But there was no warmth behind the words.
Roman wanted warmth. He wanted passion.
And he was not going to give up.
“Come,” he said, helping her rise. “Our bags will be in our room. They have one of those water closets. We’ll stop there before we go upstairs.”
When he opened the door, Leonie moved past him obediently. The innkeeper had kept an eye on them. He hurried up to Roman. “How was your dinner, my lord?”
“Very fine, Mr. Stoddard.”
“Here is the key to your room. It is the first door at the top of the stairs. I started the fire in the hearth myself. It may be spring but we will have a cold night.”
“Thank you,” Roman said, and directed Leonie by the elbow toward the back of the inn where the stairs took guests up to their rooms. The main taproom was crowded and noisy. The table of soldiers Roman had noted earlier was still there. They watched Leonie with hungry eyes.
He pulled her close. She was his and a wise man would keep his eyes to himself.
The water closet was a room added on to the inn where at one time there had been an outside entrance. Stoddard had told him, when he’d taken Roman to check out the room, that this new convenience was not only for his guests, but to make the rooms more comfortable. Nothing was more annoying than a chamber pot left overnight.
Roman let Leonie use the water closet while he stood guard against any wanderers from the taproom. He then escorted her safely to their room, his boots echoing on the wood floor. The Hound’s Breath had come highly recommended and he was pleased. The bed was a four-poster in the middle of the room with the sheets turned down. A candle was lit on a side night table and there was a cheery, warm glow from the hearth.
Of course, he anticipated that he and Leonie would make their own heat.
He looked to his wife. “Is all to your liking?”
She nodded but he didn’t think she heard him. Instead, she studied the bed as if she had never seen one before.
This was not a good sign.
Or boded well for his night.
Roman said, “I shall return in a moment. Here is the key.” He dangled the key in front of her, breaking her trance on the bed. “Lock the door behind me.” He waited for her nod and then went out. He paused outside the door. “Lock the door, Leonie.”
The key turned.
Now to see if she would let him back in.
He wondered if he should test her and then decided he would find out soon enough. He went down the stairs to the water closet to see to his own needs.
But the moments alone helped clear his thinking.
God, what a devil of a fix he was in. He was married to a woman who stirred his blood in a way that was not good for his sanity, especially since he worried a bit about hers.
She was a woman who had been hurt, damaged, and needed him to be the rock she had not known in her life.
Yes, a rock. An unfeeling, unchanging, unwavering rock. Or, at least, that was the impression she gave him. She acted unaware of how anxious he was to please her. How her well-being was his sole priority.
Roman clumped back up the stairs. He stopped outside the door, bracing himself for whatever may come... because he was not a rock. He was a man who wanted to fully love his wife. He wanted her to bear his children.
He tapped lightly on the door. “Leonie, let me in.”
To his relief, she unlocked the door.
Opening it, he found his wife standing by the bed in the frothiest, filmiest confection of a nightdress any man could hope to see. It was virginal white and yet the thoughts that leapt into his mind were anything but saintly.
Aye, there was a good amount of lace. It flounced here and there, emphasizing her slim shoulders and the hem where bare toes peeked out to him. But it was the parts that didn’t have lace that interested him most. Two dark circles formed into tight buds against the bodice. The high waist was gathered with more ribbons and lace, but the skirt’s fine material left little to his imagination.
She was perfectly formed in every way, especially in the curve of her hips and the length of her legs. Good legs. Legs that could wrap around a man and hold him to her core.
