The room rent apart, dresses and petticoats littering the floor and bed. He fisted his hair, was he too late, had–
“Jack?”
He pivoted.
Tamsyn, mouth aghast with two grey dresses in hand.
Striding over, he threw hands to her shoulders, patted her. “Are you well?”
“Of course. Stop it, I’m not a horse,” she groused, plunking the gowns on a pile and shoeing his hands away. “Whatisthe matter?”
“I…I was worried.”
On closer inspection, he could see the gowns were laid face up, although in a most haphazard manner, every grey imaginable strewn across every vacant surface – dove, slate, cloud, storm.
“Jack?” He curved his head to Oliver hovering in the doorway carrying sword and cloak. “The butler has no letters for you and the professor left half hour ago for the Treloor Inn.”
Baring his teeth, Jack twisted, emotions raging.
“I’ll be back soon, Tam.” And he yanked her into his arms to crush her lips beneath his.
“Oh, sod it,” he heard Oliver mutter, and cracking open one eye, he spied his half-brother haul Miss Treherne close for an equally thorough mauling.
Nowthatwas how a rogue did it.
Tamsyn flumped to the bed, quite at mops and brooms, creasing all the dresses as Jack and Mr Miggens rushed from her bedchamber in a flurry of buckskin and boots.
Befuddlement filled Lowdy’s eyes, fingers to her swollen lips.
She knew the feeling. Pudding-headed and hot.
Awfully hot.
They cleared their throats in tandem.
“Well,” said Tamsyn, “and to think I told Papa the afternoon would be uneventful.”
∞∞∞
“It’ll be lashing it down afore long, my lord,” the innkeeper shouted, words flying down the cobbled lane with the wind’s onslaught as he fought to tie the shutters. “Best not over-dawdle here.”
Sharp gusts had spat dust in their faces as they’d ridden to Treloor, and thick clouds now shrouded the sky, a deeper grey than any dress Tamsyn owned.
Yet still rain refused to fall, the air pungent and oppressive, causing limbs to weigh heavy and heads to throb.
“Is the professor here?”
A nod and a curse as the shutter whacked the keeper’s jaw. “Onto his fifth.”
They strode in, found him propped at the bar, and Jack grabbed his elbow, tugging him to the corner table. The professor teetered, collapsing into the seat.
“I say, Winters. D’you mind?”
“Where is my post?”
“Hmm? Oh, in my pocket. Was it urgent?” he said, extracting a thin letter. “I thought it would save you a trip but the butler told me you’d already left for Helston. Sorry about the slight stain. Used it in the library as a mat.”
Jack grabbed the letter, turned it.
