Page 86 of A Figure of Love

Serena smiled. “It is less than a mile, I will be fine. Right now, I’m more afraid of my own smell than smugglers.”

He’d not even cracked a smile at her weak attempt at humor, instead nodding in his abrupt way and turning back to the men who were waiting for him, as if that brief moment of tenderness in each other’s arms had never happened.

That had been hours ago, and still he’d not come to see her—even though she’d heard him enter the adjoining room half an hour earlier.

She’d left her hair loose, hoping some of the heavy masses of curls would dry. Gareth had brought a nightgown and dressing gown, as well as an outfit suitable for a carriage ride. She’d sent the clothes she’d been wearing for the past week off with one of the maids, telling her to burn it. But dresses being worth what they were—even stinking, ragged, patched ones—she expected some happy maid to be sporting her best traveling dress on the streets of Dover tomorrow. And she would be welcome to it.

She paced restlessly without her sketchbook to occupy her or her small, cheap watch to tell her the time, as the thieves had relieved her of both.

Finally, when she could stand it no longer, she strode to the single door she knew separated them and flung it open.

He was bare-chested, lying on his bed, reading a book, the room blazing with light.

He lowered the book and gave her one of his Gareth Lockheart looks, the haughty-unreadable combination he did so well.

“You were reading?”

He arched his brows at her. “As you see.”

“Were you just going to leave me stewing?”

He crossed his arms over his chest, the movement more than a little distracting. “I assumed you would be sleeping.”

She just shook her head, too angry to do anything else. How could he read at such a time? They might have died! They might be—

He held a hand toward her. “Come here.”

She thrilled at his tone, which her body recognized instantly, but she shook her head. “Do you always give orders?”

He appeared to consider her question, which any other man would have known was rhetorical. “Yes, as a matter of fact.”

Serena’s lips twitched to smile at his very Gareth Lockheart response, but she stopped herself in time, maintaining a scowl. With great difficulty.

And then she saw something on his face—a look she’d never seen before. It was a smile. A glorious, slow-growing, honest-to-goodness, teeth-exposing smile.

Serena stared.

He lifted his hand again. “I was just teasing. Will you please come join me in my somewhat lumpy but clean bed?”

She dropped her jaw and gave him a look that was only half mocking amazement. “Gareth Lockheart knows how to tease?”

He nodded. “He does.”

“And Gareth Lockheart can say please?”

“Sometimes.”

“And Gareth Lockheart has teeth. I know, because I saw them for the first time when he smiled.”

“Yes, you are correct on all counts. But right now Gareth Lockheart is wondering why we are talking about him in the third person. Come here, please.”

She went to him. How could she not?

As he lifted the bedding for her to join him she noticed the fine sheeting. “Is this your bedding?” She stood beside the bed.

“Chalmers always brings it for me when we travel. I found he had packed a set and the maid seemed happy enough to put them on.

Serena could imagine the girl had been thrilled—along with imagining herself in between them.