was an ale room, dark and airless, smelling of rancid food and unwashed bodies. A fireplace occupiedone wall, hung all around with pots and cooking utensils and vile-looking strips of dried meat. A dismal fire was producing more smoke than light or heat. The ceiling sagged threateningly between thick-hewn beams, and a narrow flight of steps—more like a ladder than a stairwell—rose from the center of the room, dividing the public tavern area from what she supposed to be the living quarters. She could only suppose, because there was a sagging rope bed visible behind a sheet of canvas hung to provide privacy.
Of course, there could be some other purpose for the bed and curtain being there, something to do with providing hospitality to the patrons, but she did not care to contemplate it.
She took a reflexive step backward, only to come up hard against Montgomery’s body. She flinched from the contact and spun around to glare up at him, convinced he was doing this deliberately. Out of spite, perhaps? Or revenge for the humiliation of being forced to marry her?
“I wish Hamilton had run you through. I wish it with all my heart.”
“Perhaps next time.”
“You doubt there will be a next time, sir? Lieutenant Garner is not so easily pushed aside. If he says he intends to finish what he started, you had best believe he will.”
“In that case, perhaps I should give him a good reason,” he murmured. “Perhaps we should finish what we started out in the garden last night.”
Catherine gasped and stumbled back out of his reach. A very short, very stout, very red-nosed woman scurried out of the taproom and executed a clumsy curtsy.
“Milady. I’m ever so sorry for the mess ’ereabout. We wasn’t expectin’ ’Is Lordship ter bring a lady back with ’im. I’ll ’ave the linens in yer room changed in a lick.”
“Her Ladyship would also appreciate a bath, Mrs. Grundy.” Montgomery’s smile oozed charm like snake oil. “Is that possible?”
“Wa-a-ll, I trow I could send up a washtub.”
“That would be fine.” Prodded by a gentle nudge from a black-gloved hand, Catherine moved toward the stairs. The banister, as such, was a frayed length of ship’s rigging, which she held gingerly as she placed her feet carefully on each cracked and sagging riser. Deirdre, who had observed the exchange between her mistress and presumed new master, followed at a discreet distance, her knuckles white where she gripped the portmanteau that contained all of Catherine’s personal articles and jewelry.
The upper floor, Catherine discovered, was partitioned into four small rooms, none of them as large as her dressing room at Rosewood Hall. Having braced herself to expect the worst, she was somewhat relieved to find the tiny bedchamber surprisingly clean. The walls were wood, not canvas, and whitewashed; the bed was old, but solid and draped in a canopy that was not more than a decade old. The only other furniture was a small spindle-legged nightstand and stool. There was no rug to cover the bare planks of the floor and no curtain on the high square window.
“I’ll ’ave the washtub sent up right away,” Mrs. Grundy said, offering another lopsided curtsy.
“Please … do not trouble yourself,” Catherine murmured. She caught a warning glance from Montgomery and added, “I’m much too tired to bother with a bath tonight. A simple wash will do fine.”
“Aye, I know what ye mean, milady. Never ye mind. I’ll send yer up some nice ’ot broth and mutton pies ter fill yer belly.”
Catherine forced a smile. “That would be lovely.”
She peeled off her gloves and tossed them on the faded coverlet, dimly aware of the landlady excusing herself and bustling off down the stairs again. She leaned her brow on the bedpost and sighed, suddenly weary beyond all recollection.
“That wasn’t so difficult, was it?” Montgomery asked. “And you must admit, the room is reasonably clean.”
Catherine straightened and
Of course, there could be some other purpose for the bed and curtain being there, something to do with providing hospitality to the patrons, but she did not care to contemplate it.
She took a reflexive step backward, only to come up hard against Montgomery’s body. She flinched from the contact and spun around to glare up at him, convinced he was doing this deliberately. Out of spite, perhaps? Or revenge for the humiliation of being forced to marry her?
“I wish Hamilton had run you through. I wish it with all my heart.”
“Perhaps next time.”
“You doubt there will be a next time, sir? Lieutenant Garner is not so easily pushed aside. If he says he intends to finish what he started, you had best believe he will.”
“In that case, perhaps I should give him a good reason,” he murmured. “Perhaps we should finish what we started out in the garden last night.”
Catherine gasped and stumbled back out of his reach. A very short, very stout, very red-nosed woman scurried out of the taproom and executed a clumsy curtsy.
“Milady. I’m ever so sorry for the mess ’ereabout. We wasn’t expectin’ ’Is Lordship ter bring a lady back with ’im. I’ll ’ave the linens in yer room changed in a lick.”
“Her Ladyship would also appreciate a bath, Mrs. Grundy.” Montgomery’s smile oozed charm like snake oil. “Is that possible?”
“Wa-a-ll, I trow I could send up a washtub.”
“That would be fine.” Prodded by a gentle nudge from a black-gloved hand, Catherine moved toward the stairs. The banister, as such, was a frayed length of ship’s rigging, which she held gingerly as she placed her feet carefully on each cracked and sagging riser. Deirdre, who had observed the exchange between her mistress and presumed new master, followed at a discreet distance, her knuckles white where she gripped the portmanteau that contained all of Catherine’s personal articles and jewelry.
The upper floor, Catherine discovered, was partitioned into four small rooms, none of them as large as her dressing room at Rosewood Hall. Having braced herself to expect the worst, she was somewhat relieved to find the tiny bedchamber surprisingly clean. The walls were wood, not canvas, and whitewashed; the bed was old, but solid and draped in a canopy that was not more than a decade old. The only other furniture was a small spindle-legged nightstand and stool. There was no rug to cover the bare planks of the floor and no curtain on the high square window.
“I’ll ’ave the washtub sent up right away,” Mrs. Grundy said, offering another lopsided curtsy.
“Please … do not trouble yourself,” Catherine murmured. She caught a warning glance from Montgomery and added, “I’m much too tired to bother with a bath tonight. A simple wash will do fine.”
“Aye, I know what ye mean, milady. Never ye mind. I’ll send yer up some nice ’ot broth and mutton pies ter fill yer belly.”
Catherine forced a smile. “That would be lovely.”
She peeled off her gloves and tossed them on the faded coverlet, dimly aware of the landlady excusing herself and bustling off down the stairs again. She leaned her brow on the bedpost and sighed, suddenly weary beyond all recollection.
“That wasn’t so difficult, was it?” Montgomery asked. “And you must admit, the room is reasonably clean.”
Catherine straightened and
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