINUED*

  About the Author

  Born and raised in Toronto, Ontario, Layna discovered her love of reading at an early age. When she isn’t devouring salacious romance novels or writing, she enjoys losing herself in researching ancient history and mythology, weaponry, and hiking. She lives in Northern Ontario, with her husband and two daughters.

  Other Books by Layna

  A Gift from Fate

  Hardened Desire

  A Scandal at Vauxhall

  Secret Cravings Publishing

  www.secretcravingspublishing.com