Page 67 of Calling on the Matchmaker
She didn’t want to invade the privacy of the other men who lived in the apartments, but a quick peek into each of their rooms showed their beds stripped bare. Had the men taken their linens with them? With the chill of winter, she supposedthey had need of the warmth at night no matter where they might be staying.
As she returned to Riley’s room, her teeth were chattering. Although she would have much preferred a blanket to warm herself, she was left with no choice but to use Riley’s clothing. Carefully, she sorted through his drawers until she found a flannel shirt, trousers, and thick wool stockings. Because her undergarments were still wet, she discarded them before donning his clothing. The shirt dropped to her knees, and she had to roll over the waist and legs of the trousers, cinching the waist by tying a knot in the material.
Even though she looked ridiculous, she had no other options, especially because she couldn’t find her cloak anywhere. Had she left it in the gig?
It didn’t take long for the meager coal supplies to dwindle down to but a few embers and the temperature in the apartment to drop.
Finally, she tiptoed out of the apartment and down to the workshop, intending to bring back enough coal to last her through the night. To her dismay, the doors were all locked.
For a brief moment, she considered knocking on a neighboring door. But with a glance down at her scandalous attire, she shook her head and made her way back upstairs. Once there, she searched through each room again, but to no avail.
As she dropped into the chair beside Riley’s bed, she sighed out her frustration and draped two more shirts over her body like blankets.
She should have taken more care before Bellamy left to ensure she had everything she needed. But she’d been the one to insist on staying when he’d wanted her to leave. This wasn’t his fault. He’d tried to make her see reason, and she hadn’t listened.
She still had hours to go before dawn, and already she was chilled and shivering and her toes were frozen, despite Riley’swool stockings. Her whole body would form into a block of ice before the night was through.
“Now, Finola,” she chastised herself. “It won’t be too terrible.”
The lamp on the nightstand flickered and cast a warm glow over Riley’s face, the stubble thicker and rougher after having gone without a shave. He finally looked as though he was sleeping peacefully.
He took up most of the double bed, but there was a slim margin of space beside him.
Not that she would get into bed with him. Never in a hundred years. In fact, just thinking about it sent mortification pumping through her. But if she scooted nearer, she could tuck her feet under the blankets for more warmth.
Before she could talk herself out of doing it, she wedged the chair beside the bed, then tentatively slid her feet under the covers. He was wearing only his underdrawers and an undershirt. She hadn’t meant to peek, but at the time she’d been too worried to consider the state of his undress, had only thought about his survival.
But now...
She shivered again but not from the cold. This time it was from the realization that her feet were mere inches from his solid chest.
She watched Riley’s face for any signs that he was aware of what she was doing. But he didn’t budge except the rhythmic up and down of his chest with his breathing.
Maybe this sleeping arrangement would work. And maybe she wouldn’t freeze to death after all.
She snuggled under the pile of shirts and curled her legs under the blankets. Although she only meant to rest her eyes and keep her ears open for Riley’s needs, the past two restless nights and the long day of worrying about Riley caught up with her. Within minutes, she fell into an exhausted slumber.
23
Riley stretched and waited for the pain in his stomach to double him over. But strangely the terrible cramps never came.
Was he dead? With as miserable as he’d been, he’d felt like he was dying.
He shifted, feeling a mattress beneath him, covers above him, and a body curled against him.
His eyes flew open. A low flame in a nearby lamp revealed his room above the workshop. The memories rushed back—Bellamy driving him home in his gig and dragging him up to his bed.
Big Jim had been there during the worst of his sickness, trying to get him to drink water, his worried face hovering above Riley’s. The doctor had come a couple of times. And Riley thought he’d also seen Finola. But surely he’d only been dreaming.
The body moved, snuggling deeper into him.
He froze, and his sights shot to the head resting against him.
Waves of hair cascaded all around, covering his chest, his arm, the blankets. Brown hair that was tinted with red just likeFinola’s. A body that was small, slender, and curvy just like Finola’s. Freckled skin that was just like Finola’s.
Was this Finola? Or was he living out his deepest fantasy?
His gaze darted around the room, and he tried to formulate a coherent thought. But his attention went straight back to Finola as if she were a magnet that he was powerless to resist.
