Page 9 of Barely a Woman
Morgan followed him like a frightened colt as he climbed the stairs and entered the room. Steadman found the young man’s deep unease a bit mystifying. Perhaps his vicar father had raised his son to be a prude. He’d known the type before. Steadman dumped his baggage next to the fire and began peeling out of his damp clothing. Morgan, meanwhile, launched an intense observation of the utter darkness beyond the room’s window, silent as the dead. After laying his clothes before thefire, Steadman considered discarding his shirt as well before shrugging and crawling into the bed. He fixed his attention on Morgan, who was still staring out the window with baggage and bedroll in hand.
“Morgan.”
“Sir?” The reply was a squeak.
“Lay out your baggage and clothing before the fire and climb into bed. Unless, that is, you make a habit of sleeping upright as would a cow.”
Morgan turned from the window and slid along the perimeter of the room to the fire as if inspecting the wallpaper along the way. Steadman shook his head and rolled away from the young man to face the wall, hoping sleep would come quickly. Minutes passed before the bed creaked as Morgan lowered himself carefully onto the far side of the cramped bed. The smell of damp fabric invaded Steadman’s nose.
“Mr. Brady.”
“Sir.”
“Are you still wearing your suit?
Silence. “Yes.”
“Why?”
Further silence. “To be ready.”
“Ready for what?”
“Ready to go. In the morning.”
Silence.
“Mr. Brady.”
“Sir?”
“At least remove your coat and lay it by the fire.”
“Yes, sir.”
The creak of the bed signaled his rising. After another minute, it creaked again when he returned. Steadman continued to face the wall, waiting for Morgan to settle in. That did not happen.
“Mr. Brady.”
“Sir?”
“Why do you hug the edge of the bed?”
“This is how I sleep.”
“As if a bird perched on a ledge?”
Silence.
“Yes. But did you know that mallards can sleep with one eye open?”
“Fascinating, Morgan. In that case…” He rolled to his back to consume most of the bed. “I will enjoy the lion’s share of the space. If you require more of the bed at any point, just shove me aside.”
Sleep came quickly to Steadman, and he with a smile on his lips.
Chapter Four
Morgan spent the long night exploring the idiom “not sleeping a wink” while perching on twelve inches of bed to avoid brushing Steadman. She eventually cried surrender and crept carefully onto the floor for a period of fitful sleep. At some point, Steadman’s loud mumble yanked her into wide-eyed wakefulness. He spoke again, a slur of dream-induced words. Although indecipherable, the tone was unmistakable. Ache. She sat up with the indistinct urge to wake him, to offer comfort. Then the reality of her situation careened toward her and drove her into the ditch. She was alone in a bedroom with perhaps the most attractive man in all of England and he saw in her only an unseasoned boy. To stave off crying, she rose quietly, retrieved her now-dry coat, and slipped into the hallway. She leaned her forehead against the wall.
