Had he just patted her bum again? Was he…
Rubbing it?
“I’m afraid I must insist that you—“ Whoosh. All the blood left her face again when he bent over and set her on her feet. “set me down.” She finished lamely.
Chapter 3
Aubrey
Aubrey closed the door behind her, careful to turn the lock, and then expelled an enormous sigh of relief. This room did not consist of much. Bed, small vanity, small window, one hard chair. But it was hers, and hers alone.
Mr. Bateman had assured her he would make use of a cot in one of the back rooms, although he had not seemed pleased overall. Nonetheless, she felt not even the tiniest twinge of guilt.
Well, perhaps a tiny one. And she would ignore it.
Her first day on the road had not been nearly so challenging as this one. She and Mr. Daniels had departed just after sun up, stopped a few times to refresh the horses, and then had no difficulty securing lodgings.
She removed a brush from her valise and stared into the oval looking glass.
Yesterday had not been nearly as… interesting.
The reflection looking back at her was not the prim and proper person who’d departed from Rockford Beach, the place she’d considered home for seven years. Riding atop the driver’s box, the wind had whipped several strands of auburn hair out of her chignon, leaving them practically flying around her face. It had also added an unusual pink tint to her normally pale complexion.
And if she wasn’t imagining things, placed a curious sparkle of excitement in her eyes.
She pulled the pins from her hair and went to work removing the tangles that had formed.
Winifred would staunchly disapprove if she saw her now. For the past year and a half, Aubrey had lived under the thumb of her husband’s brother Milton, and his wife, who had moved in, presumably to provide Aubrey their support. Support! Aubrey snorted at such a notion. The formidable couple had imposed their oppressive religious beliefs on the household and managed to usurp Aubrey’s decisions at every turn.
Although they had not been as bad as Harrison.
The six years prior to Mr. Bloomington’s death, Aubrey had lived under the domineering hand of her husband.
She startled at a knock.
“Just a moment,” Aubrey smoothed her skirt before calling out, “Who is it?”
“It’s me.”
He didn’t bother to say his name, so sure he was of himself that she’d know immediately who ‘me’ might be.
“Is there something I can do for you Mr. Bateman?” She spoke to the door.
“You can open the door, Mrs. Bloomington…” He would persist, she was certain, until she obliged.
She fumbled at the lock, her fingers suddenly less than nimble, and pulled the door inward just a crack until he pushed it all the way open so that he could enter. Once inside, choosing to ignore her chagrin, he casually inspected the decor as though it required his approval.
Until his gaze landed on her.
“Magnifique,”He stared at her hair. “Brightens the green in your eyes.”
Aubrey had forgotten she’d let it down and reached up in surprise, almost as though she could cover it.
But then he seemed to remember why he’d come. “Will you join me for a meal? Perhaps because of my less than comfortable bed, the inn keep has obliged to provide us with a private dining room for the evening.”
Aubrey raised her brows. A private dining room, indeed? He must have charmed the owner, for certain, to have landed such a luxury. The night before she’d taken her meal in her chamber. She’d not realized how vulnerable an unchaperoned lady would feel amongst a room of mostly men.
To dine alone with him would not be an exceptional circumstance.You are a widow, after all Ambrosia.
