Read Online Only Marriage Will Do by Jenna Jaxon - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jenna Jaxon
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“Terrible sorry you come to grief in the yard. A hot bath’ll set you to rights, though.” He peered critically at the room.
“I’ll send up your supper in short order. We’ve a nice French chicken, beans ragooed with potatoes, and my wife’s special seed cake.” He paused and Amiable gave a brief nod. Food, while welcome, didn’t warrant his immediate attention.
The proprietor smiled. “If there’s aught else you need…”
“Oh, yes, Mr. Nuthatch,” Juliet chimed in. “Would you please take my maid to her room? I must see to my husband before this mud dries solid.” She beamed at the innkeeper. Only a hard-hearted man could resist that winsome face. The man nodded and beckoned to the bespattered Glynis to follow him.
“Georgie.” Nuthatch called over his shoulder.
A boy of about ten, who had just dumped steaming water into the tub, looked up. “Bring two pitchers of hot water to the last room on the right, then. And be quick about it.”
“Aye, Da.” The scamp bolted past his father, his footsteps echoing as he thumped down the steps.
Glynis flashed her host a grateful glance and followed him out the door.
The sudden silence seemed to emphasize that he and Juliet were alone for the first time since last night. This could spell trouble. Her intense gaze drew him toward her, the air fairly crackling with the current that ran between them. He opened his mouth to speak and took a step toward her. His boot squished, breaking the silence and the mood. He winced. His boots likely were ruined, as well.
Juliet sniggered and moved to the tub. She dipped her hand in and swished the bathwater. “You had best hurry your bath, my dear, before the water is too cold to do you any good at all.” She sounded too wifely for his taste. How far would she take this charade? Her pert little smile didn’t tell him if she had mischief on her mind or not, but he intended to find out.
“Your wish is, as always, my command, sweetheart.”
She blushed and the devil flew into him. “Will you give me a hand with this jacket? I fear I will make a mess no matter how I try to extricate myself.” He held his arms stiffly out, as he would for Edward.
Juliet stepped toward him then secured one of the linen drying cloths the inn had provided. She lay this on the floor behind him. “This should catch most of the mess.”
“Clever girl.”
She maneuvered behind him; grasped the shoulders of the coat; and pulled with short, brisk strokes. The saturated garment resisted, but she eased first one side, then the other until the coat dropped onto the cloth. She bent and wiped her hands on it as well.
Amiable turned, appreciating the unexpected but fine show of bosom as she bent over. “And the waistcoat, Juliet?” He unbuttoned it and moved his arms again into position.
The waistcoat came away in her hands, leaving Amiable clad in a spattered shirt, mud-encrusted breeches, and boots so caked with filth he’d be hard-pressed to name their original color. He turned just in time to see her scraping at the front of the silver waistcoat.
“This garment might actually be salvageable.” She laid it carefully to the side.
“Trying to retain some hope of a new frock?”
She shook her head. “Trying to be the best and most frugal wife imaginable, sir.” Her eyes reflected the warmth in her voice.
“I think those two qualities are mutually exclusive, don’t you?” Danger lurked in this exchange, but Lord he couldn’t stop himself any more than a moth could ignore a flame. “Do you think you can you help me off with my boots? There are times when a manservant is indispensable, and as you say, the water is getting colder by the minute.” He grasped the bedpost and held out his foot.
“Of course.” She bent to grasp the first boot, then stopped. “Wait.” She picked up his coat from the towel, turned it inside out, and wrapped the soiled side around his boot.
He groaned, his stomach sinking at the sight of his
“I’ll send up your supper in short order. We’ve a nice French chicken, beans ragooed with potatoes, and my wife’s special seed cake.” He paused and Amiable gave a brief nod. Food, while welcome, didn’t warrant his immediate attention.
The proprietor smiled. “If there’s aught else you need…”
“Oh, yes, Mr. Nuthatch,” Juliet chimed in. “Would you please take my maid to her room? I must see to my husband before this mud dries solid.” She beamed at the innkeeper. Only a hard-hearted man could resist that winsome face. The man nodded and beckoned to the bespattered Glynis to follow him.
“Georgie.” Nuthatch called over his shoulder.
A boy of about ten, who had just dumped steaming water into the tub, looked up. “Bring two pitchers of hot water to the last room on the right, then. And be quick about it.”
“Aye, Da.” The scamp bolted past his father, his footsteps echoing as he thumped down the steps.
Glynis flashed her host a grateful glance and followed him out the door.
The sudden silence seemed to emphasize that he and Juliet were alone for the first time since last night. This could spell trouble. Her intense gaze drew him toward her, the air fairly crackling with the current that ran between them. He opened his mouth to speak and took a step toward her. His boot squished, breaking the silence and the mood. He winced. His boots likely were ruined, as well.
Juliet sniggered and moved to the tub. She dipped her hand in and swished the bathwater. “You had best hurry your bath, my dear, before the water is too cold to do you any good at all.” She sounded too wifely for his taste. How far would she take this charade? Her pert little smile didn’t tell him if she had mischief on her mind or not, but he intended to find out.
“Your wish is, as always, my command, sweetheart.”
She blushed and the devil flew into him. “Will you give me a hand with this jacket? I fear I will make a mess no matter how I try to extricate myself.” He held his arms stiffly out, as he would for Edward.
Juliet stepped toward him then secured one of the linen drying cloths the inn had provided. She lay this on the floor behind him. “This should catch most of the mess.”
“Clever girl.”
She maneuvered behind him; grasped the shoulders of the coat; and pulled with short, brisk strokes. The saturated garment resisted, but she eased first one side, then the other until the coat dropped onto the cloth. She bent and wiped her hands on it as well.
Amiable turned, appreciating the unexpected but fine show of bosom as she bent over. “And the waistcoat, Juliet?” He unbuttoned it and moved his arms again into position.
The waistcoat came away in her hands, leaving Amiable clad in a spattered shirt, mud-encrusted breeches, and boots so caked with filth he’d be hard-pressed to name their original color. He turned just in time to see her scraping at the front of the silver waistcoat.
“This garment might actually be salvageable.” She laid it carefully to the side.
“Trying to retain some hope of a new frock?”
She shook her head. “Trying to be the best and most frugal wife imaginable, sir.” Her eyes reflected the warmth in her voice.
“I think those two qualities are mutually exclusive, don’t you?” Danger lurked in this exchange, but Lord he couldn’t stop himself any more than a moth could ignore a flame. “Do you think you can you help me off with my boots? There are times when a manservant is indispensable, and as you say, the water is getting colder by the minute.” He grasped the bedpost and held out his foot.
“Of course.” She bent to grasp the first boot, then stopped. “Wait.” She picked up his coat from the towel, turned it inside out, and wrapped the soiled side around his boot.
He groaned, his stomach sinking at the sight of his
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