“Now I’m going home.” He turned and staggered back into the tap-room.
“Terribly sorry, miss. He’s here most every night. Harmless really. I’ll go get you another glass of brandy.”
“No, that’s not necessary. I’ve changed my mind.” Miranda decided she had best get back to her room before trouble ensued. Climbing the stairs again, she tried to tread quietly and to step over the dog without waking him. She was unsuccessful, and he erupted in another burst of barking.
Thinking of the other guests trying to sleep, particularly her aunt, Miranda patted his head. “Please,shh.”
When a hand touched her back, she whirled around, her braid flying, and struck out with the candlestick, which she’d forgotten to set down.
“Oof,”Philip said, grabbing her wrist. “That hurt.” His free hand touched his ribs through his silk banyan.
“It’s you.” Miranda relaxed under his warm touch. “I thought it was Murphy.”
She couldn’t see him too well, as the only light was what drifted up the stairs from below, but he raised his eyebrows.
“Who the devil is Murphy?”
“A drunkard from the tap-room.”
He stared at her. “You went down to the tap-room?”
“Of course not! I’m not a fool.” Miranda yanked her arm back. “I simply went downstairs for a glass of brandy since I couldn’t sleep. And a man...,” she trailed off with a shrug.
“A man what? Why are you holding a candlestick? Are you in your dressing gown?”
She stared at him, and he returned her gaze, waiting.
“A man offered to pay me money.”
“What?” Philip roared.
He was as bad as the dog. “Hush. You’ll wake up the guests.”
“I don’t give a damn about the guests. I’m going down there to demand satisfaction.”
“No, you’re not. He’s gone home. It was a misunderstanding. I forgot to put back the candlestick.”
“That you picked up to defend yourself? How dare he! I’ll find his home and throttle him.”
“You will not. No harm was done.”
He snatched the candlestick from her and set it on the floor next to the dog.
“A paying guest should not have to resort to household objects for her defense. On the other hand, you shouldn’t have gone downstairs in the first place.” Then he cocked his head. “Where’s the brandy?”
“The drunk man got to it first.”
Philip looked like he was about to roar again, so she added, “It’s of no consequence. I shall return to my half of the bed, pray my aunt has stopped driving noisy hogs on her side, and hope the dustman sweeps me up quickly.”
“Brandy would help to be sure. I always have some with me.”
“Here? Now?”
“Not in the hallway,” he quipped. “In my room. Come along. A few sips and you’ll rapidly reach the land of nod when you return to your bed.”
“Very well.” Miranda agreed before he came to his senses and changed his mind. For surely he knew the absolute lunacy of her accompanying him to his room. She would stay for only a few sips of brandy and would be back in her own bed within five minutes.
He gestured her inside and left the door wide open. Whether that was smart or incredibly stupid, she couldn’t say. When he lit the lamp, the disarray of his counterpane and sheets were revealed. She averted her eyes from the warm bed where doubtless he had recently lay utterly unclothed — his broad shoulders taking up most of the room, his muscular legs spread out to take up the rest, his private parts tenting the covers.
