The crafty innkeeper had done his best to tempt the rich guests, and Genova had not tried to interfere. She worried about the Dashes presuming on the acquaintance, but she worried more about the tired old ladies, and it would be cruel to force the outriders to spend more time in the bitter cold.
Mr. Lynchbold showed them two good sets of rooms, but on different floors. Lady Calliope took the ground floor because she couldn’t climb stairs, and in fact could hardly walk. Her menservants carried her there in her sturdy chair, her personal maid following.
Genova went with Thalia and Thalia’s maid, Regeanne, up to the next floor to find a good-sized bedchamber with adjoining parlor. The fires were already lit and the rooms tolerably warm, so it would do once the Trayce servants had hauled in all the old ladies’ comforts.
Genova would sleep with Thalia in the big bed, and Regeanne would use the trundle bed that slid out from underneath.
Supper was promised within the hour and Thalia went back down to her sister’s room. Genova felt obliged to stay and keep an eye on the nursemaid and baby, even though the maid had nodded off under the influence of brandied tea. At least she’d put the bundled baby on the floor first.
On the short journey, they’d managed to coax names out of the Irishwoman. She was Sheena O’Leary and the baby was something like Sharleen. They had decided to call him Charlie.
Charlie Dash. He sounded like trouble and was making a good start. The sooner this pair was back with the parents, the better.
Genova put a hand to her head, which was fuzzy with brandy, and tried to think what to do.
As soon as they’d arrived, she’d told the tale, and Lynchbold had promised to send help. Had he forgotten in the excitement of titled guests? Even so, where was Mr. Dash?
Suspicions were forming like dark clouds on the horizon, and Genova was not one to twiddle her thumbs while a storm rose. She wrapped her warm shawl around herself and headed off to sort things out. She was almost at the head of the stairs when an icy waft of air told her someone had just arrived.
“Ho, there! Innkeeper!”
Cold air blended with the pure energy of that authoritative male voice. It reminded her so much of her father issuing orders from the bridge of one of his ships that she halted for a moment in wistful memory. Then she walked onto the landing to look down.
Could this be Mr. Dash at last? It was not the sort of voice she’d expected.
Below, in the darkly wainscoted hall, a tall man stood with his back to her in front of the blazing fire. He wore a long cloak, no hat, and tousled dark hairsimply tied back. She hummed to herself with approval. She did love a vigorous, virile man, and it rose off him like the steam from his cloak.
He’d stripped off his gloves and as he turned long hands in the warmth, green light flashed from a ring. Genova’s brows rose. An emerald of absurd size? It must be. This man would not wear glass.
A vigorous, virile lord, then. Where was his entourage?
Servants burst into the hall and flocked toward him, eager to make up for any lack. No wonder. Inn servants made most of their money from the vails of rich guests, and this one looked good for guineas.
Still facing the fire, he unfastened his cloak and pushed it back with remarkable faith that someone would be there to take it. A manservant rushed to gather it in, staggering slightly under the weight.
It looked like leather lined with fur. Thick gray fur.
Wolf?
What decent Englishman used wolf fur to line a cloak?
One thing was certain. This was not plain Mr. Dash.
Another was that he was gorgeous.
Genova hadn’t seen his face yet, and the clothes beneath the cloak were ordinary—leather breeches, plain brown jacket, and high riding boots. All the same, everything about him, from cloak to ornaments to bearing, spoke of a truly splendid specimen of manhood.
Genova had never been reluctant to enjoy a show of masculine delights, so she leaned on the railing and watched, pleasantly aware of faster heartbeats and deeper breathing.
Turn around, she thought at him.I need to see your face.
It would be a disappointment. There was always a flaw in the package.
He turned to the right, speaking to a maid, and she saw a flash of gold. An earring! Better and better. Sheknew a single earring was fashionable among the wilder set of young gentlemen.
He turned a bit more, revealing a promising profile and jewels catching fire in the lace at his throat. Lud, had the man been riding around in the dark loaded with treasure? He was either magnificent or a fool.
Feeling as if she watched a play, Genova saw Lynchbold appear from stage right, bowing. “Sir! Welcome to the Lion and Unicorn.”
