Page 11 of A Night of Desire with a Duke
"Do you think we should..."
"Absolutely not. The first rule of inn brawls is to stay out of inn brawls."
"You have experience with inn brawls?"
"More than I care to admit."
"You're going to have to tell me that story."
"Am I? I thought after tonight we were pretending this never happened."
"Well, we have until tomorrow."
"So we do."
The fight below seemed to be winding down, or at least moving outside. Catherine heard Mr. Hartwell's voice rising above the chaos, threatening to ban everyone involved for life.
"I should let you return to your supper," Mr. Wrentham said. "It's probably cold by now."
"It was cold when it arrived."
"The mark of fine coaching inn cuisine."
"Mr. Wrentham?"
"Yes?"
"Thank you. For the tea. Even if you hate it."
"You're welcome. Even if you're not who you say you are."
"None of us are who we say we are."
"Some of us more than others."
Catherine smiled again, pressing her palm flat against the door. "Goodnight, Mr. Wrentham."
"Goodnight, Miss Mayfer. Sweet dreams."
"Despite the mysterious beef or cheese?"
"Because of the mysterious beef or cheese. Nothing says adventure quite like potential food poisoning."
She laughed, stepping away from the door at last. Martha was watching her with bright eyes, clearly having heard every word.
"Not one word, Martha," Catherine warned.
"I wouldn't dream of it, miss. Though if I might say..."
"You might not."
"He seems very..."
"Martha."
"Yes, miss."
Catherine returned to her cold supper, but her appetite had fled. She was too aware of the man in the next room, the pull of him like gravity. This was dangerous. She'd fled one unwanted entanglement only to find herself drawn into... what? A flirtation? An attraction? Something more?
