The Unintended Bride (17 page)

He glanced back at her as if in reassurance. "I do not think we will be here for long. One night…two at the most."

"We are on a quest, are we not?" she said, trying to demonstrate to him that she was up to the challenge.

"You are certain you would not rather be in London with your sisters?"

Hero nodded. "Absolutely certain." She had no intention of confessing to him that at that moment even London sounded like heaven to her, compared to this inn. He had said it could get rough and she had promised to withstand whatever fate dealt. She had to wonder, though, as they entered the inn, what might possibly be rougher than this. She stood surveying the scene while Arthur spoke to the innkeeper to arrange a meal for them.

In the dim light, she could not be certain .... She took off her spectacles and cleaned them. The sight did not improve. The tables looked as though they had not been scrubbed in this century; the stairway was poorly lit, and there was dust an inch thick on the rickety railing and the stairs themselves — except where patrons had passed, leaving the impressions of their boots and shoes in the dust.

"I've arranged for a private supper for us, to be served in the room. Apparently, they have no private dining room available tonight." He glanced toward a door. Though it was closed, they could hear a raucous uproar from within.

"That will be wonderful," she said, trying to sound pleased. He was working diligently to see to her comfort, and it was certainly not his fault that the inn was so dismally cared for.

"Shall we go up?" he asked after a skeptical glance around the area.

"Whatever you like," she said, hoping that he would choose to do so. She did not think she could manage to sit down there in the public room without fearing that a mouse might climb up her skirts. No matter how brave a face she was willing to put on, a mouse in her skirts was guaranteed to send her screaming to the top of the nearest table.

"I think that would be best," he said, taking her arm. As they climbed the stairs, she counseled herself to remember that she was on an adventure. Perhaps these were the very same primitive conditions that those who lived in ancient times had had to contend with. She shuddered, grateful to have been born into a modern world, even if a few corners of the countryside still had yet to realize it.

The room had only one bed, and that she considered promising, even though the mattress looked well worn and lumpy. He could not argue consideration for her to take another room or sleep in a separate bed. Surely tonight they would have a wedding night in truth?

Or was there some other reason he avoided it? For a moment she was convinced that he did not find her attractive. But as she examined the evidence, she was forced to discard that notion. He most certainly had proven he did not dislike kissing her last night. And she had felt the rhythm of his heart increase when she'd been thrown into his arms accidentally by an uneven roadway along their journey.

He was nothing but a gentleman as they ate a quick and not very good dinner set up by a surly maid and a potboy, who, she was certain, had lice crawling in his hair. "I am grateful the inn at least could provide us dinner in our room," he said as he struggled to chew a tough bit of gristly meat from his unappetizing stew. "I would not have been comfortable asking you to dine in the public room. The patrons are most unsavory."

She smiled. "On an adventure, the more unsavory characters one rubs elbows with the better, don't you think?" She kept her opinion on the quality of the private meal to herself, however — the table looked like it had been cleaned within the last few years rather than the last century, at least. She had to wonder whether they used the last of the stew — when it had finally become absolutely inedible — to polish the table.

"To a degree, I suppose," he replied. He gazed at her in puzzlement, as if her answer were one he might never have considered had she not spoken it aloud.

"Did you spy anyone who could be considered as a possibility for the man who has been sending you the notes?"

"I saw only two gentlemen, but the innkeeper suggested there were more."

"How will you discover who they are?"

"Tonight I think it best if I spend the evening in the public room, nursing an ale and keeping an eye out for anyone who might suit as our mysterious friend."

"I suppose that is wise," she agreed, although she felt the sting of his rejection keenly. He would rather spend the evening in the noxious public room downstairs than upstairs in the bedroom with her.

As if he heard the underlying unhappiness in her tone, although she tried to hide it, he asked, "Are you comfortable here alone? If not, I could — "

"No. I am fine," she lied. This was his quest. To insist he spend the night with her would be doing just what she had promised she would not — hinder him. Quickly, to hide any lingering signs of her dissatisfaction with events, she asked, "How will you know him?"

"l hope he will betray himself somehow," he said slowly. "Perhaps a longer than necessary glance my way several times. Perhaps something he says. If he is in his cups, he might even confess to one and all."

"I do not think that is likely."

"Nor do I."

"Should I accompany you?"

He looked shocked. "I hardly think — "

"You are right, of course. It would not be proper." She reached out and squeezed his hand where it lay on the table between them. "I just want so much to help you."

"You needn't — "

"It is the least I can do," she said firmly "I am your wife, after all."

Something began to burn in the back of his eyes. "That is something I am coming to believe more each day." For a breathless moment she thought he might abandon his carefully thought out plans and continue on as they had last night. But then the flame she had seen spark to life in him snuffed out. He stood. "You must be exhausted. A carriage is no place to rest well, and I took you from your bed in the middle of the night last night."

He bent to kiss her forehead. "I shall retire to the public room to allow you privacy to prepare for bed. I will have the innkeeper send up a boy to fetch the table. Shall I send you a maid as well?"

"No thank you, I am quite used to doing for myself," Hero lied. Though she had shared a maid with Juliet when in London for the Season, she was more used to having her sister help her into and out of her finery. Then they could gossip about their evenings — either in anticipation or in reflection, depending on whether they were dressing or undressing for the evening.

For a brief, sharp moment she missed both Juliet and Miranda. Miranda might have had some advice as to what a wife should do for a husband who seemed to be less than interested in getting on with the business of marriage.

Juliet had never been married, of course, but she would have had advice on how to turn a man's head, even if the man was one's husband.

Hero had no ideas at all on the matter. Even the milkmaid had not had to encourage her admirers; they had been smitten at once. In fact, her problem had been rather the opposite one. With a sigh, Hero struggled to ready herself for bed, alone. Though she thought she would not ever fall asleep in the lumpy bed, she did so long before Arthur returned.

He stumbled back into their room near dawn.

Though he appeared to those interested in his movements downstairs as if he had consumed too much ale, in truth he was simply bone weary. He had been awake for nearly forty-eight hours and he was feeling the effects despite his modest consumption of ale.

To his disappointment, he had not been able to discover who might have been tormenting him about Malory's manuscript. He had seen several men who fit his idea of the type to be the mysterious note sender. But he had been able to confirm nothing except their identities. None were men he had ever had dealings with.

Tomorrow, they would go to the abbey. Perhaps they would find something helpful there. But he could not bring himself to be hopeful. More and more, he felt he was being led on a chase that would end in fruitless frustration.

He wished he could understand the why even if he could not fathom the how. Perhaps it was someone who backed Digby as head of the society? But surely there were more reasonable ways to help a man meet his challenges?

Careless of his clothing, he undressed rapidly. He would have collapsed into the bed, but the sight of Hero stopped him. Carefully, trying not to disturb the mattress too noticeably, he climbed up beside her and lay down. Despite the lumpy mattress, he felt himself relax. Just on the edge of sleep, he moved his hand to cover hers, where it lay upon the coarse woolen blanket.

Selfish or no, he was glad she was there with him, he thought, and fell into deep and contented sleep.

He woke to sunshine. Hero had pulled back the musty curtains and opened the window. The room was much improved by fresh air, although the light served to uncover even more of the lackadaisical care.

"Good morning," she said. He saw that she sat in front of the little table again. Upon it was a breakfast that, even in the light, looked better than the dinner they had been served last evening.

"Good morning," he said, his voice rasping a moment until he woke fully.

"I took the liberty of ordering breakfast for us, since it seemed you were never going to wake."

He examined her expression, wondering if she was annoyed with him. But her smile seemed genuine. "How late is it?"

"Nearly noon."

"Good God!" he exclaimed, sitting up, prepared to leap from the bed, until he realized that he was not dressed.

Unaware of his predicament, she asked eagerly, "Did you discover anything last night in the public room?" Her eyes were on the toast she was buttering, but he dared not trust that she would not glance up suddenly if he moved to get his clothing.

"Nothing of much use," he answered. "No one stood up and confessed, I'm afraid. And I recognized no one who might wish me ill."

"I'm sorry to hear that. I suppose that means we will need to visit the abbey ruins, then?"

"As soon as I have dressed and breakfasted," he agreed. Apologetically, he added, "I did not mean to sleep so late into the morning."

"I tried to wake you," she confessed. "But you only rolled from your side to your stomach. You must have been exhausted. What time did you come to bed last night?"

"Near dawn."

He noticed that she had tidied up his clothes — they lay across the room, too far for him to reach without the risk of shocking her senseless.

In the hope of distracting her just long enough for him to dress, he asked, "Do you think you could ask directions from the innkeeper while I make myself presentable?"

Unfortunately, she did not understand what he was really asking, because she answered cheerfully, "I have already done so." She waved a piece of notepaper at him with one hand while she raised the toast to bite into with the other.

"You are a marvel," he said, meaning it despite the fact that he was still marooned in the bed without his clothing. Not wanting to waste any further time, he decided to forgo delicacy. "Hero, would you mind very much bringing me my clothes, please."

"Oh, my." She turned bright red and nearly choked on her toast as she realized, at last, his concerns.

As soon as she caught her breath, she grabbed up his clothing and laid it neatly at the foot of the bed. Her bare fingers pressed out a few wrinkles in his shirt as she stood there, patting at his clothing with what seemed undue diligence.

The movement of her hands was disturbing to him in a most unsettling way. Why was it that watching her perform the most mundane of tasks turned his thoughts to lovemaking? No doubt she would be horrified if she knew that he wanted to pull her into the bed with him. "I do not imagine sending my clothing down to be pressed would render them more presentable. Not at this inn. Do not fret yourself."

"True." She did not meet his eyes, focusing instead with more fervor on a wrinkle. "You have no valet, would you like my assistance?" Her voice was low and husky.

Yes. He closed his eyes, a surge of memory nearly shattering his control. Her hand, skimming down his arm as she helped him disrobe on their wedding night. "There is no need. I am used to managing by myself when I travel." He strained to keep his voice neutral, so that she would not be alarmed by any inkling that he was picturing her as she had been then, in her nightshift. That he wanted her that way again now. In the daylight.

"Very well. I have to speak to the maid," she said, not raising her eyes to meet his, her cheeks still flushed. "I will return shortly."

"Thank you." He did not think he could bear dressing under her watchful eye. He could not keep his desire for her hidden if she saw him undressed. He did not know how married men handled the matter. He corrected himself with a shake. He did not know how other married men managed to dress in the mornings without offending their wives.

He dressed swiftly, lest she return before he was finished. Fortunately, he was safely seated at the table, ready to enjoy his breakfast, when she timidly opened the door and peeked into the room.

"All decent," he teased as he lifted his napkin. His lightheartedness disappeared without a trace, however, when he discovered the folded square of notepaper that lay beneath. "Where did this come from?"

She stared at him. "I don't know. The maid set the table, I will ask her. What does it say?"

This note read only:
The sands of time run swiftly
.

She sighed. "If that is the case, then you should finish your breakfast and I should question the maid and then we should be on to the abbey immediately." Before he could reply, she had whisked herself out the door to question the maid.

She returned not long later, her expression glum. "She claims to have seen nothing. She set the table while I was talking to the innkeeper, so I cannot confirm what she says, but I tend to believe her."

"Then, how — "

"She forgot the pitcher of cream for the tea and had to run back down to get it. Perhaps then was when the note was placed?" She sighed again. "I believe her, but in the end it does not matter whether she placed it or our mysterious prankster did."