The duke strolled over, leaned down until his forehead practically touched hers. “Did you say something, Lady Rebecca?” he asked softly.
“I’ve just never heard witticism from you,” she retorted. “It’s quite stunning, frankly.”
“You think I’ve no sense of humor?”
“No.” The word slipped out before she could stop it. She gave an inward shrug. It wasn’t as if he could do anything about it.
He maintained his stance for a good minute, then said, “I see.” He lowered to one knee despite the water on the ground, took the cup from Oliver’s slack fingers, and dipped it in the tub. Then proceeded to pour it over her head.
All mayhem broke loose.
Owen and Oliver gasped.
Shocked, Rebecca fell back on her hindside, sputtering. She swiped the water from her eyes and snatched the cup from him, scooped it through the water and dashed it in his direction, catching him full on the face.
Peals of laughter rippled throughout the chamber.
Rebecca slowly turned in the direction of Owen, barely aware that Ryleigh did too. She pulled Owen into her arms. “Owen?”
He blinked as if surprised that half the laughter had come from himself.
Another knock at the door startled everyone into taking a breath. It was audible.
Duke, the dog, however, had had enough. He jumped from the tub and shook his entire water-logged body, drenching everyone within close proximity. Meaning, Serena was the only one spared.
“I fear we’re going to need more towels,” Rebecca told the innkeeper’s wife.
~~~
Rebecca could hardly restrain her curiosity. As quickly as she could manage, without offending anyone, she was able to retrieve Duke, finish rinsing him, drying him, then shooing Ryleigh from the chamber. She put the boys to the task of wiping up the floor.
“Serena, why don't you and Oliver take Duke outside and let him do his business.” She took the dog’s chin between her fingers, addressing him directly. “That does not include rolling in the mud.”
Serena did not look happy but there was nothing Rebecca could do about that. She couldn’t be everywhere at once. The one person she could count on in this case was Oliver. After the trio left the chamber, Rebecca turned to Owen. She took his hand and led him to a chair at the small table. “Owen, you realize you are safe now, don’t you? That mean man in London won’t dare come after you. Not with Ryleigh about.”
His hesitation was only slight, and he nodded.
“Can you tell me what happened?”
Large tears sat on his lashes but didn’t spill over.
She set one of the knapsacks from the chair on the floor and scooted the chair around and sat where she faced him. “I know this might not make sense, darling, but talking about bad things will help dispel the nightmares.”
Disbelief wrinkled his forehead.
“It’s true,” she insisted. “When I was young. Somewhere near your age, I believe. I witnessed something truly horrid.”
“What?” he whispered.
“My governess, Miss Velinda. She had taken me to study some plants near a creek. I ran ahead of her—” Rebecca swallowed hard, her eyes on hers and Owen’s clasped fingers. “Some bad men came upon her. They attacked her.”
“Why din’th they attack you?”
She lifted her gaze to his worried blue eyes. “They didn’t see me,” she whispered, dropping her eyes back down. “I ran to the village for help, but by the time I arrived with help, the men were gone. I had nightmares for years until my Aunt Isolde took me aside and dragged the whole terrible ordeal out of me.” She met his eyes again. “I felt guilty because I was too late to help her.”
“Did she die?”
“Not for a long time,” Rebecca said softly. There was so much more to the story that she couldn’t tell him. She drew in a deep breath. “Anyway, a few years later, there was another governess. One who could see things weren’t quite right—”
