Page 6 of Miss Barton's Mysterious Husband
His laugh was short and unamused. “Now you sound like you mean it.” He began to untie his neckcloth.
Charmian took a shocked second to realize that he meant to undress fully in front of her. Her cheeks heated, and she jerked her attention toward the window. “I’ll…I’ll see you downstairs.”
That evoked a derisive grunt. “Do you want me to save your maidenly blushes?”
“I’m not a maiden.” She braced her shoulders and glared at him. “Thanks to you.”
“I remember, but I wondered if you did, you’ve come over so coy. Don’t you remember what a naked man looks like?”
He tugged off his damp shirt to reveal a chest that had filled out from the slender man she recalled. Roland Destry had become a much more substantial presence since their last meeting. She suspected that these days he made an implacable enemy. The insight wasn’t welcome.
“I’ve tried to forget,” she said through stiff lips. Which was true, just as it was true that she’d failed miserably. Memories of Roland’s naked body had pursued her since their parting. When his hands lowered to the fastenings on his breeches, she pushed past him and out of the room, even if that gave him victory in their little war. “I’ll see you soon.”
Chapter 3
It was nearly two by the time Charmian trudged upstairs. All night, new arrivals had stumbled in out of the weather. There wasn’t a spare inch in the taproom and while she’d saved Roland from sleeping in the stables, that fate had befallen several of the lone male travelers who showed up after midnight. Their guests would be with them for the festival. Goodness knew what her aunt would feed them all.
She was wrung-out and fed up and filthy. The fact that it had been Christmas for two hours already didn’t chime with her sour mood at all.
She’d been in a sour mood for three years. No amount of Christmas cheer would change that.
Charmian pushed open the door to her room, fortifying herself for another thorny encounter with Roland. Given that her estranged husband was her Christmas gift this year, she couldn’t help feeling that her lack of cheer was justified.
He’d come up about half an hour ago, after proving surprisingly helpful. Helpful, cooperative, and diligent. When he’d offered assistance, she’d expected him to retreat, once he discovered how much hard physical work was involved. But he’d hauled hot water and trays and coal and firewood without complaint. His lordly manner had even come in handy for solving disputes between the guests, inevitable in such crowded quarters.
She ought to be grateful, but it rankled to discover that her neglectful husband was as charming as ever.
Once everyone at last was settled, she’d stayed downstairs mopping the kitchen, until she’d realized that she was just being a coward and avoiding Roland.
Her stomach tied itself in nervous knots as she surveyed the small room, but she needn’t have worried. The lamp was lit and the fire burned merrily in the grate, but no far-too-observant gentleman awaited her. Her troublesome spouse collapsed across her bed, lost in sleep.
Very carefully, Charmian edged inside the room. They had to reach some conclusion about where they took their unwise union. But it was a relief to put off the discussion until tomorrow. Or later today, given the time.
She couldn’t help lingering to study Roland. He looked dead-tired. Hardly surprising. He’d been riding all day in worsening weather, then he’d been run off his feet this evening. But now that she had a chance to examine his features without fearing those perceptive dark eyes, she saw that the tiredness seemed more ingrained than the mere result of a difficult twenty-four hours.
Even in slumber, his lips settled into an unhappy expression and deep lines ran between mouth and nose. They hadn’t been there when she’d met him. The man she’d married had been carefree, funny, one of life’s victors. This man sleeping so soundly on top of her bed – he hadn’t even turned down the covers – knew the acrid taste of disappointment and failure.
While she’d spent most of the last three years fuming at Roland, it was hard to maintain her ire when she looked down at him. She’d imagined that she alone had suffered with their separation. But seeing him now, she knew that wasn’t true.
As she stepped back, he stirred. Through one burning moment, dazed dark eyes settled on her. For once, there was no trace of wariness. Instead, warmth flooded his expression and the smile that curved his lips swept her back to those weeks when she’d loved Roland Destry and he’d loved her in return. The happiest days of her life, when she’d been sure nothing could go wrong, now that she’d married this marvelous man.
Despite everything, she smiled back, even as her poor misused heart swelled against her ribs.
Then she remembered what had happened since. He must have, too. His smile faltered and disappeared, and his gaze turned watchful again.
Charmian wasn’t quite so quick to return to the cold, unloved present. For a long moment, she gazed at the man she’d loved so passionately. Until she realized how revealing her expression must be and she looked away. “Go back to sleep. You’ve gone like the clappers all evening.”
He didn’t comply. Instead, he sat up and rubbed his eyes with unconcealed weariness. The fire warmed the small room to comfort, so he’d taken off his coat and boots. He was a long way from undressed, but having her husband sitting on her bed in shirtsleeves, breeches, and bare feet summoned unwelcome ghosts of former intimacy.
“Do you do that every day? If so, I take my hat off to you. I feel like I’ve fought Waterloo single-handed. And I only did it for a couple of hours.”
Because he sounded genuinely admiring, she bit back a gibe about being a skivvy who worked for her living. “Most of our custom is local. We get a few paying guests, but nothing like this.”
“You must be exhausted.”
She was. And like him, not just because of the current emergency. “I’ll live.”
One did, didn’t one? Even when there didn’t seem much point and every heartbeat just counted out loss.
