but utterly charming.
“A proper wife would ask if I were injured,” he said, trying to reclaim some dignity.
“But when have your ever wanted a proper wife?” She grinned at him, mischief in every line of her face.
“Now would perhaps be a good time to start, my dear.” He continued in a lower voice. “We can scarcely have announced our presence here any better than if we had shouted it from the roof of the coach or passed out handbills. I pray God St. Cyr does not pass this way.”
Juliet, sobered, glanced around the courtyard, and withdrew inside. She shot him a compassionate look and hurried toward the innkeeper. “Sir, my husband and I are in need of a room with a parlor and a bathtub as quickly as possible. A room for my maid, as well, if you please.”
The innkeeper smiled, whether at her distracted air or his own sorry appearance Amiable couldn’t tell. Didn’t care. All he wanted was to strip his blasted clothes off and sink into a hot bath.
“The Talbot’s hospitality is at your service, sir, madam. Will you require accommodations for your husband’s manservant as well?”
“No,” Amiable spoke up. “He did not accompany me on this journey.” He looked pointedly at his ruined clothes, threatening to drip dirty water onto the floor. “More’s the pity.”
Juliet gasped and turned a peculiar shade of scarlet.
Recalling the last time he’d used that particular phrase, he chuckled. “Come, Mrs. Dawson. We seem to have much work to do before either of us gets dinner.”
The innkeeper produced the required keys and led Juliet up the stairs. Amiable followed, wincing at the squish, squish each step brought.
The soothing blue room with the parlor proved spacious if not luxurious. The standard furnishings had seen better days but they were clean and well kept. The room itself faced the rear of the inn, assuring its occupants of a night without noises from the inn yard. Servants bustled about, bringing in their luggage, settling the bathtub next to the fireplace and laying a fire.
“Nuthatch, sir, at your service.” The innkeeper bobbed his head. “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 favorite jacket reduced to a rag.
At the sound, she looked up. “Well, you said it was ruined, Amiable.”
He fixed her with a hard stare. “You are not too big for me to turn over my knee, Juliet.”
She laughed and tossed her head then with a slight twist of her hands the boot fell to the floor with a plop.”
He goggled at her. “How did you learn to do that? Even Edwards cannot remove those boots so quickly.”
Juliet shrugged. “When we were young, Duncan used to tease me, saying a wife should know how to please her husband in all ways, even how to remove his boots.” Her chuckle turned into a throaty growl, setting his blood on fire. “I have only ever practiced on his boots, until now.” In an instant, the other boot lay in her hands, and she placed it beside its mate.
“You have amazing talents, my dear. I’ve never been tended this well.” He kept his eyes on the floor as he pulled his shirt out of his breeches. If he moved with caution, perhaps he wouldn’t sling more mud on the floor.
“I fear poor Edwards will not thank me for spoiling you. Here, let me help you. Hold your shirt up.”
He did so and stopped, shocked that she stood so close to him. Close enough for him to mark the dark ring around the outer rim of her brown irises. With growing alarm, he dropped his gaze to her hands as she reached for the first button of his breeches.
Chapter 9
Juliet struggled to hide her smile, satisfaction welling within. They’d been going on as if they were a true married couple. Pray God it was an omen.
Amiable