“And supper for the lady,” he managed. The woman made a grumbled sound of assent, and some measure of worry eased from his body. While the setting might not be ideal, at least he’d arranged shelter for her, kept her fed and safe until her chaperone arrived.
He hefted her trunk into her room, pleased to see the mattress looked of decent quality and had clean linens. If his chamber had a fraction of the meager luxury of hers, Will would get the best night of sleep he’d had in years.
Perfect for starting his new life, unencumbered by caring for his mother and now Adelaide.
His mouth twisted. He didn’t like that thought at all.
“Are you well?”
Will blinked to see her watching him, her head tilted quizzically. “Fine,” he said. “Tired. You must be as well.”
She nodded, bit her lower lip, and heat rushed to his cock so swiftly his knees nearly buckled. What he’d give to taste that lip, to nip and suck, to sweep his tongue over the swollen flesh and soothe it.
“I—I’ll leave you to it, then,” he croaked, stumbling as he retreated. “Lock the door behind me, and don’t open it for anyone,” he said over his shoulder.
“Not even you?”
His heart stopped. Was that an invitation? If he were to push her back onto the bed, lift her dress and bury his head between her thighs until she was trembling and limp from pleasure, would she welcome it? Would she welcomehim?
“No, Miss Kimball,” he rasped, shutting down the fantasy before it became too vivid. Blast, it was too late for that. “Not even for me.”
Chapter 7
Adelaide sat up witha jolt, the sheets tangled around her waist and perspiration dotting her brow, the laughter of the men drinking downstairs crashing into her dreams like a sozzled stampede. Having tumbled into sleep after bathing—the promised bath was merely a bucket, soap, and a length of linen, but they were clean and delightful after the dusty, miserable experience on the road—she had to rub her forehead before she could reconcile her surroundings.
The inn in Saltford.
The missing chaperone.
The man across the hall.
She groaned and flopped back down on the mattress. For one negligible moment, she’d thought he would accept the veiled offer into her room, although, she would admit, it hadn’t been an offer so much as a suggestion. A hint. One he clearly did not get, or if he did, had readily rejected. A quick wave of guilt attemptedto wash over her, but she pushed it away. Her arrangement with Lord Clements was not for her heart or her body, but for her mind. If she wanted Will in her bed, her obligation to her betrothed would not be impacted.
But the opportunity was lost, as he was surely sound asleep in the room across the hall while she listened to drunkards singing bawdy songs one floor below.
Hollers and laughter accompanied the stumbling footsteps up the stairs. Her skin prickled, and she threw off the bedclothes, ran to check the lock. She’d almost reached the door when the pounding started, three heavy-fisted thumps.
An invisible hand wrapped its fingers around her throat. “Will?” she whispered, but whoever was in the hallway pounded again, sending her skittering backwards.
“Bernice!” The single word was punctuated with a belch that she felt in her bones. “My love, I know you’re in there!”
Her stomach dropped. “G-go away!” she cried, but the knocking got louder.
“It is I, Danny.” Danny must have stumbled, because she heard a loud thump followed by the scrambling of feet before he spoke again. “I was a fool, my darling,” the voice slurred. “And I can prove it!”
“Truly sir, I’m not Bernice—”
“Oh my dear, my lovely dove,” Danny… sang? Bellowed? “I sing of love, with each pint my heart swells, for you, my dear, for you alone!”
Adelaide recoiled. “Sir—Danny, I’m not—”
“Your eyes, like beer, they shine so bright,” he sang, “in your gaze, I find my light!”
A resounding thump sounded again and Danny’s voice was muffled, as though he’d pressed his face against the door.
“Your cheeks, like rosy bangers and mash, in every smile, a love so brash!”
A highly inappropriate giggle built in her throat. This sop may be loud, but he was no more likely to harm her than a kitten, albeit an intoxicated one. “Sir, I’m so sorry, but I’m—”
