“Which girl did William choose? Who did he take to his bed tonight? No, don’t tell me. He’s a point ahead, either way.” Her voice catches on the last words. She sniffles. “He’s going to win, isn’t he? I’ve only known him a single day, but it’s enough to convince me I can’t compete with him, no matter what I do. He’s better than me in every way.”
The sorrow in her voice lances my heart. I may like taunting her when she’s sober, but I take no pride in seeing her upset while she’s drunk. “He’s not better than you.”
“He is. Everyone loves him. Men. Women. I lied when I said he’s probably a lousy lover. I bet he’s a god in bed. I bet his throbbing member would put the duke’s to shame.”
I stifle my urge to laugh. Burying my mirth, I step away from her bed. “Get some sleep, Miss Danforth.” I make to turn around, but something snatches the leg of my trousers. Glancing down, I find Edwina’s fingers pinched around the fabric near my calf.
“Can I tell you a secret, Monty?”
I work my jaw side to side. “Save your secrets for morning.”
“I lied,” she rushes to say, “to Jolene. I don’t have a spectacular sex life. I…I hardly have one at all.”
I crouch beside her bed once more. “You weren’t fooling anyone with that, trust me.”
“I don’t do the things I write about.” Her voice warbles with emotion. “I only imagine them. My imagination is very impressive when it comes to smut.”
“I bet it is.”
“But in real life…I’m a fraud. I’m faking it.”
Her words resonate deep in my chest. I lean closer, lower my voice, and confess that which very few know. “I’m a fraud too, Edwina.”
With her eyes still closed, she reaches up to pat me on the shoulder, her motions sloppy. Then her grip suddenly tightens, and her fingers wind around my collar.
“Oh, no.” The dread in her voice has me freezing in place.
“What is it?”
She tugs my collar, lifts herself from the bed, and surges toward me. I brace my arms to catch her, unsure of what’s happening or what she needs?—
She heaves blue liquid all over my shirt.
CHAPTER EIGHT
EDWINA
The first thing I’m aware of when consciousness creeps upon me is pain. Pain in my skull, pain in my gut, pain in my throat. Then the nausea turns my stomach, followed by the distinct sense of the room spinning around me. But…what room? Where am I?
I pry my eyes open, seeing only a hazy blur at first. Then a ceiling forms over my head—dark, save for the shard of pale illumination that cuts across it. I drag my gaze to the window and find the faintest glow of predawn light. I recognize the silhouette of the building that makes up half the view. This must be my bedroom.
Fire sears my throat. I’ve never been so parched. An inch at a time, I pull myself to sitting, and my vision spins ten times faster. I wince against the jab of pain that erupts in my temple and blindly reach for my nightstand. My fingers brush the curve of a glass. I secure my hand around it and bring the refreshing liquid to my lips. Too soon, my water is gone.
I cast my gaze around the room for the pitcher, unable to remember where it is. I wasn’t in my bedroom for long before dinner, so I’m not too acquainted with its layout. My eyes snag on the orange glow burning in the small stove across the room. So that’s why I’m so unbearably hot.
I reach for my chemise, determined to remove a layer…but my fingertips meet only skin. Alarmed, I pull my covers away and my bare breasts greet me. I frown. It’s not like me to sleep in the nude. I tend to prefer the comfort of at least one layer. When I’m not sweating in a stiflingly hot room, that is. I glance back at the stove, willing my predicament to make a modicum of sense.
That’s when I see the wingback chair angled toward the stove.
And the silhouette of the male figure that slumbers in it.
Pulling my blankets over my chest, I erupt with a shriek. One that dies in a raspy croak but startles the sleeping man awake. He leaps from the chair and whirls to face me. Through the scarce illumination and my still-swimming vision, I make out pointed ears, mussed hair, and a bare expanse of muscled chest.
My own nakedness takes on new meaning.
“No!” I shout.
“Weenie,” he hisses, “quiet down. You’ll wake the whole inn.”
