“You are very arrogant.”
“So I have been told,” he drawled.
After a moment’s thought, she muttered, “Very well.”
His eyebrows rose. “Very well.”
“You may escort me,” she acquiesced. “But only that. No more talk of arrangements. No more nights counted and weighed. When we reach Cheltenham, you will leave, and I will begin my new life.”
He inclined his head. “Agreed.”
“And you will not attempt to buy my gratitude,” she added. “This is not business.”
“No,” he agreed. “It is not.”
For a moment, something unspoken moved between them. Then he straightened.
Gwen sat back, feeling the carriage lurch every which way while carrying her toward a future more complicated than the simple escape she had imagined.
CHAPTER 20
By the time they reached the coaching inn, the sky had turned into a deep indigo, and the air had a bite that promised frost by morning.
Victor stepped out of the carriage, stretching briefly before he turned back to her.
Gwen stepped out with the aid of the inn’s ostler, her cloak wrapped tight around her, chin lifted in that particular way that told him she was afraid and refused to show it.
He offered his arm. “Come, you are tired.”
“I am perfectly well,” she insisted.
“You are exhausted and chilled,” he countered. “Do not argue. At least not until there is a roof above your head.”
Her lips pressed together, but she took his arm.
Inside, the inn was warm and crowded, the air thick with smoke, the scent of stew, and the hum of voices. A few heads turned as they entered.
Victor felt Gwen tense beside him. Before the innkeeper could ask a single question, he said, “A private chamber for the night. For myself and my wife. And a separate room for my man.”
He felt her scandalized gaze like a physical thing, but he did not look at her. The wordwiferolled easily enough off his tongue. Too easily.
The innkeeper brightened at once. “Yes, Your Grace. At once. The Rose Room is available. A very decent chamber. Comfortable for a newly married couple.”
“Suitable,” Victor said.
The innkeeper beamed, bobbed his head, then led them up a narrow staircase. He paused at a door near the end of the passage and opened it with a flourish.
The room was clean, modest, and plainly furnished. A hearth with a lively fire. A small table. A single bed.
Just one.
Victor thanked the innkeeper and dismissed him with a coin. The door closed. Silence fell.
Gwen looked at the bed, then at him. “There is only one bed.”
“Indeed.” He nodded. “How fortunate that we are a devoted husband and wife for tonight.”
“I do not recall becoming your wife,” she scoffed.
