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She shook her head. “I may cry.”
He hesitated. “Is that good or bad?”
“It’s terrible.” She swallowed hard, then pressed both hands to her cheeks as she tilted her neck to view the elaborate carved ceiling.
He took a step toward her. “Is there something wrong with the rooms?”
“Oh, no,” she said. “Nothing. That’s the problem.”
Now he was thoroughly confused.
She finally took pity on him and explained. “Rhys, this suite is … stunning. Elegant. Palatial. It’s enough to throw me into abject despair. If these are the sort of accommodations to which people of rank are accustomed, how can I ever hope to appease them at the Three Hounds? Why, one of the inn’s new bedchambers would likely fit in that closet!”
“That’s not true.”
“That’s not the point.” Sniffing, she turned to him. “Just look at this place. How can the inn ever hope to compete with establishments such as these?”
So. The superior quality of the place had her upset, not some deficiency. Smiling with relief, he crossed to her side and slid an arm around her shoulders. “Don’t you worry. You’re not competing with establishments like this one. This is one of the grandest hotels in all England. A resort for the country’s wealthiest lords and ladies. The Three Hounds is a coaching inn. Even the nobility have modest expectations when it comes to coaching inns.”
“Ah,” she said. “I see. So I still have some hope of meeting those ‘modest expectations’?”
Tsking softly, he squeezed her shoulder. “You’re already exceeding them.” When her shoulder muscles remained tense under his fingers, he added, “I’ve ordered a hot bath and a hot meal sent up. I know you find this suite devastating in its refinement, but try not to fling yourself off the balcony.”
She laughed and brightened instantly. “I’m sorry. I know I’m being ridiculous.” Turning in his embrace, she kissed his cheek. “Thank you. It’s simply magnificent.”
“Well, that’s better.” He released her, giving her an affectionate pat on the backside, and she immediately left his side to begin a closer inspection of a decorative alcove.
“Should I call for a servant to help you unpack?” he asked, crossing to their baggage where it sat by a large wardrobe. “Or do you trust me to play lady’s maid?”
“As you like,” she muttered distractedly, craning her neck to peer atop a high shelf and testing its cleanliness with her fingertip.
Rhys doubted she’d heard a word he’d said, but he took it upon himself to unpack the valises. The army had given him years of experience in packing and unpacking quickly. After shrugging out of his greatcoat, he set to work. He shook out and refolded their inner garments, then hung his coats next to her gowns. Of course, he had separate closets planned for the cottage, but he had to admit—he liked seeing their clothing mingled in the same wardrobe, her stockings nestled next to his cravats. It looked right, and—if a hulking brute of man like him could say such a thing—it looked sweet.
It also aroused him something fierce.
As he worked, Meredith made a slow circuit of the sitting room. She stopped to peer at each small object, inspected each stick of furniture and decorative detail. He could sense her making mental notes, storing up ideas and inspiration to bring home to the Three Hounds.
“I could never hang velvet drapes at the inn,” she lamented, fingering the edge of one dark blue curtain. “The dust would be horrible.” Her head tilted. “But I do like the way they’ve hung these draperies near the ceiling and let them fall almost to the ground. Makes the window appear larger than it is. I’ll have to remember that.”
Chewing her lip with concentration, she wandered off into the bedchamber.
Rhys sighed. When was she going to realize that a return to innkeeping wasn’t in her future? With an impatient yank, he dragged a pale, gauzy shift free of her valise. He wished she would cease paying so much attention to the furnishings and spare a thought for him.
“Oh!”
Her exclamation of surprise tugged him across the room. From the arch separating sitting room and bedchamber, he spied her at the side of the bed.
Theenormousbed. The carved mahogany posts were hung with rich draping, and the bed itself was a billowing cloud of snow-white pillows and counterpanes.
“Oh, my,” she said. “What a bed. I’ve never seen its like.” Placing both hands flat on the mattress, she leaned forward, testing its softness and give. As she bounced her arms up and down, her bosom and backside teetered cheekily, as if in invitation.
Rhys’s hands fisted in the tissue-thin muslin, wrinkling it irrevocably. He cleared his throat. “Yes.”
She turned and looked at him. Her dark eyebrows rose, as though she expected him to go on.
He didn’t have a damn thing else to say. The only word in his brain wasyes. Yes, yes, yes.
Well, and perhaps the wordnow.
