Chapter Seven

"H ow are you doing?" Theodosia asked, and she stifled the urge to laugh at the grumble that followed. Ah, she'd needed this.

Entertainment .

When last had she been this amused? When her brother, Broden, had tripped over his own feet and fallen into a pile of horse manure? Was it really that long ago? Certainly it was before the mess with the wagers when she'd been labeled as having eyes as black as Satan's. Strangely, the label that usually sent good humor fleeing from her had at least momentarily lost its power in the face of the anticipation that brewed inside her.

Saville.

The Earl of Saville

Field Savage.

In a dress.

A curse drew her attention to the stall. "No one is ever going to believe I am a woman." His head appeared above the door of the stall, and he pointed at his jaw. "Not with this stubble." He glared at her in a menacing way—as menacing as he could manage at least.

"Would they believe it if your face was shaven clean?"

"No," he grumbled, reminding Theodosia of a small child. "I have a very masculine jawline."

"I'd be surprised if you didn't." She was having trouble keeping a straight face. "Since you are a man."

"Is that laughter I detect?"

"Of course, not. Who could laugh at such a wretched tragedy as you having to put on a dress?"

"How the hell do women wear this every day?"

She glanced at the Turkish trousers she wore. "How indeed?"

"What's this?" A sudden curse. "Must I wear the bonnet, too?"

"Why of course. It completes the look. And we must hide your hair. Plus, there are lots of women with masculine jawlines and even some with facial hair."

"Hogwash."

"No, it's true."

She heard a rustle, and then the stall opened and Saville stepped out in all his humble, maid-like glory.

Theodosia's hand flew to her mouth.

He was tall, and broad shouldered, but the dress still fit him. However, it stopped a several inches above his ankles, drawing one's eye to the Hessian boots he still wore.

Oh, well, that cannot be helped.

"Look at you, bonnet man."

"Don't call me that."

She laughed.

His hands plopped on his hips. "Tell me, who the devil is going to believe I'm a woman? Stubble aside, there is still my build."

"I mean... there are plenty of woman who are tall and also have wide shoulders. Otherwise the dress wouldn't fit you."

"You have an argument for everything, don't you?" He rubbed a hand over his jawline. "Do they also shave their faces?"

"Anything is possible in this world."

"Anything is possible my arse. You did this on purpose, didn't you? Damn it, couldn't you have borrowed a better color? Why is everything purple?"

"Don't you prefer purple?" She handed him a pair of stockings. "Here. Stuff them into your bosom."

"Hell. No."

"Come on, we need the full effect of what it means to be a woman."

"What it means to be a woman?" He stuffed the stockings into his dress. "This does not make me feel like a woman."

Theodosia almost laughed at the accusatory glare he leveled at her. "You know only woman are allowed in the inn. If you wish for an opportunity to enter, we need to turn you into a woman. It's all about illusion." And to show a certain innkeeper their determination and sincerity. She motioned for him to turn around. "Let me see."

"We are not fooling anyone."

Theodosia's gaze caught on the gaping material at his back. "It won't entirely close." She handed him the shawl. "I wasn't sure, so I grabbed this as well. Wear this to cover your back. It might still be a bit chilly, though." She forgot to snatch a jacket.

He draped the shawl over his shoulders. "Tell me the truth. You are doing this to punish me for chasing you down?"

Theodosia grinned. "I am not."

She really wasn't.

But she did draw endless enjoyment from the sight.

Luckily she had piqued the interest of the mistress of the establishment with her idea. They would never have fooled her otherwise. Not only did he not look like a woman, but the innkeeper had already glimpsed his face. Even if he covered the lower half of his face with a mask, the glowing intensity of his eyes would be recognized in an instant.

But this seemed the only way to remain together.

Something she never thought she'd ever want. And yet, she truly didn't want to separate from the earl—not yet—which was why she had implored the innkeeper to accept her outrageous idea.

Honestly, her plan could have gone either way. The older woman had proved a force not to be trifled with, and yet she had given them a chance, and also provided clothes because, in her own words, You remind me of my daughter . She, too, loved to help stray dogs .

A look of fondness had broken through the woman's stern features. Theodosia laughed in her heart. Even though the comparison thoroughly amused her, she certainly wasn't about to tell this prickly hedgehog that he'd been compared to a stray dog.

Poor Saville.

This hot-tempered rogue would probably explode in ire.

"I don't know whether to believe you or not," the man muttered sulkily, "but I shall give you the benefit of the doubt."

"Let's not tarry any longer."

He nodded. "Lead the way."

Theodosia was profoundly aware of the man as he followed her back to the main entrance of the inn. Even in such hilarious attire, his presence was powerful. No, with a presence like that, he could never be mistaken for other than he was.

She knocked on the door of the inn, and her accomplice to Saville's transformation appeared before them once more. Theodosia lifted her chin a notch, deciding to act the part as well. "My maid and I would like a room, please. I believe you still have one available."

The woman glanced from her to Saville and back to her again before once more settling on Saville, her sharp gaze flicking over the bonnet and wandering down over every inch of him. The corner of the woman's eye twitched.

Please, please, please, don't laugh.

"This is your maid?" the woman asked with an arch of her brow.

"Yes, this is"—she thought for a name—"Gertrude. I, as you recall, am Lady Theodosia King."

"I see. Well..." The innkeeper pursed her lips and then with a shake of her head, then stepped aside. "The room is still available if you want it. You and your maid will have to share."

Inwardly, Theodosia did a little dance.

"We don't mind." She glanced at Saville, who sported a deep scowl on his face. He could at least try to act the part. Rotten man. "We shall only be staying for the night."

"Very well," the woman said. "My name is Margaret Latch. I'm the owner of this establishment." She retrieved a key from the cupboard and handed it to Theodosia. "You can call me Mrs. Latch. The room is on the third floor, second door to the left. "Can I send up food and drink?"

"God, yes," Saville burst out, and promptly recovered after a look from Theodosia. " Please ."

Theodosia nodded. "We shall be sure to keep to our room."

"I think that is for the best," Mrs. Latch confirmed. "I'll have Shelly bring up your meal and some ale."

A throat cleared. "Do you have anything stronger than ale?" Gertrude-Saville asked.

The woman stared at them for half a beat before she announced, "Gin."

"That will do." Saville said.

Gin?

Theodosia had never heard of this drink before, but it seemed Saville had. "Send us a cup of gin, then."

"A bottle," a low voice intoned behind her.

Theodosia cast him another glance. "And some ale, please."

Mrs. Latch nodded and led them to the stairwell, after which she disappeared through another door.

"I cannot believe that woman went along with this little scheme of yours." A grumble followed Theodosia up the narrow flight of stairs.

"Oh shush. She let you in, did she not? That makes her a saint. And mind your voice lest you alert everyone that there is a man masquerading as a woman amongst them."

Saville grunted but dropped his voice to a whisper. "She must not have believed I'd ever agree to such nonsense."

They reached their room and Theodosia turned the key in the lock. "Well, you did agree to such nonsense." And created a memory she would never forget!

The door swung open, and Theodosia stepped into the room, her gaze flicking over a small writing desk, the chair in the corner, and finally over the rather narrow bed pushed up against the wall. "It's not much, but it will do in a pinch."

"It's better than a dusty dwelling that barely provides shelter."

Theodosia smiled at him. "And we can eat."

On cue, his stomach growled.

Theodosia did chuckle then. "It must already be midnight, I suppose." She fell back onto the bed. "I've missed a bed."

Silence.

She lifted her head to look at Saville. "What's wrong?" A silent Saville was never a good thing.

He stared at her. "You are a woman, and I am a man."

"You only realized this now?" She grinned. "I suppose late is better than never."

"Don't be smart. If word ever gets out that we shared a room, you will be ruined and I—well, I will be dead."

"Word will never get out, and besides, what are you so worried about, Gertrude? Tonight you are a woman, too."

He held her gaze for a moment before looking away without another word.

She laid her head back down, and teased, "Don't you feel like a woman yet?"

*

Field felt like a damn fool. Feel like a woman? Little Field had something to say about that. The only thing he felt was that the world was mocking him, and this woman, lying on the bed all innocently, was provoking him. And delighting in her provocation!

"That Mrs. Latch let me pass for her entertainment, I'm sure of it."

"So what if she did?" Lady Theodosia murmured. "Older people do so love to be amused by the younger ones."

"I don't even know what to say to that. I made a damn fool of myself."

"You're not a fool. You're quite smart. Or you wouldn't be in this room with a hot meal on its way."

That reminded him. "Of course they would have only gin. An all women inn serving gin. How remarkable. Are you telling me they'd drink gin but not brandy? I would die for a glass of French Cognac."

"Just be grateful you are here. Mrs. Latch still has to give her guests the appearance of only allowing women to enter. Any spirits at all are a bonus."

"I still believe she did it solely for her entertainment. And it makes me uneasy."

"That you offer entertainment or that you are the only man in the inn?"

"Both. Especially the last."

"Why?" Amusement dripped from her tone. "Afraid you will be overcome by a gaggle of women?"

"I just escaped the clutches of a madwoman in London. A madwoman belonging to a secret club run by only women. Women who also run a criminal group with a wide network. For all we know, Mrs. Latch could be an associate of that damn club. Forgive me if I am a bit on edge."

"Ah yes, the club your sister wanted to join. The same one we need the betting book for."

Christ, the betting book.

Field had almost forgotten about the damn thing.

"Right." He drew the chair from the desk and plopped down, shifting uncomfortably as his thighs rubbed together beneath the dress. Not a comfortable feeling. He tugged at the strings of the bonnet, yanking the thing from his head and flinging it onto the desk.

"Our meal hasn't been brought up yet," Theodosia said. "What if the serving girl sees you like this?"

"You think she hasn't been informed that there is a man in the room dressed as a woman?" Field snorted. "She probably can't wait to come and catch a glimpse of the spectacle."

Theodosia lifted her legs into the air in a thoroughly unladylike fashion and tugged at her trousers. "If you are a spectacle, then so am I. And if you must know, I reminded Mrs. Latch of her daughter, which was why she made an exception for us. There are more things in Heaven—"

"Please don't quote Shakespeare right now," Field already felt as though he was in a tragic comedy.

She laughed, and his gaze fell on those long legs, tracking down to her mischievous face. The corners of her lips were lifted, and her features were relaxed into soft lines. A strangely beautiful sight.

Field paused.

Where had that thought sprung from? Then again, Lady Theodosia was pretty. And this was one of the rare times she was not shooting steel shards at him from her eyes. A novel experience every time it occurred, to be frank.

The room suddenly turned warm, and Field scooted the chair over to the window, reaching out to lift it a crack. Fresh air was required in such situations.

Cool, crisp night air blew across his face. Just what he needed. Boisterous laughter echoed over to their humble room from the inn across the street that had turned them away, the establishment that allowed both men and women.

"I'm surprised the men didn't retaliate by declaring that an all-male inn."

"Why would they?" She arched a brow at Field. "Don't men have certain needs that require the presence of women?"

"Oh," Field said. She forever startled him with her mouth. However, this was his chance to tease her back, so he settled back lazily and drawled, "And what needs are those?"

"Do you want me to say it out loud? Can you handle that?"

He probably couldn't. "How are you so much more knowledgeable than the average lady? It's not appropriate to speak of such things."

" This is where you draw the line? Now you sound just like Seth."

Her brother?

Ah. Of course .

He recalled that his sister had also picked up some things from him and his friends. In all likelihood it was rather na?ve to think all ladies were guileless little flowers with no knowledge of the world.

"The line has to be drawn somewhere. Seems like a good place to start." He glanced at her trousers. "Where can I get a set of those?"

"Turkish trousers?" She smiled knowingly. "Why would you want a set when you bluster about them all the time?"

He cleared his throat. "They look more comfortable than this damn dress."

"They are. But don't worry, you can shed yourself of the discomfort when we leave in the morning."

"Let's swap for the night?"

She laughed. "Never!"

A knock sounded.

"Ah, the food is here," Theodosia said and sat up. "You may stay seated as a proper lady would. I'll collect it."

Field sent her a brooding look before snatching up the bonnet and pulling it over his head, averting his gaze.

Those trousers . . .

He wanted them off her. And not because of any nefarious reasons! It was just that they were forever on the surface of his mind—the shape of her legs beneath the thin material. Who would think that such strange trousers could still accentuate the lines of her legs in such an alluring way?

Two bowls of food were set on the desk as well as a small loaf of bread, a bottle of gin, two clean glasses, and two pints of ale. Field ignored the look of the girl and only turned to his bowl when the door shut behind her.

Lady Theodosia settled on the bed with hers. "Stew. I love stew."

"Me too," he murmured, inhaling the rich aroma. He had never been as glad to receive a dish filled with the sumptuous fare as he was now.

He broke a piece of bread and dipped it into the stew before taking a bite.

She did the same and let out a moan of satisfaction. "A rather simple dish, but there is something about its simplicity that is unquestionably delicious. My mother would have the cook make me stew as a child when I refused to eat anything else."

"You were a picky eater as a child?" Field asked.

She nodded. "I hated vegetables and preferred meat and potatoes, much to my mother's distress. She thought for sure I would bloat out as I grew older."

"Why distress? Meat and potatoes are the stuff true meals are made of."

"They also made my skin break out in pimples."

Field paused with his spoon midway to his mouth, his eyes finding her smooth, pale cheeks. "I can't imagine you ever having had a pimple."

"Oh, I was quite ugly as a child."

He could believe that even less.

"What about you?" she asked, her eyes sparking. "Did you have any pimples growing up?"

Did he? Field couldn't remember. "All children get pimples at some point in their lives. But I do recall my mother would always have stew brought up to my room whenever I fell sick." Fell sick meaning whenever his father raised a fist to him. Those moments were the only sweet memories he had associated with those events.

"Not chicken broth?"

"Can't stand the stuff."

"It's not for you to stand. It's to help you get better."

"Beef stew helped just the same." Chicken broth did nothing to help heal wounds.

"Your mother was quite indulgent with you."

Field's lips quirked. "She was. Now, her indulgence is directed at the Scot she married."

"You sound quite sour. Do you not approve of your stepfather?"

"As long as he treats my mother as a gentleman ought, I don't have a problem with him." He also didn't blame his mother for escaping to Scotland after his father passed. Selena, however, may have felt that loss a bit differently than he did. But she never said a word of grievance to him. On the surface, she accepted her mother's absence without shedding a single tear, though she had clung to him in those earlier years much more than now. He rather missed those days.

"As a gentleman ought?" Some dryness returned to Theodosia's tone. "I'm curious. What defines the term gentleman? Birth? Title?"

He couldn't argue against the implied criticism in her question. Being titled gentleman meant nothing if you didn't live up to the title. Even he at times didn't feel like a gentleman. He'd certainly done ungentlemanly things in the past. He was doing something shockingly ungentlemanly right now.

"As long as he treats her as an honorable man ought, then," he corrected.

"Well, I daresay it's a touch better than gentleman ."

Field took another bite of bread, nodding absentmindedly. Quite right. He carried the title of gentleman, but he hadn't always acted from a place of honor. Like his father. But that man hadn't even tried to be a good person.

Let's not think about that.

He'd rather focus on the meal soothing his belly. They finished their food in silence, the sounds floating from across the street their only companion. Until Theodosia's head suddenly whipped to the window.

"What is it?" Field pushed his empty bowl to the side.

"Nancy."

Field sat up straight, his gaze following hers. "Your traitorous maid? That Nancy?"

"My maid no longer." She handed him her bowl and scrambled across the bed to the window. "But that is her laughter."

Field placed her bowl in his and bent over to lower his head next to hers as they both peered rather boldly through the window down onto the streets. They should probably be a bit more inconspicuous, but before he could urge Theodosia to lower a bit more, she exclaimed, "That's her!"

She pointed toward a woman who had stepped from the door to join a man smoking a cheroot outside, their silhouettes darker in the light spilling from with windows. Nancy laughed up at the man, her face, even from this distance, he could tell brimmed with delight.

Sure enough.

"It seems you were betrayed for love."

"Oh, hush. That's one of the highwaymen, is it not?"

Field nodded slowly. "He was the man to the Black Knight's right, if I'm not mistaken." Field recognized the shock of red hair.

"Well, I suppose we are fortunate that the inn didn't have any rooms left for us or who knows what might have happened! My carriage must be here somewhere. As must your horse," she murmured. "We are fortunate indeed."

Fortunate?

The very word offended him.

Field glanced down at the dress he still wore.

No, not fortunate at all.