Chapter 21
Twenty-One
They were angry with her. Elizabeth could understand that, but they’d been traveling in the coach for hours, and neither James nor his man Marcus had uttered a single word.
They’d ridden through the night, and that was understandable.
Clearly, the men were in a hurry. But after the sun had risen, and they’d stopped for a brief breakfast and then continued on, it was inexcusable.
“It’s a lovely day today, isn’t it?” she said.
The interior of the coach remained resolutely silent.
“Not a cloud in the sky. Delightful traveling weather.”
Still no answer.
“It bodes well for the crossing, I should think. I’m sure you’ve heard the tale of the poor Duchess of Northumberland.
It was many years ago, of course, but my mother loves to tell the story.
A storm blew up, with wind and waves so violent, the duchess was nearly swept into the sea, chaise and all.
She insisted the captain turn back. I don’t think I should have done anything so foolish; I’d at least have gotten out of the chaise.
” She paused. “Though, do you suppose a chaise might float?”
The only sound in the coach was of horses’ hooves, jangling traces, and wheels grinding over gravel.
“Shall we stop this evening or ride straight through? Not that I’m complaining,” she added hastily, at the same time thinking longingly of her toothbrush, and her hairbrush, and her lemon soap.
“I was just wondering how I shall enter the inn without attracting too much attention. I could pretend to be the maid…”
James turned to her. “I don’t think so,” he said dryly.
“Oh, but I could, I’ve got a terrific ear for accents.”
“Yes,” he said, “but can you start a fire in the chamber hearth?”
She pursed her lips.
“How are you at making beds?”
Her lower lip twitched.
“Ironing shirts?”
Her lip twitched again. “I can make a pudding,” she offered.
“Well, that changes everything,” he said, clearly unimpressed.
Marcus made an odd sound in his throat and purposefully bent his head and his graphite pencil to the sketchbook open on his lap.
“Well, then, what’s your bright idea, James Arthur Evan Dinsmore?”
“You’ll pull up your hood and enter on my arm.”
“But people will think…”
“Precisely what they think whenever I enter an inn with a hooded lady. That you’re my mistress.”
Elizabeth blushed. “But when you call for separate rooms, what will they think then?”
“I won’t.”
“But you must,” she said, trying to sound firm, rather than scandalized.
“That would arouse suspicion, which as you will agree, is the last thing we want. And besides”—he patted his pocket—“I haven’t the funds for more than one room.
We aren’t traveling with the Harcrest largesse, my dear.
Regretfully, the accommodations on this trip will not be up to the standards to which you are accustomed. ”
Her eyes narrowed. He didn’t sound regretful at all. Indeed, she thought she caught a glimmer of amusement in his voice. But at least he was speaking to her, and at least she’d discovered they’d be stopping. “You’ll be sleeping on the floor, of course.”
“No,” he said firmly, “I will not. I’m paying for the room, I’m paying for the bed, and I fully intend to enjoy the accommodations such as they are.
” When she opened her mouth to protest, he added, “Might I remind you that you, Elizabeth Anne Louisa Grace Harcrest, are the uninvited member of this excursion?”
She closed her mouth, though only for the briefest moment. “Very well. We shall share a room. I expect that you will behave as a gentleman. There will be nothing improper between us.”
He stared at her. The corners of his eyes crinkled.
The edges of his mouth turned up. A smile spread across his face.
And then he laughed, a rich, wholehearted sound that bore no resemblance at all to the polite affectations of amusement he uttered in society.
“Nothing improper,” he sputtered, when finally he managed to catch his breath.
“Beyond blackmail and the occasional death threat, I swear to you, Elizabeth, nothing of the slightest impropriety will pass between us.”
He was right, Elizabeth thought. No one paid her the slightest notice when she entered the seedy inn with James.
Or at least they pretended not to notice her, addressing their conversations to him, or to Marcus, or one of the other servants, the slight, dark-haired Andre, and the large blond David.
There was something odd about those three.
They didn’t seem the usual sort to be servants.
There was a hint of the aristocrat about Marcus; she could more easily imagine him giving orders than taking them.
She supposed he might be a gentleman fallen on hard times, forced to hire himself out.
Andre seemed far too cocky to be a serving man, and David…
she hadn’t figured him out yet, but he struck her as too… distracted.
Not that the men made her uncomfortable.
Elizabeth silently amended that thought; Marcus made her uncomfortable.
She had the distinct feeling he’d have sent her packing if only he could have convinced James.
Andre and David had accepted her presence with amused curiosity.
Andre had actually winked at her when James wasn’t looking.
Of course, she hadn’t acknowledged him, but she suspected she could win the two men over easily enough.
It never hurt to have the servants on one’s side.
Thinking of sides made Elizabeth increasingly aware of how stiff one side of her body was, stretched out on the hardwood floor as she was.
She pulled closer the musty blanket James had tossed her, and rolled over.
As she did so, she became aware of the horrifying layer of dust beneath the bed.
James really ought to speak to the maid.
If they even had maids at such an establishment.
She wriggled away from the bed and tried to find a comfortable position.
She put down her arm, the one between her body and the floor.
She stretched it out. She tried pillowing her head on it.
She found herself wishing that arms, like wigs, could be removed at night.
She rolled over onto her back.
She heard James sigh contentedly. Despicable toad.
“This mattress is surprisingly comfortable.” His voice floated down from the bed. “Not the usual scratchy straw affair you usually find in such places. Generous, too. Good heavens, at least three, perhaps four grown men could make their rest here without even touching.”
She found herself thinking that he had, indeed, spoken the truth when he’d claimed he was not a gentleman. “I’m perfectly fine down here. Thank you very much. I understand hard surfaces are most beneficial to posture and circulation.”
“I shall bear that in mind.”
She heard him plumping the pillows. She ought to have taken one when he’d offered earlier.
But she’d been so distracted when he’d hung up his coat over the chair, slung his waistcoat after it, then sat down, and begun pulling off his shoes and stockings.
She tried not to stare at the fine layer of gold hair that covered the muscles of his calves.
And then he’d stood up and begun unfastening his breeches as if she weren’t even there.
She should have looked at him as casually as if he were an old piece of furniture, that’s what she should have done.
But instead, she told him she was going to sleep on the floor now, and would he please hand her a blanket from the bed.
She turned again. No matter which way she turned it didn’t make her any more comfortable. The floor was still hard and cold, and she was beginning to accumulate bits of grit in her blanket.
“Elizabeth.” James’s voice was soft. “You might as well come to bed.” When she remained silent, he continued, “I really won’t lay a hand on you.” His voice lightened. “No matter how tempting a target your neck presents.”
She heard him patting the mattress; the muffled plumph, plumph was more tempting than a pot of steaming chocolate on a cold morning.
“You can sleep under the covers, and I’ll sleep on the top of them.”
She thought of him, long-limbed and naked under his nightshirt. “You can sleep under the covers,” she said quickly. “I don’t need them.”
“Ah, yes,” he said, “I’d almost forgotten that you were still wearing all those layers of traveling clothes.”
As if she’d strip with him in the room—not if her clothes were armor, which, after two days of traveling, they did seem to resemble.
“You didn’t say what time we were leaving in the morning,” she protested, “and since I haven’t a maid, I didn’t want to slow you down if you were in a hurry to set off. ”
“Thoughtless of me, thoughtful of you. We’ll be off in a few hours, as soon as it’s light.” He plumphed the mattress again. “Come on, up with you, then.”
“Hands to yourself, James Dinsmore,” she muttered as she climbed in beside him.
“Safe behind my head.” He chuckled. She glanced at him.
Just to make certain, she told herself. In the pale shaft of light from the window, she could see that his arms were, indeed, folded under his head; the position made full play of the muscles of his chest. Elizabeth caught a glimpse of golden hair tangled in the vee of his nightshirt.
She lay down on her back, staring at the ceiling and holding herself so stiffly that she almost considered returning to the floor.
“So,” he said after several very long, very uncomfortable moments had passed, “you’re a right-sider.”
“I beg your pardon?” The sound of his voice and the question took her by surprise. She hadn’t the vaguest notion what he meant.
“You sleep on the right side of the bed.”
“Oh.” She paused, considering. “I haven’t ever thought about it. I’ve never shared a bed before. Except when I was little and it was stormy and I’d crawl into my nanny’s bed. Then it didn’t really matter what side I was on, so long as she held me close.”