Page 10 of Christmas Spirit
“Your name. Roland? I am correct, aren’t I?”
“Er, yes. Yes, you are. But why did you think Roland? Most would assume Richard, or Robert.”
“I know exactly who you are, sir.” The old man inclined his head.
He knows Pendleton Manor, so—
“Your room is on the top floor. I’m sorry there’s nobody available to take your luggage.” He pointed to an ornate wooden staircase to the side of the door through which they had come. “I trust you will enjoy your stay.”
“Thank you. And your name is?”
“Why, sir, my name is Nicholas. Good evening to you both.”
Roland picked up his bag and with Georgie on his heels, headed for the staircase. He stopped. Dinner. How could he have forgotten to reserve a table?
“Can you tell me what time—?” he said, turning, but the reception desk was empty, the small light above it turned off, the area nothing more than shadow.
Chapter Seven
“This is completely unacceptable.”
The bed was huge and dominated the room. The fourposter must have been almost twice the size of a standard king-size. Red and gold brocaded curtains were attached to each of the posts by a large green bow. Sharing a room with Georgie was bad enough but sharing a bed, even one as large as this, was unthinkable. His chest tightened, and ice settled in his stomach. He hadn’t shared a bed with another man since—
Don’t go there. Don’teverbloody go there.
“Suppose I can sleep on the floor, or prop myself up in one of those chairs by the window,” Georgie muttered. “There’ll be spare pillows and blankets. You can have the bed, seeing that you’re paying for the room.” Georgie flushed.
The boy had pride, Roland had to give him that. His gaze fell to the chairs. They were upholstered in the same rich fabric as the curtains gathered at each post on the bed, and the curtains at the window, but they didn’t look like they’d make for a comfy night’s sleep.
Georgie dropped his battered rucksack by the side of one of the chairs, and pulled off his coat. He sat down on one and wrinkled his nose.
“It’s like sitting on a lump of stone.”
The old man, Nicholas, had clearly assumed he and Georgie were a couple. The notion was ridiculous, ludicrous, unthinkable… but a tiny tendril of warmth stirred in Roland’s chest. A couple. It had been a long time since he’d been one half of that, and he never would be again.
“There must be something that can be done,” Roland said, clearing his dry and gravelly throat.
“Like what? The old fella was very clear there was only one room available. I’ll kip on the floor because it’s got to be more comfortable than this.” Georgie twisted around Roland to stand in front of the fire blazing in the grate. He held out his palms to the flames, which cast dancing shadows across his face.
“It’s odd there’s a fire on the go,” Georgie said, turning away from the crackling logs. “I mean, this is the real deal, it’s not one of those gas log flame effect thingies. My aunty had one of those, and this is nothing like that. A big roaring fire like this takes ages to get going, and it’s a bit dangerous leaving it unattended, don’t you think?”
“I suppose the room was prepared for another guest who cancelled at the last moment.”
“S’pose.” Georgie turned back to the fire, staring into the flames.
A cancellation, it had to be, there was no other explanation. The fireplace was deep and tall and built with old knobbly bricks, the mantel above it garlanded with the same mix of holly, ivy and mistletoe that decorated the entrance hall. He’d barely registered it when they walked in, and he knew why. The bed. Big, heavy, dominating the room. A bed made for two, to tumble and roll in the sheets, bodies pressing hard into the thick, soft mattress—
What the—?
Roland thrust a hand through his hair. What was he thinking? He was tired, his headache still lingered, and he was hacked off with the whole situation, but it didn’t stop his cock stirring or the tingle deep in his balls.
No. Noway.
He swung around and dumped his bag on the bed, shrugging off his coat at the same time. He looked around for a phone to call reception to book an early dinner, and demand something, anything, be done about the bed. All hotels carried fold out beds, and there was no reason why this one should be any different.
“Can you see a—?”
“Where are the tea making facilities?”
