Her mother had never appreciated her father. Consequently, he barely gave her a care.
So, she and Roman were different from them? More powerful?
And in “love”?
Leonie didn’t feel the least bit sleepy. Her senses had been overworked and now her mind was trying to play catch-up.
She rested in Roman’s arms and watched him sleep. Then she frowned as she observed the room’s light diminishing with the fire in the hearth. She wasn’t worried about being cold, not with her husband’s body to keep her warm.
Staring at the ceiling, she knew she should be exhausted, but she wasn’t. It was like that sometimes for her. Her mind could be very active even though every fiber of her being yearned for sleep.
Usually when this happened, a nip or two of brandy helped.
Her foot started to fall asleep and she eased out of Roman’s arms so she could move it. She curled up beside him, but still sleep eluded her. She tried counting backward, a trick her father taught her. That didn’t tire her.
She struggled to not think about brandy.
A call to nature made itself known. She glanced at her husband. He was sleeping soundly. She didn’t want to wake him. Why should he be disturbed because she was awake?
Moving quietly, she slid out of the other side of the bed and tiptoed to where she’d placed her dress on a hook on the wall. She pulled it over her head. Braiding her hair, she slipped on her shoes and moved toward the door.
Roman turned over on his back but did not wake. She smiled, liking the sight of him filling the bed. “I’ll be right back,” she mouthed to him. Her need for the water closet had become very real. Turning the lock in the door, she let herself out. She considered locking the door behind her but decided against it.
The hall was solid darkness save for a lamp lit at the base of the stairs. Not a sound could be heard from the other rooms or from downstairs. She used her hand against the wall to feel her way to the steps until she could see them.
Beyond the lamp, she could see into the taproom where a fire glowed in the oversized hearth. Snoring figures bundled in coats and blankets slept on the floor or on the benches. These were the guests who could not afford a room.
Leonie moved silently to the water closet. No one was in there. Fortunately, moonlight allowed her to see what she was doing.
Feeling better, she came out intending to hurry upstairs. However, in the taproom on one of the tables, she noticed the silhouette of a bottle. The table was where the soldiers had been sitting and close to the door.
She stood riveted by the sight. She didn’t know what was in the bottle, but her whole skin went alert at the thought of one small drink. Then she would be able to sleep.
And Roman would be none the wiser.
Tomorrow, well, tomorrow she’d try again to go without. It would be easier then.
But tonight, she needed a bit of whatever it was in the bottle to let her mind wind down. In the end, she knew she had no choice but to walk toward it.
Of course she was cautious. She was very quiet as she stepped around those sleeping on the floor. If someone so much as breathed differently, she paused, but then continued when she knew she was safe.
The trip really only took seconds. She leaned over a man snoozing on his back and snatched the bottle by its neck. She didn’t waste time leaving the room. However, instead of turning toward the stairs, and the possibility of being caught by Roman if he came looking for her, she moved toward the inn’s front door. No one was sleeping in the reception room. Leaning against the wall, her back to the taproom, she wiped the bottle’s mouth and took a smell.
Gin.
Leonie made a face. Not her favorite but it would suffice. After all, she only needed a sip.
She raised the bottle to her lips. It wasn’t full. She had to tilt her head way back. She’d be horrified if anyone caught her but she didn’t have time to search for a glass.
Gin hit her tongue. The fragrant taste had a bite. She lowered the bottle, holding the liquor in her mouth before swallowing.
It burned down her throat. She held the bottle close to her, waiting. Gin might not be her first choice; however, it knew its job.
Her stomach tightened as the liquor hit, and then in a matter of seconds, a tension that Leonie hadn’t even recognized she’d felt began to ease. Her muscles relaxed. This was why she couldn’t sleep. She’d been nervous.
She took another drink, a deeper one this time, and it was as if she tasted mother’s milk. Indeed, the gin gave her a buoyant feeling she had not anticipated. No wonder so many in the lower classes liked it.
Of course, there wasn’t much left in the bottle. What harm could come from finishing it off—?
