“Adelaide.”
She winced, not at the sound of his voice, but at the reminder that she’d fallen into the habit of filling the space with words no one wanted to hear. She’d taken one step in retreat, but Will came forward, raised his hand as though he wished to touch her; instead, he drove his fist into his pocket.
“I’m sorry.” He heaved a massive sigh, and Adelaide tried admirably to avoid noticing the breadth and solidity of his chest. “This day… I’m tired and—” He broke off and shook his head. “I’ll get my things. Wait here.”
She could have done any number of useful things during the brief time Will wasn’t in her room—check the state of her hair (certainly a tangled disaster), put on her robe (for modesty’s sake), assume a sultry pose on the bed (daring, but possible). Instead, she stared at the door while her mind flooded with possibilities.
Will would sleep in herroom.
Withher.
Notsleepingwith her, in the biblical sense—was that phrase actually in the Bible? She’d need to ask the vicar when she was next—
A rap at the door silenced the whirling dervish of her thoughts, and she wrenched it open so quickly she lost her grip on theknob. The door slapped against the wall, making both of them jump.
His brows furrowed. “You opened the door without checking.”
Her blood heated under his stern gaze. She attempted a flirtatious smile. “Who else could it have been besides you?”
He closed his eyes, exhaled through pursed lips before looking somewhere over her shoulder. “Can I come in?”
“Of course,” she said, skipping as she moved out of his way. “Would you like a bath? My water is probably cold, but I—”
“I already bathed.”
As soon as he’d passed her, Adelaide pressed her palm to her forehead. She might as well ask him to strip naked and do a little jig for her. She was being too much again, too demanding of his attention. He owed her nothing, and yet she wanted more from him, his laughter and his smiles.
When she turned, he was kneeling in front of the unlit fireplace and unrolling a length of heavy fabric. “What is that?”
“A bedroll,” he tossed over his shoulder.
“What’s it for?”Dammit, Adelaide, think before you speak!
He didn’t reply, which was for the best, except the lack of response gave Adelaide space to keep talking. “You shouldn’t sleep on the floor. It’s terrible for your back.”
“I sleep on the floor all the time.”
“That doesn’t make it good for you. You should be in my bed.”
He made a choking sound, and Adelaide wished the floors would open and swallow her whole.
“I mean to say,” she stammered, “you had to drive all day, and you’re starting your apprenticeship tomorrow. You need a good night’s sleep.”
Will got to his feet and turned as though facing his executioner. Perhaps she would suffocate him with a barrage of words. “I’m not taking the bed. It’s yours.”
Ah, he was being chivalrous. How lovely and predictable, but unnecessary. She crossed the distance between them and took his hand, tugging him forward. “You don’t need to be a gentleman about this. If I don’t sleep well on the floor, I can always rest in the carriage.”
As though the comfort of the soft mattress beckoned him, he stepped closer, then paused. The back of her thighs brushed the edge of the blankets. “I’m sleeping on the floor, Adelaide.”
She grabbed his other hand and pulled. “Stop being stubborn!”
He dug in his feet, but still skidded across the floor as she pulled. “I’mbeing stubborn—”
They both were, but more importantly, she’d run out of room to retreat, and she apparently had more strength than she anticipated, because he was falling onto the bed. Ontoher.
Chapter 8
Will wrapped his armsaround her, and she braced for impact. When they crashed to the bed, his weight pushed the air from her lungs, and Adelaide lay speechless, motionless, underneath him, with his head buried in the space between her shoulder and neck.
