Page 25 of The Duke of My Desire

“Good morning.” His voice was a husky rumble of arousal and embarrassment.

Justina rolled onto her other side and propped up on one elbow, watching as he crossed the carpet to the hearth.

“I gather the cot was unsatisfactory?” she prodded when it became obvious he had no intention of speaking anytime soon.

“The cot was unbearable,” he said, picking up the fire poker and giving the now-cold coals a good poke. “I spent nearly two hours trying to sleep on it before I finally gave up.” He flicked her a searching glance. “I hope you don’t mind that I...joined you.”

His cheeks had gone red, and tempted though she was to tease him, she refrained. “Of course I don’t mind. A good night’s sleep is important.”

His discomfort was sweet. The world could use a few more genuine gentlemen like Gregory. Her stomach gave a hearty growl then, reminding her that it had been several hours since its last feeding. Tossing the covers back, she climbed out of bed and padded to the wardrobe to retrieve her valise.

“I’m famished,” she said, merely to fill the silence which had settled over the room, cloying and not entirely comfortable. No doubt, on account of the duke’s morning erection. “I hope breakfast is as good as dinner was.”

“So do I,” Gregory said. “I feel as though I could eat a horse.”

They spent the next few minutes chattering about what they hoped to eat while they readied themselves for the day, and then they left their room and headed for the stairs.

“I never have liked to eat fish in the morning,” Justina was saying as she began to descend the stairs towards the common room. “But then, I’m not overly fond of fish at any time of⁠—”

She broke off, freezing mid-step as she caught sight of a man below, walking past the foot of the stairs, tall and lean with blond hair curling around his beaver hat.

“Justina? Is something amiss?” Gregory asked.

She pursed her lips, her gaze still fixed on the landing below. “I just saw Lord Lovelace.”

There was a beat of silence, and then he said, “Are you certain it was him?”

“Yes. It was him.” She nibbled her lower lip and considered what to do next. “He was heading for the door, so I think he was leaving.”

Gregory nodded. “We gave false names when we checked in, so if he spoke with the innkeeper, he would have been told that no Justina Dunne had been here.”

“He might have asked if a lady matching my description has been here,” she pointed out.

“True. But only a couple of guests and the innkeeper and his wife have seen us, and you’re traveling with me, which Lovelace probably doesn’t know.”

She nodded, trying to be reassured by his words, but she couldn’t help feeling uneasy.

“Come, let’s go back to our room,” Gregory said. “I’ll have some food sent up, and while I’m doing that, I’ll ask the innkeeper if anyone has asked about you.”

At the mention of food, Justina’s stomach rumbled, reminding her it still had not been fed. The prospect of eating did not sound terribly appealing just now, but her body was in need of sustenance, and she would not deny it.

“It’s going to be all right, Justina,” Gregory said as he escorted her into their room.

She gave him a wan smile. “I know. I’m fine. Truly.”

He studied her for another moment as if wanting to say more but when he spoke again, it was only to say, “I’ll be back shortly. Lock the door behind me.”

Justina did as he instructed, locking the door after he’d gone, and as she leaned her back against the cool, hard oak, she had to shut her eyes against the tumult of emotion rushing through her.

“Dash it all,” she muttered.

She’d lied to Gregory. She wasn’t fine. Not at all. She was worried and frustrated and so bloody angry she could scream.

The next ten minutes passed as if through treacle while Justina paced the small room, glancing obsessively at the simple mahogany clock on the mantel.

Finally, a soft knock sounded on the door before Gregory’s muffled voice announced his return.

Quickly, Justina unlocked the door and let him inside. “Well?” she demanded, locking the door again before turning to face him. “Was it him?”