Page 11 of A Gentleman Never Surrenders
The cab rolled to a stop and the motion shook her awake. Milly was leaning not against the side of the vehicle but against the warm body of the man beside her. Owen. He had one arm around her shoulders and her head was tucked beneath his chin. He was resting his cheek against the crown of her hair, apparently having drifted off to sleep as well. Milly held still, her breath shallow as she took stock of the situation logically. Not an easy thing to do when her body was more than happy to remind her it was cozy and warm, and a little tingly too. Why did he, of all men, have to affect her like this? A devious little voice in her head laughed.
He is my husband…would it be so bad to enjoy this?
Yes. The man is a cad. A womanizer who ruined you and trapped you into marriage.
“Sir?” the cab driver prompted.
“What?” Owen jolted woke, then glanced down at her, her face reflecting her own sense of shock.
“My apologies,” Owen muttered. He removed his arm from her shoulders and leaned forward to speak to the driver about where to leave the car until they needed him tomorrow. Then Owen helped her out of the cab.
Milly realized it was evening. The light of the sun was barely a razor-thin shred of pink dawning on the horizon. She’d dozed off for a length of time, then. In front of her was a quaint little two-story building. An inn, with a wooden painted sign of a white rosebush.
“This way,” Owen said, taking her arm and tucking it into his as he led her to the door. They entered the cheery interior of the inn. Several tables were full of local folk who were dining and drinking. A man in the corner by the fire was entertaining the crowd with a lively fiddle. Owen approached the bar, where an older man was filling pints of ale.
“Good evening, Mr. Hunter. My wife and I have a room reservation under Hadley.”
The man smiled. “Ahh, Mr. Hadley, me and the missus was just wondering when you’d turn up. Long journey eh?” Mr. Hunter turned his warm smile at Milly and she found herself returning a sheepish smile.
“Yes, very long,” she agreed.
“Well”—Mr. Hunter slapped his bar towel on the counter—“no worries about that. I’ll take you straight up to your room and send a lad to fetch your luggage from the cab once it’s parked out back. The missus will see some hot food and drink sent up to you as well.” He walked over to a wooden plaque behind the bar that contained keys hanging from nails. The innkeeper plucked one brass key with a number on a silver tag attached to it.
“Follow me.” Hunter led them to a set of stairs with worn carpets. They tramped up behind him and down a narrow hall, where he stopped at the middle room and unlocked the door.
“This here is your room. I’ll see to the food and luggage. If you have need of anything, just come on down and find me.” As he left them, he set the keys in Owen’s hand.
“Thank you, Mr. Hunter.” Owen spread an arm wide to indicate for Milly to enter the room ahead of him.
She entered but froze at the sight of the single bed.
“Owen—” She spun but ran into his chest and had to stumble back.
“What’s the matter?” He caught her by the shoulders to steady her.
“There’s only one bed,” she pointed out with a panicked jerk of her head.
He nodded, not looking at all disturbed. “We’re married, Milly. If I had requested two rooms or even a pair of beds, it would have raised questions about us.”
“But we are married. Why would questions worry you?” she asked.
“I didn’t—” He rubbed a hand over his jaw and scowled. “I don’t have to explain my decisions to you. Now, get out of your coat and I’ll start a fire so you can warm up. You’re freezing.” He turned away to shut the door.
Milly would have bristled and said something waspish about him not having to explain his decisions, but she was cold and tired. Sliding her coat off her shoulders, she came over to the pair of chairs facing the fire and eased down onto the edge of the seat, leaning toward the cold, dark hearth. Owen swept his cap off his head and raked a hand through his dark hair as he knelt by the fireplace. She couldn’t help but study his fine form as he located a box of matches and a set of kindling before he began to prepare the fire. Milly watched him, fascinated. Once little flames sparked and glowed over the soft kindling, Owen added several logs, hoping to spread the fire until it warmed the room with a healthy heat.
“How did you know how to do that?” she asked as he stood and gazed at the little clock on the mantel. Without looking at her, he retrieved his silver pocket watch from his waistcoat and checked the time against the watch. He opened the glass case and tweaked the minute hand before closing the glass and turning back to her.
“Know to do what?”
Milly gestured to the fire. “Make a fire. I don’t know how to do that; my servants take care of lighting fires.”
Owen walked over to the bed and retrieved a thick woolen blanket from the end of it. He then held the wool out in front of the fire for a few minutes before he approached her and settled the blanket around her body.
“What are you doing?”
He tucked the blanket firmly around her, then pressed her back into the chair so the hot blanket warmed her from neck to bottom. The singeing sensation against her skin burned her deliciously. When he didn’t immediately reply, she decided to nudge him a little.
“Owen,” she murmured, wishing he’d speak to her. The silence between them was unsettling.
