Page 57 of Heartbreaker

To the two of them, alone.

She led the way.

The room was at the rear of the inn, overlooking the stables and far from the noise of the tavern below. In the time it had taken Clayborn to bring chaos to the taproom, food and scalding bathwater had been delivered, and when the door was closed and locked, they were left alone with nothing but the steam rising from the water.

He inspected the tidy room, small and unassuming, with the exception of a massive oil painting on one wall, nearly as tall as a person, depicting a collection of sixwomen, each clad in diaphanous white accented with gold, and each holding a blade and shield. “Why am I not surprised you were assigned the room in which goddesses watch over you?”

“Shield-maidens,” she corrected him.

He turned questioning eyes on her.

She made for her bag, itching to keep busy—not wanting to consider how the events below had changed the way she thought of the duke, who no longer seemed so ducal. “They decided which warriors lived and which died on the battlefield.” Moving quickly, she fetched a vial of oil and added several drops to the hot bath, stirring the water to release the rich scent of rosemary into the air.

She did her best to keep her back to him even as he watched from his place by the door, pressed to the wall. She didn’t want to look at him. Didn’t want to think about what came next.

“What is it?” The question was quiet, like the room, but still it scraped over her skin like a touch.

She returned the oil to her bag. “Bay and rosemary essence. And willow bark. It will help with the pain.”

“So you have decided I shall live,” he said.

He didn’t deny there was pain, and she admired that. “For another battle, no doubt,” she said. “You should get in. Before the water cools.”

He grunted and she moved to the window, looking out on the darkness below, the light from the candle reflecting in the glass. “There is no screen,” she said softly. “I shan’t look.”

He didn’t seem to mind, and Adelaide was consumed with the sound of his undressing—the slide of wool and cotton a slow, sinful temptation in the silent room. She heard him step into the water. His muffled groan. A deep inhale. A long exhale.

Her skin grew tight, hot and uncomfortable over muscle and bone, and it took all she had not to turn and look at him. This man who came from a world so differentfrom her own—it seemed impossible that they were in the same universe, let alone the same building . . . let alone the same room. While he bathed.

He was too much for looking at.

Like jewels or silk or fur in a shop window. Too costly.

Steal him.

“Thank you. For the bath.”

Adelaide stiffened at the words, rummaging through her bag for nothing. “Of course,” she replied into the dark brocade.

“Adelaide,” he said softly.

“You shouldn’t call me that,” she said, because she felt she should.

“You’re right. Miss Frampton.” Dammit. She didn’t like that he agreed.

“On the other hand,” her traitorous tongue added, “if we are to play at being married...” Silence fell as she trailed off, and she willed the heat from her cheeks in the interminable stretch.

“Many married couples use titles.”

She wrinkled her nose. “How romantic.”

“I would not have thought you were interested in the romantic.”

“I’m not,” she leapt to say. “But you must agree, given names are the literal least one should expect from the person who is to be our partner in all things—tying cravats and folding trousers and whatnot.”

He gave a little laugh. “Are we speaking of a wife or a valet?”

“Are they very different?”

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