I was tired of being constantly from home. I do that occasionally. And I
do
have money. I just do not have it with me.”
“Where is home?” he asked her.
Their eyes clashed.
“Somewhere,” she said. “It is private. My own retreat. I never tell anyone where it is.”
“Let me guess,” he said. “You are a proud, independent woman, who does not allow any man to protect and support you.”
“That is right,” she said.
If only it were true.
“This occasion will have to be something of an exception, then,” he told her. “I will not offer to pay you for your services. I believe our desire for each other and our pleasure in satisfying that desire have been mutual. But I will pay your keep for as long as we are here. You do not have to starve yourself on tea and water.”
“Can you afford it?” she asked him.
“I have always believed,” he said, “that any highwayman who chose to attack me would have to be soft in the head and that if he was not, he certainly would be by the time I had finished with him. I do
not
travel with an empty purse. I can afford to buy you breakfast and all your other meals too for as long as we remain here.”
“Thank you.” She could not suggest that she pay him back at some future date. She would never have enough money.
“Now,” he said, “tell me that I was good enough last night to make you hungry this morning.”
“Ravenous.” She smiled at him. “You were
very
good, as you know full well.”
“Aha,” he said, leaning a little closer, “another human trait. You have a dimple beside the right corner of your mouth.”
That sobered her. The triumvirate of childhood plagues—a freckled carrottop with a dimple.
“It is utterly charming,” he said. “I am going to wash and dress and go downstairs, Claire. You can follow me down when you are ready. We might as well eat in the public dining room this morning and see something of the world. It is going to be a long day.”
Judith hoped it would be an eternity long. She hugged her knees tightly as he disappeared behind the screen.
I t struck Rannulf that fate had dealt him a pretty fair hand. Normally being stranded at a small town inn by inclement weather would have been the stuff of nightmares. Under any other circumstances he would have been chafing at the bit and scheming to find a way to get himself and his horse safely to his grandmother’s despite the danger. He realized that he was no farther than twenty miles from Grandmaison Park.
But these were not other circumstances, and it helped to know that his grandmother did not even realize that he was on his way, though she always expected him to come promptly when summoned. He could delay his arrival for a week or more if he wished without every constable in the land being called out to search for him.
When she appeared in the downstairs dining room, Claire Campbell was dressed in a pale green cotton dress, even simpler than yesterday’s muslin. She had brushed her hair back severely over the crown of her head and braided and coiled it at the back of her neck. He had become accustomed to the way she understated her charms. This was an actress with class, he decided, rising and bowing to her.
They ate a hearty breakfast at a leisurely pace, conversing about inconsequentials until the innkeeper brought them more toast and stayed to discuss the farming situation and the blessing the rain would be after weeks of hot, dry weather. Then his wife brought freshly boiled water to heat up their tea and stayed to talk about the nasty weather and all the extra work it gave the women, who had to be constantly scrubbing their floors because their men and children
would
insist upon going outside in the rain, even when they did not have to, and traipsing all the wet and all the mud across clean floors no matter how often one scolded them or chased them with a broom. Indeed, she said, chasing them only made the matter worse, because
do
have money. I just do not have it with me.”
“Where is home?” he asked her.
Their eyes clashed.
“Somewhere,” she said. “It is private. My own retreat. I never tell anyone where it is.”
“Let me guess,” he said. “You are a proud, independent woman, who does not allow any man to protect and support you.”
“That is right,” she said.
If only it were true.
“This occasion will have to be something of an exception, then,” he told her. “I will not offer to pay you for your services. I believe our desire for each other and our pleasure in satisfying that desire have been mutual. But I will pay your keep for as long as we are here. You do not have to starve yourself on tea and water.”
“Can you afford it?” she asked him.
“I have always believed,” he said, “that any highwayman who chose to attack me would have to be soft in the head and that if he was not, he certainly would be by the time I had finished with him. I do
not
travel with an empty purse. I can afford to buy you breakfast and all your other meals too for as long as we remain here.”
“Thank you.” She could not suggest that she pay him back at some future date. She would never have enough money.
“Now,” he said, “tell me that I was good enough last night to make you hungry this morning.”
“Ravenous.” She smiled at him. “You were
very
good, as you know full well.”
“Aha,” he said, leaning a little closer, “another human trait. You have a dimple beside the right corner of your mouth.”
That sobered her. The triumvirate of childhood plagues—a freckled carrottop with a dimple.
“It is utterly charming,” he said. “I am going to wash and dress and go downstairs, Claire. You can follow me down when you are ready. We might as well eat in the public dining room this morning and see something of the world. It is going to be a long day.”
Judith hoped it would be an eternity long. She hugged her knees tightly as he disappeared behind the screen.
I t struck Rannulf that fate had dealt him a pretty fair hand. Normally being stranded at a small town inn by inclement weather would have been the stuff of nightmares. Under any other circumstances he would have been chafing at the bit and scheming to find a way to get himself and his horse safely to his grandmother’s despite the danger. He realized that he was no farther than twenty miles from Grandmaison Park.
But these were not other circumstances, and it helped to know that his grandmother did not even realize that he was on his way, though she always expected him to come promptly when summoned. He could delay his arrival for a week or more if he wished without every constable in the land being called out to search for him.
When she appeared in the downstairs dining room, Claire Campbell was dressed in a pale green cotton dress, even simpler than yesterday’s muslin. She had brushed her hair back severely over the crown of her head and braided and coiled it at the back of her neck. He had become accustomed to the way she understated her charms. This was an actress with class, he decided, rising and bowing to her.
They ate a hearty breakfast at a leisurely pace, conversing about inconsequentials until the innkeeper brought them more toast and stayed to discuss the farming situation and the blessing the rain would be after weeks of hot, dry weather. Then his wife brought freshly boiled water to heat up their tea and stayed to talk about the nasty weather and all the extra work it gave the women, who had to be constantly scrubbing their floors because their men and children
would
insist upon going outside in the rain, even when they did not have to, and traipsing all the wet and all the mud across clean floors no matter how often one scolded them or chased them with a broom. Indeed, she said, chasing them only made the matter worse, because
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