Touch of Steel by Kate Cross Page B

purse.” What was it like to have so much money you didn’t have to be careful with it? She made a decent living as a spy—a better one as an actress—but her total per annum earnings were probably on par with what he spent on shirts during the year.
    “Here we are, my lord,” the innkeeper announced with a wide smile. “Best room in the house.” He opened the door and gestured for them to enter.
    As she stepped over the threshold, Claire had to admit that there might be something to this overpaying business. The room was large and smelled of beeswax and lemon. Their luggage, brought up while they talked to the innkeeper, was piled neatly in the corner. The wallpaper was cream with exotic birds painted on it. The carpet was thick and soft, and the bed . . . The bed was huge.
    But there was only one.
    A maid had just lit the fire, and she bobbed a curtsy to Claire as she scurried from the room at the innkeeper’s insistent gesturing.
    “Will you be needing anything else, my lord?” he asked.
    Alastair shook his head and handed him several coins. “That will be all, thank you.”
    The man thanked him profusely and backed out of the room. “Good evening to you both.”
    When they were alone, Claire turned to him. “Thank you.”
    Wolfred tossed his greatcoat over the back of a chair. “For what?”
    “This.” She waved a hand. “It’s lovely.”
    He stared at her a moment. “You’re welcome.” He removed his jacket and began loosening his cravat. “There’s a private bath. You may make use of it first.”
    He didn’t have to tell her twice. Claire looked for toiletries and a nightgown in one of the bags provided for her, and she found everything a traveling woman might need and more. She grabbed a brush, tooth powder, face cream and a soft nightgown and wrapper that was new and smelled of jasmine.
    At that moment she didn’t care if she was going to be in a state of undress in front of Wolfred. She didn’t care if they were going to share the same bed. She just wanted to feel that nightgown against her skin and settle her tired bones on that thick mattress. Her days on this earth were numbered—if the Wardens didn’t end her, the Company would—so she intended to enjoy whatever luxuries came her way.
    She didn’t even care when she saw him outfit the door with a portable alarm system. It was little more than a bell with a combination lock that had to be entered correctly or the bell would begin to clang. She wasn’t offended. On the contrary, she’d be more offended if he didn’t take precautions—it proved that he thought her his equal. She made quick use of the facilities but vowed to indulge in the claw-foot tub the next morning if there was time. When she returned to the main room, Wolfred stood in the middle of it in nothing but a pair of loose linen sleeping trousers that hung low on his hips.
    Sweet God in heaven.
    He wasn’t pale like most redheads. Instead, his skin had a natural golden hue. His shoulders were broad and well defined, with a smattering of freckles across them. Auburn hair covered his sculpted chest, narrowing as the trail disappeared beneath the waist of his trousers. Beneath that warm skin, his ribs were faint ridges, his stomach so flat it was almost concave. He was muscled there as well, like the statues she’d seen once in a museum in New York. And his arms . . . He had biceps a woman couldn’t even begin to get her hands around.
    It had been a long time since she’d been with a man, and even longer since she’d been with one she was truly attracted to. Alastair Payne was the worst possible man for her to want. He was also probably the last man she would ever see in a state of undress. Given that realization, there could be no harm in looking.
    And he was staring at her as though he liked what he saw. He would never act on it; she knew that. But if some time in the night her hand “accidentally” slipped between his legs, he just might be persuaded to do