Scarlett’s pulse hammered in her ears. “Robert?—”
He paused, glancing back, waiting.
She swallowed, words tangling on her tongue.
Say something, fool. Anything but thank ye again.
“Daenae take too long. Me belly might riot without ye.”
That drew a chuckle from him. “Aye. I’ll hurry, lest the innkeeper think I’ve married a wolf.”
Scarlett wrinkled her nose at him, but warmth spread through her chest at his laughter. He opened the door, and just before stepping out, his eyes found hers again, as though he meant to speak but thought better of it.
The door shut, leaving her alone with the crackle of the fire and the steam curling from the tub.
Scarlett pressed a hand to her necklace, her skin prickling where his gaze had lingered. She sank on the edge of the bed, her heart still racing.
God help me—, she thought, staring at the door.
What am I to do with a man like him?
The door creaked open on a gust of rain and cold. Robert stepped inside, balancing a tray heavy with two bowls and a hunk of bread. The fire had burned lower, but its glow was enough to set the whole scene before him.
Scarlett was curled beneath the quilt, damp hair spilling across her shoulders in loose waves. Her cheeks glowed pink from the heat of the bath, and the rise of the covers betrayed the long,bare line of her collarbone. Her gown hung across the back of a chair near the hearth, dripping slowly onto the stone floor.
For a moment, Robert only stood there, tray in hand, and his chest tightening.
She looked… God help him, like temptation made flesh.
Scarlett’s eyes found his, and she flushed deeper. “I’ve nothing to wear,” she said quickly, tugging the quilt higher. “That’s why I’m here under the covers.”
Robert set the tray down by the fire with deliberate care though his gaze never left her. “Aye,” he said at last. “And ye look the bonniest I’ve ever seen ye.”
Her breath caught. “Robert…”
He straightened, peeling off his wet cloak then his jerkin. His movements were slow, steady, as though he knew she watched him. “Daenae look at me like that if ye mean to scold me for saying truth.”
Scarlett pressed her lips together, her chin tilting stubbornly. “Ye’ve a heavy hand with truth, then. I’m half-dressed, Robert. What else would ye expect me to do?”
“Appreciate it,” he returned, deadpan.
Her eyes widened, scandalized. “Appreciate?”
He chuckled, a deep rumble in his chest, and moved toward the fire to stir the logs. Sparks flared, throwing light across his features, sharp and strong. “Ye think me a brute, lass, but I’ve eyes. And what they see…” He shook his head. “I willnae lie about it.”
Scarlett sank lower into the covers though a reluctant smile tugged at her mouth. “Ye’re insufferable.”
“Aye. And yet ye keep talking to me.”
Her fingers twisted the quilt. “Because silence would make it worse.”
Robert set the tray on the bed beside her, the steam from the stew curling into the air. The smell was rich meat, onions, and herbs, comforting in a way she hadn’t expected.
“Eat,” he said, voice firm but not unkind.
Scarlett arched a brow with her spoon poised. “Does every word out of yer mouth have to sound like an order?”
His lips twitched, almost a smile. “Only when ye’re stubborn enough to need it.”
