Page 42 of Charming Artemis

With the door closed once more, he turned to Artemis. “It appears we have roast chicken and boiled potatoes. I spy a bit of spelt wheat bread.”

“But what is the secret treat?” She was kneeling on the bed in a long night rail, watching him with wide, excited eyes. She was so remarkably relatable in that moment. This was a lady he could see himself having a great many larks with. A far cry from the unreachable ice sculpture she so often insisted on being.

“Boiled potatoes,” he said in answer to her question.

She snatched up a pillow. “Do not make me toss this at you.”

“I’d not do that if I were you,” he said. “You might knock the potatoes off the tray; then where would you be?”

She laughed and dropped back against her other pillows. “You are impossible, Charlie.”

He took up the little bowl of bread pudding and a spoon from the tray and carried it over to her. “Your special treat.”

“Oh, itisbread pudding.” She took it from him and held it in her hands, taking in the aroma with a sigh.

“I know it’s a particular favorite of yours.”

“It is.”

He walked around the bed and pulled the curtains closed on two sides. They’d taken this approach at the previous inns. He could change for the night that way without embarrassing either of them.

As he tugged his jacket and waistcoat off, he could hear her spoon clang against the bowl.

He pulled off his boots, not so snug that he couldn’t get them off on his own. “How is your secret treat?”

“Delightful,” she said.

He laughed. “You sound like a little girl who’s been let loose in a sweetshop.”

“We had a sweetshop in Heathbrook. I used to stand outside and press my face against the glass and dream of being permitted to have something,anythingfrom inside.”

“Did you ever get to?” he asked.

“Five times,” she said. “A peppermint. A butterscotch. An anise twist. A chocolate-covered almond. And another peppermint.”

“You remember your visits there well,” he said.

“I do.” She sighed with nostalgia. “Those were five of the best days of my entire life.”

Charlie was down to only his trousers. He generally slept in his small clothes—long nightshirts always tangled and bunched in uncomfortable ways—but had made a point of not reaching that state of undress until the candles were blown out and Artemis was asleep for the night. He put on the dressing gown Rose had left on the settee for him. She had very kindly agreed to help them with the logistics of all this since he didn’t have a valet. Charlie wished he had the means of raising her salary.

He tied the sash of his dressing gown. It covered his bare chest, and his trousers kept his legs from peeking out scandalously. “What would you like for your supper?”

“I can fetch it for myself.”

“I know you can, but you shouldn’t have to. You’re tucked in and comfortable. It’ll be easier for me to prepare you a plate.” He looked back at her. The table was on the same side of the bed as the open curtain. “A little bit of everything?”

“Yes, please.”

He’d not attended many balls, the place at which most gentlemen gained experience creating a supper plate for a lady, but he felt he did a decent job of it just then. After snatching up a set of utensils, he crossed to the bed and set the plate and cutlery on the bedside table.

“Anything else I can get for you?”

She shook her head no.

He hoped she would tell him if she wanted more. Though Rose had insisted Artemis was merely tired, he wasn’t fully assured that was the case.

“Is there a reason you don’t have a valet?” she asked as he made a plate for himself.

---