Page 4 of A Night of Desire with a Duke
"I was going to say cozy."
"Ah yes, cozy."
Catherine moved to the window, looking out at the storm. The rain lashed against the glass with renewed fury. "We're both adults, Mr. Wrentham. Surely we can manage to share a sitting room for one night without causing a scandal."
"In my experience, Miss Mayfer, scandals rarely announce themselves in advance. They tend to sneak up on one, rather like..."
"Like strange gentlemen at coaching inns?"
"I was going to say 'like puddles in dark corridors,' but your version has more dramatic flair."
Despite her exhaustion and the impropriety of the entire situation, Catherine found herself smiling. "You're not at all what I expected to encounter on the Great North Road."
"No? What did you expect? Highwaymen? Desperate outlaws? Shocking libertines?"
"Boring merchants. Tedious cavalry officers. Perhaps a gouty squire or two."
"How disappointing I must be then. Not a merchant, only somewhat tedious, and my gout hasn't manifested yet, though I'm told it's hereditary, so there's hope."
"Are you a cavalry officer then?" Catherine asked, turning to study him. There was something military about his bearing, now that she looked properly.
"Once upon a time," he said, his expression shuttering slightly. "And you, Miss Mayfer? What brings a lady of obvious quality to be traveling the Great North Road in such weather, with only a maid for company?"
Catherine felt her own walls go up. "Personal business."
"Ah. The mysterious kind."
"The private kind."
They stood there, facing each other across the faded carpet, two people clearly harboring secrets while pretending to be merely ordinary travelers caught in a storm. The fire popped, sending sparks up the chimney, and Martha cleared her throat delicately.
"Shall I unpack your things, miss?" the maid asked, reminding them both of her presence.
"Yes, thank you, Martha. Though I suspect half of it is ruined." Catherine sighed, thinking of her carefully selected wardrobe, chosen specifically to make the right impression when she arrived in London. If she arrived in London. At this rate, she'd be lucky to arrive anywhere without developing lung fever or drowning in mud.
"I'll see what can be salvaged, miss. And perhaps..." Martha glanced meaningfully at Mr. Wrentham, "I should remain in the sitting room? For propriety?"
"Nonsense, Martha. Mr. Wrentham is clearly a gentleman, despite his earlier attempt at highway robbery over the room situation. I'm sure we can trust him to maintain appropriate boundaries."
"Highway robbery?" Mr. Wrentham protested. "I was merely engaging in free commerce."
"You were attempting to purchase what wasn't rightfully for sale."
"Everything is for sale, Miss Mayfer. It's merely a question of price."
"How wonderfully cynical of you."
"I prefer 'practical.'"
Martha looked between them with the expression of someone watching a particularly engaging theatrical performance. "I shall just... go unpack then," she said, edging toward the left-hand door.
"An excellent idea," Catherine agreed. "And Mr. Wrentham was just about to retire to his own chamber, weren't you, Mr. Wrentham?"
"Was I? How prescient of you to know my mind better than I do myself."
"Someone has to, since you seem incapable of recognizing the impropriety of remaining alone with me in this sitting room."
"We're hardly alone. Your maid is just there, the door is open, and I suspect half the inn has their ears pressed to the floorboards hoping for scandal."
