The Duke of Ruin (The Untouchables Book 8) Page 8

  “Perhaps. If they know me at all. Come, let’s get inside.” He took her arm and escorted her quickly into the common room. As soon as they were over the threshold, a small person barreled into them.

  “Matthias!” A woman rushed toward them and picked the child up. He couldn’t have been more than five. She looked aghast at Diana and Simon. “I’m so sorry. He’s tired of being in the coach all day, I expect.”

  Diana smiled at the boy. “Me too. And snow is exciting, isn’t it?”

  The boy nodded. “I like snow. Mama won’t let me go outside, though.” He pouted.

  “It’s nearly dark,” his mother said. “Tomorrow, if the weather is pleasant, you can go outside.”

  The boy had warm brown eyes the color of sherry. Dark lashes spiked out from them as he blinked at her. “Promise?”

  “Promise.” She tweaked the end of his nose and dropped a kiss on his head.

  Diana’s heart twisted in the presence of such maternal love. For the first time, she wondered what it might be like to have her own child. She’d love him or her so very much. She’d never force them to do anything or to be something they weren’t. She’d love them just as they were.

  Except she’d probably be married to a man who wouldn’t let her.

  Another child, this one a bit older than the first, came to the woman’s side. “Mama, our room is ready.”

  “Oh good.” She sounded weary as she flicked a look toward Diana and Simon. “Thank you for being so understanding.”

  After they were gone, Diana noticed that Simon appeared as tense as he had back in the coach when they’d first discovered it was snowing. “Do you not like children?” she asked.

  He shook his head slightly and blinked, as if she’d disrupted his thoughts. Perhaps she had.

  “I don’t like or dislike them,” he said. “Let me see about a room.” He went to the innkeeper, who was just finishing up with the family.

  Diana watched as they spoke for a few minutes and then Simon handed him money. Relief collapsed her shoulders, and she realized she’d been holding her breath. “There’s a room for us?” she asked when Simon returned.

  “The last one, as it happens.”

  “But what if more travelers arrive? Perhaps we’ll have to take someone into our room, like the Ogdens did in Coventry.” She fought the blush that started up her neck.

  “We needn’t worry about that. Our lodging is a rather small room on the uppermost floor. In fact, the rest of the chambers up there belong to the innkeeper and his family. He wanted to make sure we didn’t mind cramped quarters. I assured him we were grateful for any quarters.”

  Diana couldn’t disagree, but she did wonder what “cramped” meant. She hoped the bed was large enough for them to have space between them at least.

  “Shall we go and see?” Simon asked. “Dinner won’t be for a while yet.”

  She nodded, and he excused himself to dart outside. She turned and went to the window. Simon made his way to the stables, where Tinley had undoubtedly taken care of their team of horses. When Simon returned, he had their luggage. They climbed two flights of stairs to a landing where the top of Simon’s head barely cleared the low ceiling. He gestured toward a door on the left. “There, I think.”

  She tried the latch, and it opened into a small, dim, cold room. She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered.

  Simon set their cases inside and went to the compact fireplace. “Let me get the fire going.”

  Diana took stock of the space while he worked. It was their smallest lodging yet, with a rather narrow bed opposite the fireplace and a single chair in the corner between the hearth and one of two tiny windows.

  “Oh, it’s so dark in here!” A woman walked in—Diana had neglected to close the door—carrying a lantern and a basket of wood. “Here’s more wood for you, and some light.” She took the basket to Simon and set it on the hearth, then went to place the lantern on the small table in the corner next to the bed. Turning to Diana, she smiled. “I’m Mrs. Woodlawn. Welcome to The Happy Cat.”

  Diana hadn’t paid attention to the sign in the yard. “I like the name you chose for your inn.”

  “We have several cats—all of them happy. I suppose we should have called it The Happy Cats.” She laughed softly. “Don’t be surprised if one of them tries to sleep with you. Most folks don’t mind, especially on a cold night like tonight. They’re nice little warmers.” She frowned at the bed. “Let me go fetch you another blanket or two. We don’t often have guests up here, and you’re going to need more covering than that.” She turned and left, closing the door behind her.

  Diana went to one of the windows and peered outside. It was nearly dark, but the lamp in the yard illuminated the white ground as well as the snow descending in fat white clumps. “I can’t believe how much it’s snowing. I’ve never seen such big flakes.” She squinted. “Or maybe that’s a bunch of flakes stuck together.” She began to worry about how long they might be trapped here.

  Turning from the window, she went to the hearth, where Simon had started a nice fire. She held her hands out to the warmth that it was just starting to generate.

  He stood and brushed his hands on his breeches as he went to the window closest to the fireplace. His exhalation made her turn partially toward him.

  “It doesn’t look good, does it?” she asked. “What if we can’t leave tomorrow?”

  “There isn’t much we can do if that happens. At least we’re here and not stuck out there with no place to stay.”

  Yes, that was a blessing. But that didn’t mean she had to be happy about staying here. “I will hope for a speedy thaw.”

  He rejoined her at the fire, peering at her askance. “I own I’m looking forward to the cat on the bed. Do you like cats?” His mouth tilted up. “Kitty?”

  She laughed softly at her alias. “I suppose I should.” She threw a glance at the too-small bed and wondered if the cat would be kind enough to act as a barrier. “I’ve never had one.” Her father always had a pack of large hounds. The animals showed their allegiance to him and him alone, which was the way he preferred it.

  Simon arched a brow at her. “Indeed? Not even in the kitchen to chase the mice away?”

  “I don’t know. I was never allowed in the kitchen.”

  “Never? Not even to sneak a cake?”

  She’d tried once, when she was five, but that had earned her a week of nothing but bread and broth, and she hadn’t been allowed cakes for a month. “My parents didn’t like me spending time with the retainers.” That was true enough. Long-buried memories rose to the front of her mind, and she flinched.

  “Cold?” Simon asked, apparently noticing her movement.

  “Y-yes. Warming up, though.” She shoved the thoughts away, annoyed that her parents and her upbringing had intruded on her so much. She longed to focus on the future, to hopefully put her past behind her and maybe be like the cats here…happy.

  “Good.”

  A rap on the door was followed by Mrs. Woodlawn greeting them again. “I’ve brought extra blankets.” She set them on the bed. “I’ll make sure one of my boys tends your fire while you’re downstairs for dinner. That is, if you’re coming down for dinner?”

  Simon’s stomach growled, causing Diana to stifle a smile. He was always ravenous when they arrived at their evening destination. “Goodness yes, why wouldn’t we?”

  Diana was fairly certain it had been a rhetorical question, but Mrs. Woodlawn answered it nonetheless. “There’s a couple who arrived before you, and they’ve asked to have dinner in their room. It’s no trouble to bring yours up, if that’s what you prefer.”

  “All the way up here?” Simon shook his head. “Absolutely not. We look forward to dining in the common room. Your hospitality is beyond compare, Mrs. Woodlawn.”

  She blushed, and her chest seemed to puff up. “Thank you, Mr. Byrd. We’ll see you downstairs shortly—the mutton smells delicious!” She flashed them a smile as she took herself fro
m the room, closing the door behind her.

  Diana turned, warming her neglected backside. “You’re a kindhearted gentleman. I think that’s a rarity for men in your class.”

  “Is it?” he asked softly. “I aim to be pleasant and unobtrusive.” He turned his attention to the fire, and she wondered if that was a hint of color stealing up his neck, or if it was merely a reflection of the flames.

  He wanted people to like him. And why wouldn’t he when the majority treated him as if he carried the plague? “I find you quite pleasant,” she said.

  When his gaze found hers, his eyes were intensely dark, the color of the coffee her father drank, with just a few of the gold flecks smoldering in their depths. The moment stretched between them until she felt warm all over and was fairly certain it wasn’t due to the fire.

  Finally, she blinked and looked away. “Shall we go downstairs?”

  “Yes, I think we must.” He opened the door for her and waited for her to pass, giving her a wide berth and trailing her down the stairs.

  There were several people in the common room already. A couple in their fifties greeted them and introduced themselves as Mr. and Mrs. Emerson.

  “I’m Byrd, and this is my wife,” Simon said, smiling, as they moved farther into the common room. His hand lightly grazed the small of her back, and she realized she’d become accustomed to his light touches. Just as she’d become comfortable with playing the part of his wife. If it weren’t for him calling her Miss Kingman when they were out of earshot of others, she might have forgotten that was really her name.

  “Pleased to meet you,” Mrs. Emerson said. She possessed kind, light blue eyes and a warm smile. “You sound as if you’re from the south.”

  Simon nodded. “Indeed we are. And you have the lilt of a northerner.”

  “Leeds,” Mr. Emerson said, his still-dark brows in contrast to his mostly gray hair. “On our way to Birmingham to see our son for the holidays. Or we were until the snow put a stop to our journey.” He sounded a bit frustrated.

  Mrs. Emerson touched his arm. “It will be all right. I doubt we’ll be stuck here long. In any case, it looks to be a happy group. Whom I’ve met anyway. Apparently, there’s a couple who aren’t coming down to dinner.” She pointed to a pair of women seated in the corner. “That’s Mrs. Haskins and her daughter. They seem lively. They asked if we played cards.” She blinked at Diana and Simon. “Do you?”

  “Somewhat.” Simon cast a reassuring look at Diana. He hadn’t yet taught her to play.

  “And those gentlemen over there are brothers,” Mrs. Emerson continued, inclining her head to the pair of men standing near the hearth with cups in their hands. “The Misters Pickford.”

  The sound of several feet clambering down the stairs drew them all to turn their heads. “Ah, this must be the charming Taft family. Please excuse me, I must go see that darling girl.”

  Girl? Diana only recalled the two boys, but perhaps she’d missed something.

  Mr. Emerson pivoted toward the bar that ran along the back wall. “I’m going to fetch an ale. Do you want one, Byrd?”

  “No, thank you.” Simon’s gaze was trained on the base of the stairs, where the Taft family had just emerged. Mrs. Emerson greeted them, much the way she had Simon and Diana. She immediately took a small girl, perhaps two or three years old, from the mother’s arms, and spoke to her animatedly.

  The boys dashed off to one of the larger tables, where they sat down and pulled out toy soldiers. Diana started to take a step toward the family. “Shall we go and welcome them?”

  He grabbed her arm tightly, almost painfully. “No.”

  She turned her head and looked at him sharply. “That hurts.”

  His eyes widened, and he blanched, dropping his hand from her immediately. “I’m terribly sorry.” The apology was soft and raspy, almost anguished.

  Something about his demeanor worried her. It was worse than the concern he’d displayed earlier when the storm had started. “Let’s go and sit down, then.”

  When he didn’t move, she gently touched his arm and guided him to turn. He allowed her to lead him to a table in the opposite corner from the Haskins’. She sat so that she could see the room, while Simon’s chair pointed toward the corner. Whatever was bothering him, hopefully he could put it out of his mind.

  “Is it too late to have that ale, I wonder?” he murmured.

  She’d heard him, and it only added to her growing alarm. She leaned across the table. “You want ale? I can get it.” She started to rise, but he reached over and briefly touched her hand.

  “No, I wasn’t serious. I’m not going to drink any ale.”

  “Tea, then. I’ll get some tea.” She got up and hurried to the bar, where she asked the innkeeper for a pot of tea. If he found the request odd, he didn’t say so, for which she was relieved. Simon’s drinking habits weren’t normal, but they were perfectly respectable.

  She’d heard he didn’t drink spirits, and he’d confirmed that. What they hadn’t discussed was why. The rumor was that it was because of his wife’s death, that he’d been stinking drunk when she’d tumbled down the stairs. If that were true, she could well understand why he would abstain. Why then would he suggest he might want an ale now?

  A high-pitched squeal drew her to turn to where Mrs. Taft sat with her daughter at the largest table in the room. The boys were there playing with their soldiers, and a gentleman, perhaps Mr. Taft, seemed to be the reason for the child’s excitement. He had a doll in his hand and was hiding it beneath his jacket only to pull it back out with a grand flourish. He did this three times before delivering her the toy. And each time, she squealed and laughed happily.

  Diana made her way back toward the table. Simon had turned his head and was staring at the family again. She sat down and when he still didn’t avert his attention away from them, calmly asked.

  “Is there something wrong?”

  He looked at her, appearing startled. “No.”

  She didn’t believe him. His color was off, and she could tell he was tense. “I think you’ve mistaken me for someone who doesn’t know you. Something is definitely wrong. You seem upset.”

  “You know me, then?”

  “As well as you know me.” Her mind jolted back to Coventry and just how well he’d come to know her. Perhaps she didn’t know him as well as he knew her.

  “It’s the child.” He turned his gaze away from her, staring out the window into the dark night. “She reminds me of… Never mind. Where’s the tea?”

  “It’s coming.” Suddenly, she knew the reason for his distress. The child reminded him of the child he lost. Along with his wife. Though she couldn’t quite fathom the depth of his emotion, she felt a surge of empathy. “I’m so sorry. I think you must have loved your wife very much.” That detail was never part of the tales surrounding his past.

  “I did.”

  Without hesitation, she reached over and clasped his hand atop the table. His gaze snapped to hers. She said nothing, just gave his fingers a squeeze.

  He arched a brow at her. “Careful. You’re behaving like a wife.”

  “Or a friend.” She withdrew her hand as the innkeeper deposited a tray with the tea service on the table.

  Mr. Woodlawn wiped his hands on his apron. “Dinner will be out in a few minutes.”

  “Thank you.” Diana poured their tea.

  “You’re managing me,” he said.

  “I’m helping. You’re not going to be an arrogant toad, are you?”

  He let out a laugh that warmed her. “God, I hope not. You’re welcome to cuff me if I behave in such a manner.”

  “I’ll do that.” She wanted to ask about his wife, but, seeing that his mood was starting to pick up, abandoned the topic. Some day there would be an appropriate time for them to discuss what had happened and, more importantly, his feelings about that.

  She hoped.

  Perhaps they’d part ways before that happened. Wanting him to know she cared, she said, “
I’m here should you ever wish to unburden yourself.”

  He gave her a saucy look, and it seemed he was back to his regular self. “That could be taken any number of ways, Mrs. Byrd.”

  She rolled her eyes as she lifted her teacup. “Here comes our dinner.”

  They kept the conversation light as they ate their meal, but she noticed he avoided the children and seemed relieved when the Tafts went upstairs. Not long after, they said good night to the remaining patrons and made their way up to their small second-floor room.

  Diana allowed him to help her disrobe, but they were quick about it. He presented his back while she finished dressing for bed, and didn’t turn around until she had the covers pulled up to her chin. The familiar rolled-up blanket was situated between them but she realized she was very near the edge of the narrow bed.

  A few minutes later, he climbed in beside her and pulled the blankets up. “Ah, I’m afraid I don’t have much space,” he said gently. “Can you move over a bit?”

  “Unfortunately, I can’t.” She winced, knowing what was coming next and frustrated with herself for not having the courage to suggest it first.

  “We could remove the blanket. Honestly, it’s cold enough that I think I would appreciate the extra covering. What’s more, combining our body heat without the barrier is probably smart.”

  He said it so matter-of-factly, as if there weren’t a multitude of things that could arise from sharing a bed so intimately. But really, what was she afraid of? He wouldn’t take liberties, of that she was certain.

  Then what was it?

  That she’d want him to.

  Oh, yes, that was a true fear, and one she mustn’t think about. Fears only became worse if you entertained them.

  He broke into her rambling thoughts. “It’s all right, I’ll make do.” He started to turn, and the bed creaked with his movement.

  “No, you’re right. We should move the blanket.” She pulled it up from beneath the covers and sat up to unroll it.

  He joined her, and their hands touched as they both reached to spread it out across the bed. Their gazes locked in the dim light from the fire—and held.

  She didn’t know how long they sat like that, but it was long enough for a thrill to steal across her shoulders. She shivered.