Page 37 of A Contracted Spouse for the Prizefighter

As though picking up on his thoughts, Dora leaned forward in her chair. “I am sorry I did not raise that other matter between us before now, Clem,” she said earnestly. “You see, I did not initially think that—well—” She plucked at her skirts. “It would be something we would be navigating in our marriage.”

Clem considered her a moment. He was damned if he was going to admit he had thought the same thing. “Don’t give it another thought,” he said instead. “Have you finished that?”

Dora glanced down at the glass in her hand. She nodded, setting it down.

“Let’s go up to our room then,” he said abruptly. “I need to smoke.”

ELEVEN

Clem had ordered drinks sent up to their room, so no sooner had Dora settled herself in a chair by the window, then there was a rap at the door. Clem, who had been removing his jacket, crossed the room to answer it. The waiter set down a sherry for Dora and a whiskey for Clem and, after being tipped, discreetly disappeared.

“Do you know, I think Dora Dabney makes a very good stage name,” she said musingly. “It has a nice ring to it, don’t you think? Better than Theodora Fields.”

“You want to take that as your stage name?” For some reason, he was not entirely pleased by the notion.

“Unless you would rather I did not use your name,” she said, noticing his frown.

That was when Clem realized that was not the part he objected to. Dora was what he called her. He liked that he was the only one to use it. How strange. To cover his confusion, he carried her sherry over and set it down on a small table for her. “Not at all. It is your name now, as well as mine.”

She smiled and Clem picked up his own drink. "Sláinte,” he said succinctly.

Dora hastened to pick up her glass. “Cheers,” she agreed and took a sip. “What does that mean?”

“Good health, I believe. My uncles always said it.”

“Are they Scots?”

“Irish.”

“Ah. Do you know any more Gaelic?”

He shook his head. “They didn’t raise me. I was fifteen when my uncle took me in.”

Dora nodded. “We have that in common,” she said thoughtfully. “Though I was only six when my uncle became our guardian.”

“You liked him,” he observed, watching her face as something snagged her attention out of the window.

She leaned forward, staring intently before answering him absently. “Oh yes, he was the best of men.”

She had a good profile, Clem thought, though her nose was perhaps a little long. It would be pressed up against the glass in a minute. “Enjoying the view?” he asked lazily. She was too caught up to answer him. This time he knew better than to ask if she had spotted someone she knew. For some reason, Dora liked gazing at strangers. Who was he to judge how she found amusement in it?

He watched her in silence a moment before she turned her head to blink at him. “I’m sorry, did you say something?” she asked, coloring slightly.

“Let me see you without that hair piece,” he said, surprising them both.

She reached up straight away and unfastened the ringlets, setting them down and then fluffing her hair so it did not lay so smooth to her head. “What do you think?” she asked and bit her lip.

“Let me see the back.”

Obligingly, she stood up from her chair and turned around.

Clem cleared his throat. “I think it is fortunate you have a shapely neck.”

“Do you think so?” She sounded pleased with this, which was just as well for Clem could think of no other genuine compliment. In truth, he was shocked as hell.

“Do you want me to grow it back?” she asked shrewdly.

Clem hesitated. He could not answer this truthfully without causing offense. Then again, once she had been through her disastrous debut, she would no longer have a reason to go about with a shorn head. “Of course not,” he lied.