“We’ve had good luck so far, haven’t we?” she murmured to her new pup.
Mr. Dog, who was standing on his hind legs, looking out the window, merely turned to her and tilted his head. That tongue of his, of course, draped out the left side of his mouth this time.
“I’ll bet you’re hungry, aren’t you?” she murmured to Mr. Dog, who blinked up at her with that sweet, slightly dopey expression. Despite his enthusiasm when she’d given him a bit of ham earlier, he’d struggled to mash it up properly. “Don’t you worry, I’ll remember to soak the bread for you tonight, good sir.”
She was smoothing down his ears when Mr. Beckman reappeared at the carriage step—looking not the least bit discouraged. In fact, he seemed absurdly pleased.
“Well,” he announced brightly, “they’re full up.”
What? But…?
Why had he said it like this was good news?
“There’s some sort of market tomorrow,” he went on. “Every bed’s spoken for.” He hoisted a bundle of folded canvas into the carriage, followed by a coil of rope, and then turned to grin at her. “But not to worry—I have a plan.”
Ambrosia stared at the canvas. Then at the rope. Then at the maddening sparkle in his eyes.
Surely, he didn’t mean?—
“I am glad to show you a few of the skills I learned from the infantry,” he said as he climbed easily into the carriage. “We go just past the rise—more private there, and the stars, princesse… you shall see them all.”
Ambrosia didn’t move. “You mean to say… we’re sleeping outside?”
“With Mr. Dog,” he added cheerfully. “And Daniels, of course.”
Ambrosia blinked, and her sense of contentment fled.
“What if it rains?” she managed. “Or—or snakes?” She eyed the carriage’s interior, imagining how she might wedge herself onto the narrow bench.
Dash slung a warm, solid arm along the back of the bench, his hand landing lightly on her shoulder. “Much better this way. Even if there had been a vacancy, the innkeeper assured me no dogs were allowed. As per his wife’s wishes.” He lowered his voice and then visibly shuddered. “There are some creatures in this world even I cannot charm, princesse.”
He squeezed her shoulder. “Besides,” he added, eyes gleaming with mischief, “there’s nothing quite like sleeping under the stars with your husband.”
“But you’re not… That was only…” Shaking her head, she trailed off, distracted by the little shiver that traveled to the crown of her head and down her back—a shiver that had little to do with any supposed fear of sleeping outside. No, it was mostly from having this man’s arm around her—from feeling the tips of his fingers brush the hairs at the back of her neck.
She was coming to like Mr. Dash Beckman far too much for her own good, and it wasn’t just because of the protection he offered.
Or his pleasant company.
Or his easy smile…
It was the way he made her feel oddly capable. As if she belonged beside him, rather than trailing behind.
Ten minutes later, Mr. Daniels veered the carriage off the road and into a small, wooded copse of trees. The light was fading fast, the canopy overhead softening what remained of the sun into a golden haze, and the air was just barely on the warmer side of chilly. The mild temperature was not something she anticipated continuing into the night.
Mr. Beckman leapt down with practiced ease, then turned and offered her his hand.
“Well. Are you ready to set up camp, princesse?” he asked, his voice full of that maddening, irresistible cheer.
Ambrosia hesitated just long enough for her gaze to sweep the clearing. “As ready as I’ll ever be, I suppose.”
Because, truly, what choice did she have? And—she hated to admit it—but some traitorous part of her was… intrigued.
Cradling Mr. Dog as though he were an infant—one who insisted upon being held belly down, thank you very much! —Ambrosia glanced around at the trees, then at the ground that was littered with rocks and leaves and bugs and who knew what else. She couldn’t help but wince at the prospect of sleeping with so little between her and… this.
“You can fetch water for the horses off to the left over there,” Mr. Beckman instructed Mr. Daniels, who nodded but then went around to the back of the carriage to begin unloading the luggage instead. Ambrosia simply stood off to the side, at quite a loss as to what she ought to do while the men set off to work. Mr. Beckman took the rope he’d procured earlier and tied it between two trees with a confidence that could only come from frequent repetition—the military background he’d mentioned, surely. A structure of some sort began to emerge when he draped the canvas material over the line and tugged it into place, pinning the edges to the ground with stones and makeshift stakes.
When he finished, he glanced up at Ambrosia, brushing the dust off his breeches. “If I’m not mistaken, along with your enticing nightwear, I believe I spotted a few quilts in that trunk.”
