Actually, he did not.
Neither did she.
Yet she spoke with the confidence of one who had known the man her entire life.
Culross rolled his jaw.
He already resented the disadvantage of not knowing a man on a vital mission.
Her gaze lingered on his face.
“You shaved,” she blurted.
Brought up short, Culross touched a cheek.
“You sound surprised, sweetheart,” Culross drawled.
He began sweeping the room to be certain no evidence remained of their presence.
“You are likely wondering when, no doubt,” he said, feeling beneath the vanity. “As when I left, Miss Smith—”
Culross squatted and ran his hands beneath the crude chair.
“—you were very much awake.”
Her cheeks pinkened.
She did not otherwise take the bait.
Culross straightened.
“I found separate rooms,” he said, heading toward the bed—rumpled, the blankets still warm from the heat of her body.
Misery should not have been the lady’s bedmate.
It should have been Culross between her legs, making her cry entirely different tears.
“Separate rooms,” she repeated.
Barely registering through the rasp of his breath, Culross turned the pillows over.
He flipped one.
Then the other.
He glanced up.
Meghan’s expression had gone pale.
Culross bent and did a quick search beneath the bed.
Straightening, he shook out the blankets one at a time.
“You did not sleep a wink,” he said. “Which means I did not sleep a wink either.”
Color returned to the bold slashes of her cheeks.
“If my tears were so bothersome, my lord, you should have found quarters elsewhere.”
