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A shame he wasn’t inclined toward women.
She really should put some effort into talking with the man. Not only was she supposed to pretend to be his betrothed, she was going to be stuck with him for the next several weeks. Weeks that with any luck could progress with a modicum of pleasantness, or in stony silence if she didn’t soon put forth a question or two and some concentrated interest in his answers.
Her fingers curled, soaking in the heat from the fire, and she realized she could finally move them enough to strip out of her heavy wet clothes.
She untied her dark blue poke bonnet and set it on the table, then unstrapped her leather sheath holding a small dagger from around her right calf. After untying her boots, she peeled off her soaked stockings and set her toes onto the marble hearth in front of the fire. Heaven.
Her fingers went to work on thebrass buttonslining the front of her pelisse. The wool weave ofthe dark indigo bluecloth had expanded and her fingers struggled to pop each button free. A shame that she’d chosen this pelisse, as half of the buttons were purely decorative, not really needed to clasp the front of the coat closed.
Just as she pulled one sopping arm free from the sleeve, a quick knock rapped on the door and it opened without her response.
Evan poked his head into the room, glancing about before entering. Balanced on his wide hand was a large silver platter withacloche atop. Nudging her hat to the side, he set it onto the table by her gloves and then stepped back out into the corridor, retrieving a bottle of wine and two glasses from the floor.
His eyes darted about the room and then he looked at the table where he’d set it close to the fire. “Do you mind if I move the table? One of us can sit on the bed, the other on the chair.”
She flipped her hand in the air as she pulled her other arm free of the pelisse. “That makes the most sense.”
It was farther away from the fire than she liked, but if she sat on the bed, she’d still be in the warmest part of the room.
As Evan moved the table and chair into place, she turned back to the fire after draping her pelisse off the wooden rungs of the foot of the bed. The top of her dress was cut wide for ease while traveling, and she peeled off the wet cloth from her left shoulder, then the right. Her hips moving side to side, she wiggled out of the wet cold of the muslin, letting it drop to her feet.
Her fingers touched the belly of her shift.
Damn.
She’d hoped the rain hadn’t soak all the way to her skin, but it had.
With a sigh, she loosened her short stays, removing them, and then pulled off her shift. The warmth of the fire finally cut through the air to her skin and she nudged her toes closer to the flames. There was absolutely nothing more glorious than the heat of a blaze on bare skin.
“What in the blasted purgatory is this?”
Evan’s roar shook the floorboards beneath her heels.
She whipped around, expecting a burglar to have made way into the room. Or for Evan to have cut himself. Surely blood must be involved for the yell that had just scared her half-to-Hades.
Nothing. No blood. No blackguard trying to steal their valuables.
Just Evan standing there, staring at her body, his face red in pulsating outrage. “Bloody hell, then ye think to turn around? Put a wrapper or a shift on, Juliet.”
Her brow furrowed. “Why?”
He dove at the bed, ripping the coverlet from the top and holding it wide between them as he moved around the table to advance on her. “Because I’m a bloody man and you’re a woman—a beautiful woman—and I don’t care to walk around with my ballocks twisted in pain the rest of the evening.”
Her head jerked back “What? But I thought…”
“You thought what?” With his head turned to the side, he waved the coverlet between them.
She took the hint and grabbed the edges of the scratchy grey cloth, draping it in front of her body and then wrapping it around her backside. “I thought you wouldn’t care. I thought you…you weren’t interested in women.” Her left hand gripped onto the front fold of the coverlet above her breasts as her right hand flew out at him, waving. “That you preferred something else. Something more akin to yourself.”
“Prefer something else?” His entire forehead folded into deep wrinkles until her meaning took root. He looked at her, his grey eyes now icy as they pinned her. “Why in the hell would you think that?”
Her hand swung in a circle between them. “Because…because…you. Who needs a fake bride to show off to his ill grandfather? You’re to be an earl—plenty of women would want to marry you. And most of them come bearing tidy dowries.”
“That doesn’t mean I want to marry them.” His gaze dipped to the coverlet wrapped around her front side and he shook his head, taking one step back to the table. Turning pointedly to the food, he sat on the chair and took theclocheoff the platter, grabbing one of the plates and clanking it onto the table in front of him. Without waiting for her, he dug into the slab of beef and potatoes on his plate.
She stared at him.
Not want to marry them? Who was he? Jasper had this wrong. Maybe Evan wasn’t truly an heir to a title. A real lord would be consumed with finding an advantageous wife to add to his family’s household. Producing heirs.
