Page 53 of Married to a Frozen Duke
This time she did laugh—a quiet sound, but genuine. It was different from the laughs he'd heard at society events, the calculated tinkles designed to sound appropriate. This was unexpected, slightly snorting, entirely improper.
"You snort when you laugh," he observed.
"I do not!"
"You absolutely do."
"How flattering. First I'm a bad luck charm, now I snort."
They were interrupted by the innkeeper approaching with a ledger. "Begging your pardon, but if you could sign the register? For the room?"
Alexander took the offered quill and signed with perhaps more flourish than necessary: 'The Duke and Duchess of Montclaire.'
The innkeeper's eyes widened as he read it. "Your Grace! I didn't... that is, I'm sorry for the... the room's not..."
"The room is fine," Ophelia said quickly. "We're grateful for your hospitality."
"But Your Graces should have the best room! I could move the Weatherbys..."
"No," Alexander said firmly. "We don't displace other guests."
The innkeeper looked like he might argue, but Ophelia touched his arm gently. "Truly, we're perfectly comfortable. Though perhaps... might there be hot water for a bath?"
"Of course, Your Grace! Right away!"
He scurried off, and Alexander looked at Ophelia. "A bath?"
"We're both covered in mud. Unless you plan to sleep that way?"
Sleep. In that tiny room. With that one bed.
He must have shown something on his face because she added quietly, "I can sleep in the chair."
"Don't be ridiculous."
"Then you sleep in the chair?"
"It's too small."
"Then...?"
They looked at each other, both clearly arriving at the same conclusion and equally unhappy about it.
"We're married," she said finally. "It's just sleeping."
"Just sleeping," he agreed.
"Like brother and sister."
"I don't have a sister."
"Like cousins then."
"My cousin Frederick once put a frog in my bed."
"I promise not to put anything in the bed."
"How reassuring."
