7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

A delaide sat up with a jolt, the sheets tangled around her waist and perspiration dotting her brow, the laughter of the men drinking downstairs crashing into her dreams like a sozzled stampede. Having tumbled into sleep after bathing—the promised bath was merely a bucket, soap, and a length of linen, but they were clean and delightful after the dusty, miserable experience on the road—she had to rub her forehead before she could reconcile her surroundings.

The inn in Saltford.

The missing chaperone.

The man across the hall.

She groaned and flopped back down on the mattress. For one negligible moment, she’d thought he would accept the veiled offer into her room, although, she would admit, it hadn’t been an offer so much as a suggestion. A hint. One he clearly did not get, or if he did, had readily rejected. A quick wave of guilt attempted to wash over her, but she pushed it away. Her arrangement with Lord Clements was not for her heart or her body, but for her mind. If she wanted Will in her bed, her obligation to her betrothed would not be impacted.

But the opportunity was lost, as he was surely sound asleep in the room across the hall while she listened to drunkards singing bawdy songs one floor below.

Hollers and laughter accompanied the stumbling footsteps up the stairs. Her skin prickled, and she threw off the bedclothes, ran to check the lock. She’d almost reached the door when the pounding started, three heavy-fisted thumps.

An invisible hand wrapped its fingers around her throat. “Will?” she whispered, but whoever was in the hallway pounded again, sending her skittering backwards.

“Bernice!” The single word was punctuated with a belch that she felt in her bones. “My love, I know you’re in there!”

Her stomach dropped. “G-go away!” she cried, but the knocking got louder.

“It is I, Danny.” Danny must have stumbled, because she heard a loud thump followed by the scrambling of feet before he spoke again. “I was a fool, my darling,” the voice slurred. “And I can prove it!”

“Truly sir, I’m not Bernice—”

“Oh my dear, my lovely dove,” Danny… sang? Bellowed? “I sing of love, with each pint my heart swells, for you, my dear, for you alone!”

Adelaide recoiled. “Sir—Danny, I’m not—”

“Your eyes, like beer, they shine so bright,” he sang, “in your gaze, I find my light!”

A resounding thump sounded again and Danny’s voice was muffled, as though he’d pressed his face against the door.

“Your cheeks, like rosy bangers and mash, in every smile, a love so brash!”

A highly inappropriate giggle built in her throat. This sop may be loud, but he was no more likely to harm her than a kitten, albeit an intoxicated one. “Sir, I’m so sorry, but I’m—”

“That’s enough, old chap.”

Her heart stuttered at the sound of Will’s voice, so solid, confident, and calming.

But Danny was determined. “You’re my ale, my pie, my fish and chips, my darling love, I’m at your fingertips!”

Adelaide pressed her lips together to stifle her laughter.

“She’s not your lady,” Will grumbled, the tense undercurrent making her shudder with unexpected pleasure.

“Are you trying to steal my Bernice from me? I’ll flatten ye—” Danny’s threat would have been more impressive had he not paused to belch again.

“Walk away.”

“I can’t walk away. I’m in love !” Danny bellowed, and Adelaide had enough.

She pulled back the latch and swung open the door, and Danny’s jaw dropped.

“Cor,” he breathed. “You’re not Bernice.”

Will scrubbed his hand down his face. “That’s what I’ve been saying.”

Danny turned to Will. “She’s yours?”

She could only now appreciate Will’s appearance. He must have rushed from his room at the disturbance, as his hair stood up in sable disarray. His chest—good lord, that chest— was bare, covered by dark curls between his pectorals and leading down to his partially buttoned trousers. He looked deliciously debauched, like he’d left his lover’s bed to stand at her doorstep.

But he was assessing her in return, and Adelaide felt his gaze like a physical touch, the slow perusal of her body that made her skin prickle with awareness, her nipples tightening to hard peaks under the thin linen of her chemise.

“Aye,” Will growled, the rumble sending sparks of desire dazzling through her. “She’s mine.”

Danny whistled and clapped Will on the shoulder. Or at least, he attempted to, but only grazed Will’s bicep. “Well done, man. Well—”

Will’s glare hit Danny with enough force to make his jaw snap shut, and the man nodded once before retreating down the stairs. Then Will turned his focused attention on her. “Christ, Adelaide. I told you not to open the door!”

Her lips parted. “But I knew it was you!”

“It could have been anyone. That man—”

“Danny,” she interrupted. “We weren’t properly introduced, but—”

He stepped closer, into her space, and she could see the flare of his nostrils, the rapid rise and fall of his bare chest. “He might have hurt you.”

The panic in his eyes darkened as he took her in, assessed her as though looking for injury. Her cheeks heated as she realized she was practically naked. They both were, and only their collective willpower kept them apart—

His attention broke away from her to survey the room. “What happened in here? Were you robbed?”

She flushed and looked around from his perspective. The contents of her trunk spilled over the side as though desperate for escape. One stocking hung over the chair, the other tossed on the floor next to her discarded skirt and shirtwaist. Her corset dangled from the post of her bed, and she grabbed at it, stuffing it under her blanket. “No, I—it looks messy, I know, but I could find anything if you asked. My bloomers, for example, are right here!” She dug a hand into the cavern of her trunk and withdrew her lacy undergarments with a flourish.

Whatever pride she had in her accomplishment dissipated with his aghast expression. “You can’t sleep alone in here.”

“No,” she agreed. “I’ll clean up a bit—”

“It’s not the mess. I don’t trust this door, or those louts downstairs.” He heaved a sigh. “I’ll get my bedroll and bag. Don’t let anyone in.”

A giddy thrill raced over her skin, and she couldn’t fight her smile. Her lips had gone rogue. “Except you.”

He hesitated in the doorframe. “Except me.”

“Perhaps we should establish some sort of signal, so I’m sure it’s you and not Danny. An elaborate series of knocks, or a bird call, or—”

“ Adelaide .”

She winced, not at the sound of his voice, but at the reminder that she’d fallen into the habit of filling the space with words no one wanted to hear. She’d taken one step in retreat, but Will came forward, raised his hand as though he wished to touch her; instead, he drove his fist into his pocket.

“I’m sorry.” He heaved a massive sigh, and Adelaide tried admirably to avoid noticing the breadth and solidity of his chest. “This day… I’m tired and—” He broke off and shook his head. “I’ll get my things. Wait here.”

She could have done any number of useful things during the brief time Will wasn’t in her room—check the state of her hair (certainly a tangled disaster), put on her robe (for modesty’s sake), assume a sultry pose on the bed (daring, but possible). Instead, she stared at the door while her mind flooded with possibilities.

Will would sleep in her room .

With her .

Not sleeping with her, in the biblical sense—was that phrase actually in the Bible? She’d need to ask the vicar when she was next—

A rap at the door silenced the whirling dervish of her thoughts, and she wrenched it open so quickly she lost her grip on the knob. The door slapped against the wall, making both of them jump.

His brows furrowed. “You opened the door without checking.”

Her blood heated under his stern gaze. She attempted a flirtatious smile. “Who else could it have been besides you?”

He closed his eyes, exhaled through pursed lips before looking somewhere over her shoulder. “Can I come in?”

“Of course,” she said, skipping as she moved out of his way. “Would you like a bath? My water is probably cold, but I—”

“I already bathed.”

As soon as he’d passed her, Adelaide pressed her palm to her forehead. She might as well ask him to strip naked and do a little jig for her. She was being too much again, too demanding of his attention. He owed her nothing, and yet she wanted more from him, his laughter and his smiles.

When she turned, he was kneeling in front of the unlit fireplace and unrolling a length of heavy fabric. “What is that?”

“A bedroll,” he tossed over his shoulder.

“What’s it for?” Dammit, Adelaide, think before you speak!

He didn’t reply, which was for the best, except the lack of response gave Adelaide space to keep talking. “You shouldn’t sleep on the floor. It’s terrible for your back.”

“I sleep on the floor all the time.”

“That doesn’t make it good for you. You should be in my bed.”

He made a choking sound, and Adelaide wished the floors would open and swallow her whole.

“I mean to say,” she stammered, “you had to drive all day, and you’re starting your apprenticeship tomorrow. You need a good night’s sleep.”

Will got to his feet and turned as though facing his executioner. Perhaps she would suffocate him with a barrage of words. “I’m not taking the bed. It’s yours.”

Ah, he was being chivalrous. How lovely and predictable, but unnecessary. She crossed the distance between them and took his hand, tugging him forward. “You don’t need to be a gentleman about this. If I don’t sleep well on the floor, I can always rest in the carriage.”

As though the comfort of the soft mattress beckoned him, he stepped closer, then paused. The back of her thighs brushed the edge of the blankets. “I’m sleeping on the floor, Adelaide.”

She grabbed his other hand and pulled. “Stop being stubborn!”

He dug in his feet, but still skidded across the floor as she pulled. “ I’m being stubborn—”

They both were, but more importantly, she’d run out of room to retreat, and she apparently had more strength than she anticipated, because he was falling onto the bed. Onto her .