“Yes,” she said firmly, ignoring the flutter in her chest. “We turn our backs. We change. The first one finished calls out. We don’t turn around until we’re both dressed. Understood?”
He gave an exaggerated bow. “Perfectly, Your Grace.”
She rolled her eyes, suppressing a smile, and turned toward the window while he turned toward the fireplace. Her fingers moved quickly, undoing the buttons of her wet bodice and stepping carefully out of her soaked gown. The innkeeper’s wife had brought her a soft cotton dress and a shawl, which were plain but warm. She slipped it over her chemise, shivering as the dry fabric touched her skin.
“Not fair,” Robert muttered aloud behind her.
Evelyn froze mid-movement. “What isn’t?”
“You saw me shirtless,” he replied, clearly pouting, “and I didn’t get the same privilege.”
She gasped in mock shock, clutching the shawl at her chest. “Your Grace! How scandalous!”
“I think it’s perfectly reasonable,” he argued, and she could hear the smile in his voice. “Turnabout is fair play, after all.”
“You are absolutely incorrigible,” she said, barely keeping the laughter from bubbling up. “It’s a miracle your estate has not burned to the ground from sheer lack of supervision.”
He sighed dramatically. “It would’ve if not for my tragically underpaid staff. All saints, each of them.”
She was chuckling now, slipping on the dry stockings and smoothing her skirts. “I’m done,” she called over her shoulder.
“Same here.”
They turned around at the same time.
He wore a loose white shirt, which was thankfully buttoned this time, and a pair of dark trousers that didn’t quite match but suited him far too well regardless. His dark hair was still damp, pushed back from his forehead, and his eyes found her with quiet intensity.
She smoothed the skirt again, suddenly self-conscious. “Do I look ridiculous?”
His gaze lingered. “No,” he said slowly. “You look…”
He didn’t finish, but he didn’t need to. Her cheeks warmed again, and she looked away, clutching the shawl more tightly around her shoulders.
“Let’s go down before the soup gets cold,” she suggested quickly, moving toward the door.
Robert followed, his eyes never leaving hers, not even for a second.
Robert leaned back in his chair, one arm casually slung over the side while the other brought the warm, hearty soup to his mouth. The inn was lively, to say the least. It was filled with the hum of chatter, the clinking of mugs, the scent of roasted meat, and rain-soaked travelers drying off by the hearth.
And for once, he wasn’t the Duke of Aberon. He was just a man beside a woman, enjoying a simple meal.
Evelyn sat across from him, her damp hair now curling gently near her jaw. Her cheeks were still flushed from the ride or maybe from the fire. She looked utterly at ease, spooning thesoup with quiet delight, and a pleased little sigh escaped her lips with each bite.
“If I’d known soup could earn that sort of praise, I’d have insisted Cook serve it every evening,” Robert said, tilting his head with amusement.
She raised a brow. “You’re not nearly as funny as you think you are, Your Grace.”
He narrowed his eyes playfully. “We’re lost travelers, remember? No titles tonight.”
She considered him for a beat, a teasing smile tugging at her lips. “Very well… Robert.”
His name from her lips… it nearly made him forget the spoon halfway to his mouth.
He took a breath, letting the warmth of it settle in his chest. “Much better,” he murmured.
They sat like that for a moment until Evelyn leaned back slightly and made a comment that seemed to have been plaguing her for a while. “I dislike the lack of control that comes with a side-saddle.”
His brows lifted. “Do you now?”
