“I’ll be careful,” she reassured her maid. “Now go on. Lincoln is waiting, I’m sure, and you’ll want to fill your own bellies too.”
Gertrude gave her one last uncertain look, but then she bobbed out a nod and said her goodbyes before she slipped from the room and left Rosalinde alone. Once she was gone, Rosalinde sagged against the chair once more.
In truth, sending Gertrude away had been for her own sake as much as the maid’s. In the past eighteen months, everything in Rosalinde’s life had shifted significantly. A night alone before she had to face the chaos that would surely surround Celia’s Society-approved wedding was something she actually looked forward to.
With a sigh, she straightened and walked to the window. The curtains were flimsy and did little to block out the chill that pierced the glass. She wrapped her arms around herself and watched the storm outside. Since her arrival, darkness had almost entirely taken over outside. Still the snow was swirling, the wind slamming against the inn and banging through the trees until they swung in time to the rhythm of the storm.
It was a devilish night, but Thomas and Lincoln had both assured her they believed the worst would be over soon and that tomorrow they would be able to continue their way to Caraway Court, even though they might not reach the place until late the next night.
Her stomach rumbled and she dropped a hand to cover it. “I suppose I should go down and find some sustenance,” she said to herself. “I do hope the food is decent.”
She walked from the room, securing the door behind her, and down the hallway to the stairs. Already she could hear the buzz of the crowd below, mostly men’s voices echoing in laughter and talk. She smelled the mixing scents of food and ale wafting up the stairs as she made her way toward the hall.
But as she stepped from the last stair, she stopped. The hall, which had been about half full at her arrival, was now packed. Every table was in use, with men gathered together, shoving food into their mouths and drinks down their throats. A few looked up as she made her way into the light.
She thought of Gertrude’s implication that she might not be safe in such company, that the men would look at her with wanting eyes. Her body thrilled just a little at the thought, though she couldn’t exactly picture herself falling into the arms of any of the men she saw. They were all coarse and unkempt and…
Her thoughts trailed away as her gaze shifted toward a table in the corner of the room. There was room there only for two, but the man who sat at it was alone. There was something different about him. Unlike the others, he was seated ramrod straight, his shoulders even and broad. He was clean-shaven, with a harsh jawline and a full-lipped mouth. She couldn’t see the color of his eyes from this distance, but they were very dark.
They were also focused on her. Not in a leer like some of the others in the room exhibited, but merely in an even, intense stare that seemed to draw her in. She actually nearly took a step toward him and was only saved from such a foolish act by the appearance of the innkeeper’s wife. The frazzled woman stopped beside her, a tray brimming with drinks balanced precariously on her hip.
“Good evening Mrs. Wilde,” she said, blowing a stray lock of hair away from her forehead with a gust of breath. “Have a seat, luv.”
Rosalinde looked around the room, this time purposefully avoiding the corner where the intense stranger sat. “Er, where?” she asked. “I see no open places.”
“Aye, it’s busy with all the guests,” the innkeeper’s wife conceded. “I’m afraid you’ll have to share a table with some of the others. Excuse me now.”
The woman took off before Rosalinde could ask a question or lodge a protest. She took a long breath and looked again at her options in the room. There was a spot at a long table, but it was currently inhabited by a large group of rough men, some of whom leered openly at her.
Therewasa table with a few women, the only others in the tavern, but it was full already. Rosalinde sighed. She could return to her room and ask for food to be sent up, but with the way the innkeeper and his wife were bustling around, she would wager her order would not be filled for hours, if ever. Once again her stomach rumbled, as if to mock her plight.
“Break bread with me,” came a low, rough voice.
She spun to find the very handsome man from the corner table now standing at her elbow. He was almost touching her, and a spicy scent, perhaps cinnamon or cloves, seemed to exude from his pores and warm her body. Up close, she could see his eyes were chocolate brown, dark and intense when focused. And they wereveryfocused now on her face as he awaited her answer to his request.
“I—” she began, then cut herself off. She didn’t really know what to say. What he was suggesting wasn’t proper. It was entirely forward at best, dangerous at worst.
“Trust me, Mrs. Wilde, I am your best bet.” His mouth turned up in the slightest hint of a smile. He motioned his head toward the crowd in the hall. “If this lot sees you with me, they won’t trouble you.”
Rosalinde arched a brow. “And how am I to know thatyouwon’t trouble me?”
That smile grew to a grin, and Rosalinde caught her breath. God’s teeth, but he was handsome. She didn’t think she’d ever seen such a well-favored man. He had a hard face, yes, but his features were each uniquely beautiful. Together they made up a picture of someone not to be trifled with, someone who got what he wanted, when he wanted it.
“You ask a good question,” he said. “What if I vow on my honor?”
She tilted her head, her breath now coming short for some reason. “I don’t know the value of your honor, sir. Some men have very little.”
What was she doing? Verbally sparring with the man? And rather flirtatiously at that? This was not her normal way of behaving. And yet she couldn’t seem to stop herself.
“Another good point scored by fair lady,” he conceded, and lifted a long, lean finger to his lips. The action drew her attention there yet again and she noted how full those lips were. Full lips meant for kissing.
She shook the thought away.
“And—and what is your rejoinder, sir?” she gasped.
“I am a gentleman,” he began, “though I may not be practiced at it as of late. I vow to you now that I have no ill intent toward you. But I do admit that I saw you enter the inn earlier and your beauty caught my attention. I cannot deny that I ask to share supper with you for my pleasure as much as in a noble attempt to save you from unsavory attentions.”
She blinked. How long had it been since she heard such compliments? She could hardly recall, but she liked the way he looked at her when he said those words. And though it was foolish to be seduced by such praises, she found she couldn’t deny their power.
