Page 27 of Snowed In with the Runaway Bride

“That was a lovely evening,” she said. He unlocked the door and pushed her inside. With quick, precise motions he closed the door and re-locked it. She flopped onto the bed with a sigh and toed off her half-boots.

His own tenderness surprised him, even though he was exasperated at her naiveté. “You must be more careful, Penny. We were in a room full of strangers. Not everyone is good and kind."

“I know that.” With a sigh, she lay back on the bed, arms stretched above her head and legs dangling off the edge. “But you were there to protect me.”

The words were like a quick blow to his gut. He could not protect her. Not the way he wanted to. He had no right, and would never have it. Even leaving aside the scandal of eloping with his brother’s betrothed, the damned loan would come due immediately. Oliver—and everyone dependent on him—would lose everything.

Her broken engagement to his brother kept them as far apart as if they were strangers.

She yawned hugely and sat back up. “Unhook my dress so I can prepare for bed, if you please.” She slid her feet to the floor, clinging to the footboard as she swayed to an upright position, and giggled again.

He stood frozen against the door for another long moment as she turned her back to him and looked over her shoulder. “Come.”

Pushing off from the door, he crossed to her and bent to the hooks. His own fingers were clumsy with ale, and she squirmed as he worked at them one by one, her skin silky and warm under his hands until at last the hooks were all undone.

He spread the two halves of her dress apart, gazing at what little he could see of her, wanting to run his hands along her naked shoulders, push the dress down as he kissed the exposed nape of her neck, and then⁠—

She stumbled forward a step, and the spell broke. He turned back towards the door and opened it. “I’ll return in a few minutes.”

“All right,” she said in a puzzled tone as he closed the door behind himself more firmly than he needed to.

He must speak with the innkeeper before the man retired for the night.

Penny finished readying herself for bed, washing up and pulling her nightdress on, when there was a soft tap on the door. She dove for the bed and climbed under the covers, pulling the quilt up to her chin. “Enter.”

Hugo opened the door, holding one end of a dressing screen while the Robsons’ oldest son carried the other.

“Let’s try that corner,” Hugo said, and they carefully positioned it until it screened the spot where the washbasin sat atop the cabinet that concealed the clean chamber pots. It had to be folded nearly in half on itself, but at last there was a sheltered place in the room where they could each have a sliver of privacy.

Hugo handed the boy a shilling, and he grinned. “Thanks, milord!”

Blushing, the boy nodded to Penny, eyes averted from where she sat up in bed, only her face and hands visible. “Milady.”

As the door closed behind him, Hugo locked it and then stepped behind the screen, a bundle of striped cloth draped across his arm. It was a peculiar feeling, being able to hear him remove his clothing and do his ablutions, but a cozy one, too. She felt very domestic, like a farmer’s wife… or a sailor’s.

At last, he emerged from behind the screen, swathed from neck to ankle in striped cotton, sleeves stretching to the ends of his fingers as he pushed them back. He hung his jacket, breeches, and waistcoat on the pegs behind the door and stuffed his linens into a drawer of the clothespress. After banking the fire and pinching out all but one candle, he returned to his side of the bed where she finally got a good look at what he wore.

Penny suppressed a giggle. “What is that?”

Hugo stepped to the bed with as much dignity as he could manage. “It’s a nightshirt. Obviously.”

“Do you often wear a nightshirt to bed?”

He flipped the edge of the covers back. “Sometimes. In the winter, or onboard ship.”

“Did you not bring one with you?”

He shot her an exasperated look. “I did not expect to be gone more than a single night.”

“Oh.” Penny bit her lip to keep further amusement at bay. The garment must belong to the innkeeper, because it was far too large on Hugo. Somehow, he still managed to keep his dignity even in the oversized garment. As he settled himself against the pillows, the neck of the nightshirt parted a little. She could see that fluff of dark hair springing up from the hollow of his throat again, a little lighter than the hair on his head, and she looked away before she could wonder where else on his body he had hair like that.

He pulled a pillow from the stack at the head of the bed and placed it between their bodies. “Go to sleep, Penny.”

He leaned across her to blow out the last candle and then lay down with his back to her. She lay down as well, first checking to be sure the pillow remained between them. It seemed important to him that it be there.

As she drowsed, she looked over at him in the dim room, lit only by the still-glowing embers of the fireplace. His hair was over-long for current fashion as it spread over his pillow, and she could not help imagining him standing on the deck of his ship, splendid in his uniform, dark hair blowing in the breeze as he did... captain things.

And he would turn and see her, and hold his hand out to her, and she⁠—