The innkeeper stared at her amazedly. “You’d do that? Even though you’re soaking wet and I’ve refused you shelter?”
“Of course,” Beth replied. “I’m happy to help.” From the corner of her eye, she noticed Devon smiling and shaking his head.
“Hmm,” the innkeeper said, frowning a little as he considered the situation. “I assume you two are married?”
Beth gave a nice little laugh, Devon a decidedly more impolite one. “No,” they said in unison.
“Pity. This is a decent establishment.”
“Please don’t worry on our account,” Beth told him. “By theway, would your daughter like a free pass to the London Aviary? And I think I have a…” Rummaging in her satchel, she drew out a small golden feather. “Yes. A plume from the magical pileated deathwhistler.”
The innkeeper took it, the brochure, and the aviary pass delightedly. “Thank you! My, what a shame you’re not married.” He fell into a meaningful silence.
Beth glanced sidelong at Devon and found him already glancing at her, one eyebrow raised. She hesitated for the slightest moment—but was so cold, her conscience had frozen over. She gave him a tiny nod.
He promptly turned to the innkeeper. “Oh, did you saymarried? I thought you saidmerry. We’re certainly not merry in this weather, are we, my darling wife?”
“Certainly not,” Beth agreed. “Darling husband,” she added belatedly.
He put his arm around her, pulling her close and tucking her cozily against his side. With her brain still back in the moment after the innkeeper had spoken, and her body urging her to appreciate thisfar more interesting momentas much as possible, Beth found herself unable to move. Devon’s grip was strong and unfaltering, his presence enveloping her with such warmth, she felt surprised her clothes did not begin steaming. He kissed her hair, even while her brain was glancing around sayingWait, what?, then gave the innkeeper a steady look.
“Right,” said the innkeeper, grinning broadly. “Married it is. In that case, I do have one room I can offer. But I must warn you, there’s a slight bed problem…”
Chapter Nine
Even the drabbest bird can prove magical.
Birds Through a Sherry Glass, H.A. Quirm
“Seven,” Devon saidas he stared at the jumble of beds stacked haphazardly atop each other in the small, dark room. “Seven beds.”
“And barely enough space to stand in,” Beth added, chewing her gloved thumbnail. She might not understand about wiles, but she wouldn’t be an animal biologist if she didn’t appreciate the perils of being alone for the night with an unscrupulous rake, especially considering he had just embraced her.Embraced her! And kissed her hair! In public, moreover!She half expected someone to knock on the door with a summons for them to appear at the marriage registry office.
“At least we’re out of the rain,” she said, trying to persuade herself she’d made the rational choice. “And that bathroom at the end of the corridor does look inviting.” She glanced briefly at Devon, then chewed her glove some more.
“Your bribing the innkeeper certainly paid off,” he said as he sorted through the provisions they’d been given. “Candles, towels, bedding, nightshirts, a tray of food, even a bottle ofwine. So long as we avoid the Frenchmen, and don’t get attacked by mad birds or birders, we should have a comfortable night.”
Beth frowned. “I did not bribe the innkeeper.”
“Offering to talk to his daughter, gifting her an expensive feather…”
“I meant that sincerely. We are not all heartless cynics, Mr. Lockley.”
“I’m not heartless,” he said. “For example, I’ll allow you first use of the bathroom.” And he handed her a towel and nightshirt, smiling so adorably he could have illustrated the encyclopedia entry forfraudster.
Beth gave him a chiding look in return. “You’re only doing that so while I’m gone you can eat all the pie.”
“Now who’s the cynic?” he retorted.
Beth opened her mouth—and closed it—and opened it again. But speech did not avail itself of either opportunity, so, with a huff instead, she turned on her heel and marched for the bathroom, trying to ignore the sensation of Devon’s infernal gaze on her as she went.
When she returned sometime later, clean and warm and dressed in fresh white cotton, it was to discover that Devon had rearranged the stacks of beds, creating more space. He’d managed to fit two mattresses side by side on the floor and dressed them with sheets and blankets. He’d even set the food out like a picnic. Candles glinted around the room, and a red-gold sheen from the fire he’d built in the small hearth swayed and flickered to the sound of dreamy piano music coming from the dining room below. Altogether, the scene couldn’t have been more romantic were it set in a honeymoon suite.
“Goodness,” Beth murmured, unsure if she meant this as ageneral statement or a reminder to herself of how she must behave.
“There’s no space for privacy,” Devon said. “But no need to fear, we’re adults—”
Which sounded to Beth like an excellent reason for fear.
