Page 13 of How To Tempt A Bodyguard

Chapter five

Mrs Archer Notices Bare Back

Matthew

He'd survived the night. Barely.

Not because of any threat from outside. The inn had stayed quiet, the courtyard empty, the only sounds the occasional creak of settling timber and the distant lowing of cattle. No one had come for Mrs Archer. No one had tried the door.

The threat had been entirely internal.

Matthew sat with his back against the door, watching grey dawn light creep through the shutters. His neck ached. His spine had opinions about spending eight hours on a hardwood floor. The old knife wound in his shoulder throbbed its familiar complaint.

None of that had kept him awake.

It was her breathing. The soft, steady rhythm of it. So trusting, so utterly unconcerned with the danger she was supposedly fleeing. She'd drawn the bed curtains, said goodnight, and fallen asleep within minutes. As if having a stranger guard her door were perfectly normal. As if she did this all the time.

Maybe she did.

The breathing had been bad enough. But then she'd shifted in her sleep, murmuring something he couldn't quite hear, and the bed had creaked, and his mind had wandered where it had no business wandering.

Months of abstinence, he reminded himself. That's all.

It hadn't been convincing at three in the morning. It wasn't convincing now.

The light strengthened. Behind the bed curtains, her breathing changed. A catch, a deeper inhale, the small sounds of someone surfacing from sleep.

Matthew stayed where he was. Kept his expression neutral.

The curtains rustled. A hand emerged, then an arm, then Mrs Archer herself, blinking in the pale light. Her hair had come loose from its simple knot, dark waves spilling over her shoulders. Her eyes were soft with sleep, her face unguarded in a way he hadn't seen before.

She looked young. Vulnerable. Nothing like the sharp-tongued woman who'd been tormenting him since yesterday.

Then her gaze found him, still sitting against the door, and her expression shifted.

"You didn't sleep," she said.

"Slept enough."

"You're in the same position you were when I closed the curtains."

"Observant."

She sat up, drawing her knees to her chest beneath the covers. "You were supposed to sleep."

"The arrangement was I keep you safe."

"By sitting awake all night?" She frowned. "You'll be useless if you're exhausted."

"I'll manage."

She looked like she wanted to argue, but something stopped her. Instead, she pushed back the covers and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She was still in her chemise, thin white cotton that did nothing to hide the shape beneath.

Matthew turned his attention to the window. Counted the slats in the shutters.

The room had a small washstand in the corner: basin, pitcher, towels. Mrs Archer crossed to it, poured water, and began her ablutions with her back to him. The sounds were ordinary. Intimate. The splash of water, the rustle of cloth.

He kept his eyes on the shutters.