“In that case, there should be a spot for you in the hayloft,” the innkeeper told Mr. Smith. “If you don’t mind.”
Mr. Smith snorted. “Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve slept there. I’m just glad for the chance to get some proper rest.”
“Excellent.” The innkeeper grabbed a couple of keys. “Right this way.”
Releasing Miss Compton, Philip picked up both of their bags.
“For a moment there I thought you were having me on,” Mr. Smith remarked. “That you were only pretending to be married so I wouldn’t bother Miss Compton anymore.” He grinned and rocked back on his heels. “You’re a lucky man, Mr. Dalton. Very lucky indeed.”
“That I am,” Philip agreed before urging Miss Compton to follow the innkeeper.
She remained completely silent until they were in their room and the door was securely shut behind them. At which point she turned toward him with annoyance flickering in her eyes. “You go too far,” she told him crisply. “I cannot possibly remain here with you for the night.”
“Would you rather take your chances with Mr. Smith or one of the other men staying here?” he asked her calmly.
“I am an unmarried woman, Mr. Dalton. What we are doing is so far removed from what is proper, I lack the ability to describe it.”
“If it is scandal you fear, you may rest assured that no one is going to discover the truth.”
“But I will know, and...” She glanced at the bed and clenched her jaw with visible discomfort.
Ah. So that was the crux of the matter. “You need not worry. I shall sleep in the chair over there, and you may have the bed. Your virtue will not be threatened in any way. At least not by me.”
She scowled at him and placed her fists on her hips. “I do not know whether to take that as a compliment or an insult.”
“Women.” He shook his head. “You want us to keep our distance, and yet you condemn us when we don’t show enough interest.”
Her eyes sharpened. “You speak as though from experience.”
He blew out a breath. “My wife—”
“Yourwife?” Her eyes were now wide with horror. “Are you telling me that you’re already married?”
“Was.” He set his valise by the wall and placed hers at the foot of the bed. “She’s been dead these past ten years.”
“Oh. I’m so sorry.”
He winced. “She wanted more from life than I was able to give her and...eventually that got her killed.” Scrubbing his hand across his face, he considered Miss Compton, whose expression had turned far too serious. “Are you hungry?”
“A little.”
He smiled. “Shall we go down to the dining room then?”
She nodded, removed her cloak and her bonnet, and went to the door. Pausing there, she turned to him, hesitated briefly, and said, “My given name is Leonora. I thought you should probably know that if we are to pull this scheme off.”
Leonora.
It was a lovely name, one that suited her tremendously. It made him want to bow his head and kiss her, right on her rose-colored lips, but seeing her hair completely uncovered and being made aware of what she looked like beneath her voluminous cloak made movement impossible. He stood as if frozen, just staring at her copper tresses and admiring the way they shimmered in the light from a nearby oil lamp. And then she was out the door and heading for the staircase.
Philip forced himself into motion, removing his greatcoat and hanging it on a peg before following her down the stairs. Catching up to her in the foyer, he offered his arm and felt warmth seep under his skin the moment she accepted.
“What tempts you?” he asked as soon as they were seated.
She coughed. “I beg your pardon?”
Realizing her wayward thoughts, he grinned and pointed toward the chalkboard hanging over the bar counter. “For dinner?”
“Oh.” Her cheeks turned a charming shade of pink. She cleared her throat. “I believe I’ll have the chicken soup.”
