Chapter 6 #2
Justina allowed herself one last wistful sigh before ruthlessly shoving all thoughts of Phillip and the future aside as she gazed out the window at the yellowing fields, the trees flaunting their rich reds and golds of the season.
The remainder of the day’s journey passed in much the same fashion, mostly silent, with Justina gazing out her window and Gregory pretending to nap.
By the time they reached the coaching inn which would provide their accommodations for the evening, she’d had quite enough of the bumpy road, the stuffy carriage and, most of all, the exasperating duke who’d ignored her all day.
“Shall we see if they’ve a private parlor available to rent?” Gregory asked as they approached the entrance to the King’s Arms Inn. “We can eat our dinner there before retiring for the night.”
Feeling peevish, Justina took her time in answering him, pretending instead to study the inn’s exterior, taking in the whitewashed walls and windows framed with shingles the same cheerful shade of blue as the front door.
“I don’t know,” she said, sliding him a sidelong glance. “Perhaps. If you can promise it will not be a silent meal.”
She was well aware she was scolding a duke as if he were a recalcitrant schoolboy, but she didn’t much care at the moment. She was annoyed with him.
To his credit, he had the good grace to look embarrassed, which eased some of her irritation. Not enough to compel her to take pity on him, though.
“I promise,” he said, his voice suitably—and adorably—contrite. “I feel much improved after my nap.”
Justina eyed him speculatively for half a heartbeat, knowing full well he hadn’t slept one wink today, but in the interest of friendship, she let it go without comment and stepped inside the inn.
They met with the innkeeper and made arrangements for a single room, again posing as brother and sister under false names, though this time Gregory requested a cot for the night, apparently still unwilling to share the bed with her, but also unwilling to sleep in a chair again.
Stubborn man, Justina thought as she headed up the stairs towards the private parlor behind Gregory and the innkeeper’s wife, Mrs. Landry, a slender woman with bright red hair and freckles on her cheeks.
The next hour was an enjoyable one, with just the two of them in the room, eating their meat and potato pies and sharing light conversation about nothing and everything.
Whatever had been troubling Gregory earlier seemed to have passed, and Justina was grateful for that. She didn’t relish the idea of taking him to task, but she would have if his mood had not improved, never mind that he was duke.
After they’d eaten their fill, they retired to their chamber, which was clean but sparsely furnished with a bed, a dressing screen, a sturdy oak armoire, and—
She stilled as her gaze fell on what must have been the oldest, spindliest, saddest cot in all of England. Possibly the entire kingdom.
Battling a smile, she stole a glance at Gregory to see if he’d noticed it yet and found him staring at it with a comical mixture of disbelief and doubt.
“Well, it’s a good thing you were able to nap in the carriage today,” she said brightly. “I have a feeling it is going to be another sleepless night for you.”
He pursed his lips for a moment then approached the cot and gave it an experimental wiggle with one hand. “I’m sure it will be fine.”
She was sure he was not sure at all, but she said nothing more on the subject.
Her valise was waiting for her on the bed, so she pulled out her nightrail and dressing gown then slipped behind the dressing screen in the corner to change.
Silence settled over the room, comfortable but nearly absolute, save for the crackle of the fire in the hearth and the rustling of silk and cotton as she dressed for bed.
When she emerged from behind the screen a few minutes later, she found Gregory at the wash basin, scrubbing his hands and face with soap and water. He’d removed his coat and cravat and wore only his waistcoat and white lawn shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.
This was her first glimpse of his bare arms, skin and muscle which was normally concealed by clothing, and the sight of it—the shock of it—had her gaping at him like a simpleton.
A lustful simpleton.
She swallowed hard as yearning swept over her, spiking her pulse and urging her to go to him, to slide her palms up those naked forearms, wrap them around her waist and give him a long, thorough kiss that would leave no doubt as to what she wished to do this evening.
A shuddering breath slipped from her lips, drawing his gaze to hers, and she quickly looked away and headed for the bed, her cheeks warm with embarrassment.
Lord above, Justina, they’re only arms.
But as she slipped beneath the covers, she couldn’t help stealing glances at him from beneath her lashes, admiring his strength and masculine elegance.
Good gracious, she was behaving like a girl in the throes of her first infatuation.
She closed her eyes and tugged the coverlet up to her chin, listening to the fire crackling and water splashing, trying to think of something besides her growing attraction for the man in the room with her.
Gregory’s low chuckle filled the silence, and she opened her eyes to look at him. “What is so amusing?” she asked.
He turned to face her, drying his hands with a length of linen, a smile curling his lips. “I was thinking of something you said during dinner. Did you and your siblings truly have a pea war at the dinner table?”
She smiled. “Oh, yes. More than once, in fact.”
“Who initiated these battles? Your brother?”
She gave a little laughing snort. “No. Never. John was the only boy, but he was always better behaved than me and my sister. He required a little encouragement to be naughty.”
Gregory grinned. “And I suppose you needed no encouragement at all?”
She arched one brow. “None whatsoever.”
She’d had a happy childhood, growing up with her older siblings in their old, rambling estate in Essex. She was the youngest child, Lizzie born two years before her and John a year before that, but despite the difference in their age and gender, the trio were inseparable.
Until they weren’t.
John went off to school at the age of thirteen and things were never the same after that. They all grew up and married and now Justina rarely saw either of her siblings. Such was life, she supposed. But sometimes she did miss the bond they used to share.
“I envy you,” Gregory said, his grin easing into a wistful half-smile. “I always wanted a sibling. Someone to share things with I couldn’t share with anyone else.” He chuckled. “Not that my father would ever have permitted a pea war at the dinner table.”
He fell silent, thinking of his father, perhaps, or what his boyhood might have been like if he’d had a brother or sister for a friend and confidant. Telling him she’d loved having siblings to grow up with seemed insensitive but telling him she barely knew her siblings now seemed equally unkind.
“Your father was a strict man?” she asked.
Gregory leaned back against the dresser and crossed his arms over his chest, his expression thoughtful. “I suppose he was. He had certain expectations which he expected to be met, and that included his family’s conduct, both public and private.”
“That must have been challenging for you as a boy, being a duke’s heir and his only child. You were the sole bearer of all his expectations, as well as your mother’s.”
“Now you see why I wanted a sibling to share the burden.”
Justina’s heart squeezed at the image of a red-haired little boy, lonely and longing for a brother or sister to play with. “Well, seeing as we are already pretending to be siblings,” she said lightly, “perhaps you can think of me as the sister you never had.”
His gaze held hers for a single beat before dipping to her lips then slipping lower still, sweeping down the length of her body then back up to meet her gaze again, his eyes hot, his mouth curved into a wry half-smile.
“No,” he said softly. “I don’t think I can.”
Justina’s breath caught, and for one long, thigh-clenching moment she thought he might cross the room to her, toss back the bed linens and finally give her body what it so desperately craved.
Sadly, he did not.
Instead, he cleared his throat and said, “Well, it’s getting late. I suppose we should try to get some sleep.”
Heart thudding, Justina rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling as disappointment settled over her, cooling her desire. “Yes. I suppose you’re right.”
He snuffed out the candles, leaving only the dying fire’s glow, and she watched it dance and flicker on the ceiling above her, willing her body to relax. A creak rent the silence, then another, as Gregory settled onto the cot, and he let out a muffled grunt as the cot gave another creak of protest.
Justina, trying not to laugh now, said innocently, “Is everything all right over there?”
“Excellent,” he said, between another grunt and a creak, stubborn to the last.
Still smiling, she closed her eyes and nestled deeper into the covers. “Good night, Gregory. Sleep well.”
He wished her the same with characteristic politeness, and as she began to drift off to sleep, her last lucid thought was that it had been a very long time since she’d had so much fun with a man who still had his clothes on.