Sebastian's expression didn't change, but something flickered in those grey eyes, amusement, perhaps, or possibly the barely restrained urge to strangle her. Harriet found she didn't particularly care which.
"Alas, the ditches proved most unhospitable. They quite refused to have me."
"Ditches," Harriet said, "clearly have excellent judgement."
A gust of wind chose that moment to rattle the windows with considerable violence, as though the storm itself wished to remind them all that nature cared nothing for human quarrels. Rain lashed against the glass in sheets so thick that Harriet could barely make out the courtyard beyond. Her carriage, or rather, the hired conveyance she had been forced to employ when her own vehicle had thrown a wheel somewhere outside Maidenhead, sat in the yard like a dejected beetle, water streaming from its roof.
The innkeeper cleared his throat with the desperate air of a man who had wandered into a battlefield and was now seeking any available exit. "If I might, my lady, the room in question does have two beds, separate to be exact, on opposite sides ofthe room, in fact. It's our largest accommodation, used often by travelling families…"
"Absolutely not," Harriet and Sebastian said in unison.
They glanced at each other. Harriet felt a flash of irritation that even their refusals should coincide. Could the man not even allow her the dignity of rejecting the arrangement first?
"The lady may have the room," Sebastian continued, his tone suggesting this was a matter of supreme indifference to him. "I shall make other arrangements."
"There are no other arrangements to be made, my lord." The innkeeper's face had taken on the harried expression of one who had explained this particular point several times already. "The storm has driven half the county indoors. We've guests sleeping in the parlour, the private dining room, and I believe Mr. Weatherby has taken up residence in the stables with his horses, though whether by choice or necessity I couldn't say. The man does seem uncommonly fond of the animals."
"Then I shall join Mr. Weatherby," Sebastian said. "I'm certain the horses will prove superior conversationalists to most of the company available."
"The stables are full, my lord. Every inch of space has been claimed. I could perhaps offer you a place in the kitchen, near the hearth, though Cook does rise at four and is not known for her gentle temperament…"
“Upon my word!” The words escaped Harriet before she could stop them. Both men turned to look at her, and she felt heat climbing her cheeks, not from embarrassment, she told herself firmly, but from the fire and the lingering chill of the rain. "This is absurd. We are adults, are we not? Capable of behaving with appropriate decorum?"
Sebastian's eyebrow climbed higher. "Are you suggesting what I believe you're suggesting?"
"I am suggesting that the alternative to sharing a room appears to be you sleeping in a kitchen and being murdered by an ill-tempered cook at four in the morning, which, while not entirely without appeal, would create complications I am not prepared to manage." Harriet drew herself up to her full height, which was not particularly impressive but which she had learned to deploy with maximum authority. "The room has two beds. We shall maintain appropriate distance. We shall not speak of this again once we depart. And if you snore, I shall smother you with a pillow and claim it was self-defence."
The innkeeper's expression suggested he was not entirely certain whether to be relieved or alarmed by this development. Sebastian, for his part, was staring at Harriet with something that might have been surprise, or might have been reassessment, or might have been nothing at all as the man's face was infuriatingly difficult to read.
"Very well," he said finally. "If Lady Harriet has no objections, then neither do I."
"Lady Harriet has numerous objections," Harriet replied. "But she is also cold, exhausted, and unwilling to sacrifice a proper night's sleep to the demands of propriety. The room, if you please."
The innkeeper practically fell over himself in his haste to lead them upstairs.
***
The room was, as promised, quite large. It occupied the entire eastern corner of the inn's upper floor, with windows on two walls that would have provided a lovely view had they not been currently obscured by sheets of driving rain. Two beds stood on opposite sides of the space, separated by a considerable distance and a small writing desk that seemed to serve as a sort of neutral territory. A fire crackled in the hearth, casting warmlight across worn but clean floorboards and walls papered in a faded pattern of climbing roses.
Harriet stood just inside the doorway, acutely aware of Sebastian's presence behind her, and wondered what on earth she had been thinking.
She had not been thinking. That was the problem. She had been reacting to the cold, to the exhaustion, to the maddening impossibility of the situation and now here she was, preparing to spend the night in a bedchamber with a man she had spent seven years despising.
It is one night, she told herself firmly.One night, and then we need never speak again.
"I've taken the liberty of ordering supper," Sebastian said, moving past her into the room. He kept a careful distance as he did so, she noticed, skirting wide around her as though she were a piece of furniture to be avoided. "The innkeeper's wife is apparently an acceptable cook, and I presumed you would prefer to dine here rather than in the common room."
"You presumed correctly." Harriet moved to the fire, holding her hands out to the warmth. Her travelling dress was still damp despite her cloak, and she could feel the chill settling into her bones. "Thank you."
The words emerged stiffly, reluctantly. Sebastian paused in his inspection of the room and turned to look at her.
"Was that gratitude, Lady Harriet? I hardly know how to respond. I believe the last time you thanked me for anything, we were both in leading strings."
"I was attempting civility. Clearly, I should not have bothered."
"On the contrary, I found it rather charming. Like watching a particularly fierce cat attempt to purr, the effort was visible, if ultimately unconvincing."
Harriet turned to face him, her retort already forming on her lips, but something in his expression gave her pause. He was watching her with that inscrutable look he so often wore, but there was something else beneath it, something that might have been weariness, or wariness, or both.
