"Do you hear the music?"
"Hmm. One of the cavalry officers, I believe. He's quite good."
"It's beautiful. Sad, but beautiful."
"'The Last Rose of Summer,' I think."
"You know it?"
"I had a... friend who used to play it." There was something in his voice, a weight of memory.
Catherine pressed her hand against the door, imagining him on the other side, perhaps doing the same. "A lady friend?"
"Why, Miss Mayfer, are you fishing for information about my romantic past?"
"Merely making conversation. We are trapped here together, after all."
"By choice, if you recall."
"Your choice to bid against me."
"Your choice to arrive at the exact same inn at the exact same time."
"Yes, how dare I flee the storm like every other sensible traveler."
"There's nothing sensible about you, Miss Mayfer."
She should have been offended, but something in his tone made it sound like a compliment. "You don't know me well enough to make that assessment."
"Don't I? In the space of an hour, you've argued with a strange man over lodgings, agreed to share rooms with said strange man, implied you carry pistols in your reticule, and are now conducting a conversation through a door like some sort of Shakespearean comedy."
"You forgot to mention that I also have excellent taste in tea."
"Ah yes, the expensive kind of tea. I had Hartwell send it up specially."
"You did?"
"Consider it an apology for attempting to steal your room."
"You mean for failing to steal my room."
"That too."
They stood there, separated by oak and propriety, listening to the violin's mournful tune. Catherine knew she should step away, return to her supper, maintain appropriate distance. But something kept her there; perhaps the storm, perhaps the music, perhaps the way his voice seemed to wrap around her like warmth from a fire.
"Tell me something true, Mr. Wrentham," she said impulsively.
"What kind of something?"
"Something you wouldn't normally tell a stranger."
There was a long pause. Then: "I hate this kind of tea."
Catherine burst out laughing. "Then why did you..."
"You seemed like the type who would appreciate it. Was I wrong?"
"No. I mean, yes, I love it, but..."
