“Naturally.”
“I fear you’re making a grave mistake in staying, my lady,” Coral announced. “I hope you don’t come to regret it.” With that, she departed the room in a flurry of skirts.
The only mistake Astrid feared she had made was in selecting Coral to accompany her. Not that she had much choice. It was either Coral or Cook. The other three servants she had managed to retain over the years were all elderly men. Astrid had bowed to propriety in selecting Coral. And yet she was no fool. She knew the former scullery maid only used her, accepting a paltry wage, exploiting her situation as lady’s maid to a duchess—even an insolvent one—in hopes of one day securing a better position.
She would have been better off with Cook, old as she was, or one of the men.
Her gaze flitted to the man on the bed.
Now she would be sharing a room with him. And without Coral to act as chaperone. A man whose name she did not even know, yet whose lips, wide and almost too lovely to belong to any of his gender, made her mouth tingle. No matter how unwanted or inappropriate, she yearned to touch them, to feel for herself. A wholly intolerable impulse.
Each day she woke to the unwelcome fact that she was the Duke of Derring’s wife. A married woman. Even if he had forgotten, she had not. Could not.
Moving to the corner, she removed her shoes and lowered herself to the hard-backed, utilitarian chair that overlooked the inn’s yard. From her vantage point, she wriggled her stiff toes and watched Coral stride across the yard, never once looking back. And why should she? She had met her goal to further her credentials.
On the other side of the busy yard, John talked to a cluster of men near the stables, motioning to his head, no doubt diverting them with his tale of near death at the hands of highwaymen.
Astrid rubbed her forehead tiredly, easing the worry lines with her fingers. At least the innkeeper was letting John bed down in the stables at no cost. Perhaps not the most comfortable arrangement for the coachman, but one less worry for her. And his bed of hay was doubtlessly better than the chair in which she would sleep.
She glanced across the room to her rescuer, eyeing the steady rise and fall of his muscled chest, the dark stain of his hair on the white pillow…helpless against the quickening of her pulse. The virile sight of him certainly bore no resemblance to the properly dignified gentlemen in Town. Astrid’s lips twisted. But then she knew most of those gentlemen to be anything but proper or dignified.
She shifted on her seat, searching for a comfortable position. Finding that elusive, she gave up. A long night loomed ahead.
The man on the bed moaned and shifted restlessly. The blanket slipped lower, revealing a glimpse of lean hip and a dark line of hair trailing down his navel.
Definitely a long night.
Chapter 4
A strid woke with a jerk, lurching upright in her chair. Her body protested from the sudden change in position. Pain lanced her neck, shooting down her spine. Rubbing at the painful crick, she blinked against the gloom, wondering if the floor might not have been more comfortable.
Scrubbing her eyes with the base of her palm, she surveyed the darkened room. The tray Molly had brought sat where she had left it on the bedside table, not so much as a crumb littering the dishware. Astrid had devoured the tasty soup and bread, falling asleep shortly after.
The lamp had burned out sometime during the night and the coals in the grate smoldered low. Moonlight spilled through the mullioned window, making the hardwood floor gleam as if it had actually been cleaned in the course of the year.
It soon became clear what woke her. Her patient thrashed on the small bed, moaning unintelligible words. Rising, she drew closer, the hardwood floor cold and gritty against her stocking-covered feet.
Peering down at him, she hesitated before finally pressing a hand to his brow, frowning. The late
“I fear you’re making a grave mistake in staying, my lady,” Coral announced. “I hope you don’t come to regret it.” With that, she departed the room in a flurry of skirts.
The only mistake Astrid feared she had made was in selecting Coral to accompany her. Not that she had much choice. It was either Coral or Cook. The other three servants she had managed to retain over the years were all elderly men. Astrid had bowed to propriety in selecting Coral. And yet she was no fool. She knew the former scullery maid only used her, accepting a paltry wage, exploiting her situation as lady’s maid to a duchess—even an insolvent one—in hopes of one day securing a better position.
She would have been better off with Cook, old as she was, or one of the men.
Her gaze flitted to the man on the bed.
Now she would be sharing a room with him. And without Coral to act as chaperone. A man whose name she did not even know, yet whose lips, wide and almost too lovely to belong to any of his gender, made her mouth tingle. No matter how unwanted or inappropriate, she yearned to touch them, to feel for herself. A wholly intolerable impulse.
Each day she woke to the unwelcome fact that she was the Duke of Derring’s wife. A married woman. Even if he had forgotten, she had not. Could not.
Moving to the corner, she removed her shoes and lowered herself to the hard-backed, utilitarian chair that overlooked the inn’s yard. From her vantage point, she wriggled her stiff toes and watched Coral stride across the yard, never once looking back. And why should she? She had met her goal to further her credentials.
On the other side of the busy yard, John talked to a cluster of men near the stables, motioning to his head, no doubt diverting them with his tale of near death at the hands of highwaymen.
Astrid rubbed her forehead tiredly, easing the worry lines with her fingers. At least the innkeeper was letting John bed down in the stables at no cost. Perhaps not the most comfortable arrangement for the coachman, but one less worry for her. And his bed of hay was doubtlessly better than the chair in which she would sleep.
She glanced across the room to her rescuer, eyeing the steady rise and fall of his muscled chest, the dark stain of his hair on the white pillow…helpless against the quickening of her pulse. The virile sight of him certainly bore no resemblance to the properly dignified gentlemen in Town. Astrid’s lips twisted. But then she knew most of those gentlemen to be anything but proper or dignified.
She shifted on her seat, searching for a comfortable position. Finding that elusive, she gave up. A long night loomed ahead.
The man on the bed moaned and shifted restlessly. The blanket slipped lower, revealing a glimpse of lean hip and a dark line of hair trailing down his navel.
Definitely a long night.
Chapter 4
A strid woke with a jerk, lurching upright in her chair. Her body protested from the sudden change in position. Pain lanced her neck, shooting down her spine. Rubbing at the painful crick, she blinked against the gloom, wondering if the floor might not have been more comfortable.
Scrubbing her eyes with the base of her palm, she surveyed the darkened room. The tray Molly had brought sat where she had left it on the bedside table, not so much as a crumb littering the dishware. Astrid had devoured the tasty soup and bread, falling asleep shortly after.
The lamp had burned out sometime during the night and the coals in the grate smoldered low. Moonlight spilled through the mullioned window, making the hardwood floor gleam as if it had actually been cleaned in the course of the year.
It soon became clear what woke her. Her patient thrashed on the small bed, moaning unintelligible words. Rising, she drew closer, the hardwood floor cold and gritty against her stocking-covered feet.
Peering down at him, she hesitated before finally pressing a hand to his brow, frowning. The late
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