Page 90 of Crash Landing
Trajan frowned. “What are you doing?”
“I thought to ask one of the inn’s maids to freshen my gown. It is so dusty. I’ll choke if I have to wear it tomorrow.” She held up the packet of letters. “I had better hide these elsewhere.”
“Put them in your travel pouch for now,” he said. “No one’s going to touch them there.”
“All right.” She supposed it was more sensible than sticking them under the mattress and leaving them behind as they hurried to catch the mail coach.
After securing them in the pouch, she removed her gown and set it aside to hand over to the maid when their meal was brought in. The fabric was dusty and a little wrinkled. It only required the dust shaken off and a quick pressing. This should not take long. The maid could return the garment by the time she and Trajan finished dining.
“How about you? Anything you wish to give over for cleaning?”
“I’ll think about it.”
“All right.” She was not going to insist, since tomorrow’s ride would be just as dusty.
She thought to don her nightgown and robe, but wanted to wash up first. She wore only her shift, a practical cotton garment, but the material was thin and one could see through it under a bright enough light.
Perhaps he might think her shameless, but she really did not care if he saw all of her. In fact, it was time that he did, and she hoped he might do something about it tonight.
While Trajan watched her, she took a cloth, dampened it, and then applied soap to the cloth. She then ran it over her body to wash the layers of dirt off her skin.
This inn was of the highest quality, she noted. Where else would Farthingale soaps be provided for their guests? And they had a choice, no less. Lined up beside the basin and ewer were four cakes from which to choose. She put her nose to each one and inhaled. Sandalwood was the obvious choice for Trajan when he washed up. The next two were fruity scents. Peach and strawberry. The last was citrus. Lemon.
She felt like a peach.
Trajan looked quite comfortable as he watched her, his hands still clasped behind his head and the damp handkerchief still on his forehead.
When she was done, she donned her robe and dug out her brush from the travel pouch. She then unpinned her hair and was about to brush it when Trajan tossed the handkerchief aside and sat up. “Come here, Florence,” he said in a husky murmur that had her insides melting. “Let me help you with that.”
His smoldering gaze burned into her. By his wicked smile, Florence knew he meant to do more than merely brush her hair.
Her heart skipped beats.
She sat beside him and gave her back to him. He spent more time running his fingers through her hair and nuzzling her neck than actually brushing. Then he slipped the robe and the sleeves of her shift off her shoulders to bare them to his lips.
Dear heaven.
This was most exciting.
But how were they to get anything accomplished when he was so distracting?
A knock at the door had her bolting to attention. “That’s our food.”
He laughingly groaned and sank back onto the mattress. “Ah, yes. We did order a meal, didn’t we?”
“Do you want your boots polished? The garments you wore todaydusted off? These are quick chores, and we could request to have everything brought back before we fall asleep tonight.”
“Florence, stop darting about. You are making me dizzy. Are you worried about something?”
She shook her head. “Not worried, just…uncertain. I like the way you were touching me. I’ve never experienced these sensations before.”
“I know, love,” he said gently, and rose to walk to the door. “But you’ll like what’s to come. I should not have started something when I knew we would be interrupted.”
“I didn’t mind.”
“Good. This is to be continued after supper,” he said, then gave her a quick kiss on the lips before he opened the door.
As the maid rolled in the cart, their room filled with a delicious aroma. Florence handed her gown to the girl, and Trajan did the same with his jacket and boots. He then gave the girl several coins. “We’ll need them back within the hour.”
