Page 10 of A Night of Desire with a Duke
"Or desperation."
"Sometimes they're the same thing."
Catherine smiled, though he couldn't see it. "And you, Mr. Wrentham? What are you fleeing from? Or toward?"
"What makes you think I'm fleeing at all?"
"You're traveling alone in a storm, willing to pay triple for a room, and you've had at least one heated discussion withsomeone who seems to know you're not who you say you are. Also, you have the look."
"The look?"
"Of someone carrying secrets. I recognize it because I see it in the mirror every morning."
She heard him sigh. "Toward, not from."
"A woman?"
"A responsibility."
"That's delightfully vague."
"It's meant to be."
"Will you tell me more?"
"Will you tell me your real name? Because I'm fairly certain it's not just Miss Mayfer."
Catherine's breath caught. "How did you..."
"Your maid called you 'my lady' when she first arrived. Also, your trunk has a crest on it. Small, discreet, but definitely a crest."
"You're very observant."
"It's kept me alive so far."
There was a story there, Catherine was certain. Something darker than whatever responsibility he was traveling toward.
"We all have our secrets, Mr. Wrentham."
"Indeed we do, Lady...?"
"Just Miss Mayfer. For tonight."
"And tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow we go our separate ways and pretend this never happened."
"Is that what you want?"
The question hung between them, loaded with possibility. Catherine didn't know how to answer because she didn't know what she wanted. This was supposed to be simple—a night's shelter from the storm, nothing more. Not... whatever this was becoming.
"I think," she said carefully, "that what I want and what's wise are two very different things."
"They usually are."
Before either could say more, there was a crash from below, followed by shouting and what sounded like a brawl breaking out. The music stopped abruptly.
"That escalated quickly," Mr. Wrentham observed.
