Page 25 of The Duke Who Dared Me
Alistair didn’t look up.He sat across from her, maddeningly unruffled with legs stretched out, cravat still crisp, the very picture of infuriating ease.One might never have guessed they’d spent hours locked together in the dark.
“This is hardly my fault,” he said at last, eyes fixed on the rain.His voice was quieter than usual, clipped.Tense.
“He’s only six months old,” Verity whispered, more to herself than to him.The letter crinkled in her grip.“Babies are so fragile.What if we’re too late?Percy wouldn’t have written if it weren’t serious.What if?—”
“We won’t be.”Alistair’s voice was firm, cutting through her spiraling thoughts.“Colin’s a fighter.He barged into the world three weeks early, bellowing loud enough to wake half of London.”
Despite everything, she felt a flicker of warmth.“You remember?”
“I remember everything about the day he was born.How you cried when you first held him, how proud your brother looked.”His voice softened.“Dr.Norris is the finest physician in London.Colin is in competent hands.”
Outside, they heard the driver yell at the horses, and the carriage lurched to the left.
“The roads aren’t safe.”Alistair gripped the bench and pressed his face against the window.“We’re not far from Town, but we’ll need to spend the night at the coaching inn ahead.”
Nearly a half hour later, after freeing the coach from the mud, they arrived.The Gold Bumblebee Inn was tucked against the rolling hillside, tilted to the left, with hasty patchwork of crumbling lime mortar across the stoneface of the building.
Alistair wiped his face, now soaked from helping the driver with the coach, before hopping to the soft, muddy ground and handing her out of the carriage.
“Do we need to stay here?”she shouted over the stinging rain.She squinted against the storm, rushing to the stone stairs as he barked orders out at the driver.
“You want to argue?Now?”
After her parents’ accident, she would rather be cautious than risk her life.
If they lingered, there was a chance of a limb striking them or catching their deaths from the cool March rain.It was infuriating when he made sense.
“Fine,” she huffed.
He tucked her under his coat, and the pair raced inside.The vestibule smelled of wet wool, stale ale, and desperation.The innkeeper, a round man with knowing eyes and a gap-toothed grin, studied them with barely concealed amusement.
“Terrible night to be traveling,” he said, wiping his hands on a stained apron.“You’re lucky we’ve got anything left.Storm’s brought in more than our usual.”
“Two rooms,” Alistair said curtly, placing coins on the scarred wooden counter.
The man’s grin widened.“Ah, well, there’s the rub, isn’t it?Only have the one room left.Take it or brave the storm, I say.”
Verity felt the blood drain from her face.
One room?
With Alistair.
“My wife would prefer…”
“We’ll take it,” she interrupted, her voice steadier than she felt.Alistair’s head snapped toward her, his eyes wide with something that might have been panic.“Unless you prefer we sleep in the stable?”She lifted her chin.“I’m sure the horses would appreciate the company.”
They didn’t speak as they were led up the narrow stairs and into the small, crooked room at the end of the corridor.The fire was crackling.The windows rattled in their frames as the wind howled outside.And the bed had clearly seen better years.The mattress sagged in the middle, and she tried not to think about how close that would force them to sleep.If they slept at all.
A fire crackled in the grate, casting warm light over faded red flock wallpaper and a washstand which had probably been white once upon a time.
“You can have the bed,” Alistair said, bending down to stoke the fire.
“How generous.”She began pulling pins from her hair with sharp, efficient movements.“And where exactly do you propose to sleep?On that chair in the corner that’s missing half its stuffing?”
“I’ll manage.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”Another pin clattered onto the washstand.“We’re both adults.It’s just sleeping.”
