Read Online Lord Haversham Takes Command by Heidi Ashworth - Free Book Online
Authors: Heidi Ashworth
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scratching. The possibility of loose shutters and wind-blown branches had all been eliminated long since. When the noise came again, she was able to determine that it originated from the passage outside her door. This ruled out wild animals and other night crawlers and narrowed the choices down to a domestic animal such as a cat, dog, or chicken that had wandered in from the yard under the noses of its betters.
Wildly curious, she slipped out of bed and tiptoed to the door so as not to alert what promised to be a delightful source of relief from her tedium. Quietly, she released the latch and pulled the door open only wide enough to give her a view of the passage floor.
To her great surprise the space was not occupied by an animal of any kind. Rather, a man, as she presumed him to be, stretched along the carpet, his form wrapped entirely in a blanket, might easily be judged an ‘animal,’ but she felt she should reserve condemnation until she determined the reason for his being where she found him. If he pleaded ‘no room at the inn,’ she could find it in her heart to excuse his odd behavior. If he were sleeping off a night of riotous drinking and had passed out in front of her room on the way to his own, he was no better than an animal indeed.
“Sir,” she whispered so as not to awaken any guests other than the one who had made her threshold his bed. “Sir!” she hissed with a bit more intensity followed by a prod of her slipperless toe to his foot wrapped tight in tartan wool. It was clear that his sense of touch was stronger than that of hearing as this gentle contact brought him to his feet in one catlike leap of his powerful thighs as he dropped the blanket to puddle at his feet. He looked wildly about him, his disordered yellow locks stuck out at odd angles, as his attention finally came to rest on Mira who watched this unexpected spectacle with mouth agape.
“Harry!” she exclaimed whilst privately noting the all too swiftly dampened flare of warmth in his eyes when he saw her. “What are you doing out here? I assume you have your own room?”
“Yes. Yes, I do,” he said, looking abashed but not in the mood to further elucidate.
“Lost track of it, have you?” Mira snipped. “Perhaps it’s the very same in which you left your boots,” she suggested with a pointed look at his shoeless feet.
Harry looked down at the offensive articles then back at Mira with a Bertie-like smile of chagrin. It marred what Mira tended to think of as a masculine face blessed with a strong jaw balanced by striking eyes that were fringed with lashes any woman would envy. His gaze must have followed her thoughts because his eyes rolled upwards, and he clapped his hands to the top of his head just as she arrived at the subject of his hair.
“I must look a devil!” he cried followed by what amounted to a twitter.
Mira wanted nothing more than to roll her eyes as well, but quelled the desire. “I expect the state of your appearance can be rectified through the use of the wash pitcher and mirror made available by the innkeeper. Since these items are generally found in one’s room, I suggest you take yourself off forthwith.” Besides which, someone could come along the passage at any moment and would no doubt think it odd to find him outside her chamber door in his stockings. After what happened under the table the day prior, Mira felt it best to avoid even a breath of scandal with regards to Harry Haversham.
Unaccountably, he did not go.
“Miss Crenshaw, would it be too much trouble to make use of yours?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand. Make use of what?”
“Your room,” he said with a straightforward intensity that owed nothing to his alter ego, Bertie. “Quickly, now, for a door has just opened up down the passage, one I must pass to arrive at my own.”
Without a thought for the impropriety of his request save that of how suddenly similar this Harry was to the one she had been daydreaming about,
Wildly curious, she slipped out of bed and tiptoed to the door so as not to alert what promised to be a delightful source of relief from her tedium. Quietly, she released the latch and pulled the door open only wide enough to give her a view of the passage floor.
To her great surprise the space was not occupied by an animal of any kind. Rather, a man, as she presumed him to be, stretched along the carpet, his form wrapped entirely in a blanket, might easily be judged an ‘animal,’ but she felt she should reserve condemnation until she determined the reason for his being where she found him. If he pleaded ‘no room at the inn,’ she could find it in her heart to excuse his odd behavior. If he were sleeping off a night of riotous drinking and had passed out in front of her room on the way to his own, he was no better than an animal indeed.
“Sir,” she whispered so as not to awaken any guests other than the one who had made her threshold his bed. “Sir!” she hissed with a bit more intensity followed by a prod of her slipperless toe to his foot wrapped tight in tartan wool. It was clear that his sense of touch was stronger than that of hearing as this gentle contact brought him to his feet in one catlike leap of his powerful thighs as he dropped the blanket to puddle at his feet. He looked wildly about him, his disordered yellow locks stuck out at odd angles, as his attention finally came to rest on Mira who watched this unexpected spectacle with mouth agape.
“Harry!” she exclaimed whilst privately noting the all too swiftly dampened flare of warmth in his eyes when he saw her. “What are you doing out here? I assume you have your own room?”
“Yes. Yes, I do,” he said, looking abashed but not in the mood to further elucidate.
“Lost track of it, have you?” Mira snipped. “Perhaps it’s the very same in which you left your boots,” she suggested with a pointed look at his shoeless feet.
Harry looked down at the offensive articles then back at Mira with a Bertie-like smile of chagrin. It marred what Mira tended to think of as a masculine face blessed with a strong jaw balanced by striking eyes that were fringed with lashes any woman would envy. His gaze must have followed her thoughts because his eyes rolled upwards, and he clapped his hands to the top of his head just as she arrived at the subject of his hair.
“I must look a devil!” he cried followed by what amounted to a twitter.
Mira wanted nothing more than to roll her eyes as well, but quelled the desire. “I expect the state of your appearance can be rectified through the use of the wash pitcher and mirror made available by the innkeeper. Since these items are generally found in one’s room, I suggest you take yourself off forthwith.” Besides which, someone could come along the passage at any moment and would no doubt think it odd to find him outside her chamber door in his stockings. After what happened under the table the day prior, Mira felt it best to avoid even a breath of scandal with regards to Harry Haversham.
Unaccountably, he did not go.
“Miss Crenshaw, would it be too much trouble to make use of yours?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand. Make use of what?”
“Your room,” he said with a straightforward intensity that owed nothing to his alter ego, Bertie. “Quickly, now, for a door has just opened up down the passage, one I must pass to arrive at my own.”
Without a thought for the impropriety of his request save that of how suddenly similar this Harry was to the one she had been daydreaming about,