Paulette set her light on the bedside table. Her travel bag rested on a bench, her writing case perched on top. Mabel had laid out her nightrail on the wide bed. She’d had a chance to freshen up before dinner and had seen that big bed, her body quickening with the possibility she might share it.

Mabel and Jenny’s chamber was just down the hall. One of them would sleep on the narrow bed there, the other on the floor on a pallet.

Unless they switched rooms.

She paced to the window and looked out into the dark dale beyond. This room was quieter, and Jenny, after her brutal bruising, needed the quiet and the comfort of a bed, even a shared one.

She draped the nightclothes over her arm. Perhaps Mr. Gibson’s chamber would have a wide bed, and he would be alone in it, wouldn’t he?

Heat rose in her, her jaw tightening painfully. The buxom serving wench had cast him an eye, several eyes actually, and her bodice had dipped lower with every platter delivered.

Not that he’d noticed. He hadn’t noticed Paulette tonight either, almost as though he was losing interest.

Like Papa had lost interest. He’d ignored her and Mama, as had her guardian, Lord Shaldon.

In those letters to Shaldon, she’d asked first to visit him. She could feel him out about the treasure, but there was more she wanted.

She wanted a purpose. She wanted a life.

When his man put her off, she’d dared to put the offer in writing—her services to the crown. If Mama could do it, so could she.

Instead, Shaldon had given her this husband. She couldn’t let the man lose interest before the wedding night. He’d promised to take her to London, and the way he’d kissed her in the corridor outside her chamber…Warmth unfurled in her. Now that her path was set, she would see it through, at least through the wedding night.

A knock announced the flirting maidservant with a bucket of steaming water for her and a stack of bedding tucked under one arm. “Some hot water, miss. And I’ve got the pallet for your girl right here.”

Paulette took the bucket and set it near the cold hearth. “We won’t need the pallet. We are switching rooms.”

The girl’s mouth dropped. “This chamber’s much nicer, miss. Ye’ll have the noise of the courtyard there.”

“Never you mind.” She ushered the girl out and down the hall to Mabel and Jenny’s chamber. “If anyone asks, I’ll be in this bedchamber.” In fact, it would place her further from the room where she planned to spend the night, but if anyone should suspect, the maid’s testimony would preserve her reputation.

A safeguard if after bedding her, he should decide to change his mind about marriage.

While the house settled, Bink stripped off his coats and his neck cloth and sat down to write Hackwell a report on the roads. He would send it south with the morning mail.

The public rooms quietened, and here, on this dark side of the building, only the distant hoot of an owl and occasional snorting of horses in the back stalls of the stables filtered through the wide open window.

It had been a warm afternoon, and the breeze still had not swept the heat from these upper story rooms. He yanked his shirt over his head and went to the basin, splashing himself with the cool water.

Outside, a horse was being led to the stables, the shuffle of hooves muffled.

He froze, and strained to discern what had raised his hackles.

Whispers in the hall slithered over him and he threw aside his towel. Paulette was abed, and someone was creeping along the corridor, close to her door. As he reached for his pistol, his own door latch creaked.

The scent of flowers wafted in on a draft that sputtered the flame of his candle and eased his breathing.

“Mr. Gibson?”

The husky, whispered voice sent him to half-mast and his chest tightened with a different kind of wariness.

He set the pistol aside, grabbed for his shirt and groped his arms into it, catching them in the tangled sleeves.

A set of small hands worked the linen up his arms and down his body and pulled the hem into place, covering the evidence of his arousal—before she noticed it, he prayed.

He looked down into two dark, intense eyes, and then noted the robe with its slack belt, the fringing of lace at her creamy neck, and her hair flowing in waves past her shoulder. He fisted a hank of hair and tried to catch his breath.

You shouldn’t be here. She had nothing on but a robe he could rip off her shoulders, and a nightrail he could lift in a wink. And he could be in her in seconds, pounding out this need like the madman he was right now.

He leaned and touched his forehead to hers. “Go back to your room, lass.”

“I, I…” She cleared her throat. “I want…you…”

His pulse raged, his cock throbbed and he couldn’t form words.

She exhaled a hint of a minty tooth powder. “I want you to… to talk to me.” She took a step back but gripped fistfuls of linen. “If you would, please. May I stay with you tonight? It is only a few hours. And we’ll be wed tomorrow.”

He squeezed his eyes shut on the vision of her in his bed, under him, tried to think of something, anything else—horse droppings, foul privies, the stench of a tannery.

When he opened his eyes, she was frowning, and he saw it there—fear. The girl was frightened.

Shame trickled through him. She feared he couldn’t protect her unless she was in his very bedchamber.

Her teeth slipped over her lower lip and began to gnaw, and it hit him—what a fool he was. It wasn’t her physical safety that rattled her.

Not fear for her safety then, but what?

Shame turned to fierce warmth, setting his body afire. Pulse pounding, he slid a finger under her smooth chin and tipped it up. “Why?”

“Will we go to Scotland tomorrow? Will you go through with this wedding?”

“Have I given you reason to doubt me?”

She lifted an eyebrow. “You barely spoke to me all day.”

His chest eased even as his trousers tightened more, all of his thoughts in a jumble. She wanted to be sure of him, she wanted his bed, and not just for money, not for security and safety. This was the price of a warm woman as bedmate—talking, and lots of it.

But as her gaze and those hands slid over his chest, his dick reminded him there was a way to silence her.

No. If they opened this particular tinderbox, the fire would rage until dawn, and she would not be able to sit for a week. They’d never make Gretna the next day.

“I have a plan,” he said.

She lifted that determined chin and his finger followed it up. “So do I.”

He held back a chuckle. “You plan to seduce me tonight. To make sure of me.”

That flustered her and left her gulping for air.

He drew her closer and stroked a length of soft hair. “It is a good plan. One I’d like to partake of, believe me.”

“But?”

“But I’m not sure you’d be able to ride all day in a coach tomorrow after I’ve ridden you all night.” And it would be all night.

Her eyes went wide. “Does it hurt that much?”

Ah, she was definitely a virgin. He felt an odd sense of relief, glad to be her first, and terrified. Like breeding a cart horse on a pony, he didn’t know how he’d not hurt her, but he must find a way.

“I don’t know in fact. But I’ll make sure whatever pain you feel is secondary to the pleasure.”

She sighed and settled against him, and he realized his hand had started to move over her back.

“You will kiss me again?”

The heat of her sigh seared through his shirt, branding his heart.

“Aye.”

“On the lips?”

Desire rippled through him. “Oh, yes.”

She quivered. “And the neck?”

He planted a kiss there and smiled when she jumped. “Definitely the neck then.”

She looked up, eyes wide, mouth parted. Ready to be ravished.

His pulse pounded in his ear. He had only a few minutes of control left.

She pressed her palm to his chest and swirled it. “Will you take off your shirt when you make love to me?”

“Would you like me to?”

She nodded. “I saw your chest when I entered. You’re hairy.”

He threw back his head and laughed. “Yes then, I’ll show you my hairy chest.”

“Then I’ll show you my not-hairy one.”

A vision of those breasts swamped him and he groaned. She tightened her embrace.

“We must get you to bed.” Not that he would be able to sleep with her naked breasts bouncing around in his dreams.

She frowned and opened her mouth, but a rap on the door made him release her. He stepped in front of Paulette and asked “Who’s there?”

The door opened. The wench who’d served them stood there, a candle held high, and the neckline of her frock dipping low to the pink tips of her tits. She cocked her head and smiled.

“What—”

“You might want some company, I heard.”

“Devil take it. You heard wrong. Get out.”

Paulette stepped from behind him and the wench’s eyes narrowed.

“You invited her to your chamber?”

The crack in Paulette’s voice sparked panic in him. Not wed yet, and she already doubted him.

The inn servant smiled. “Well, I misunderstood.”

“Did she?” Fire burned in Paulette’s eyes, and an answering heat rose in him.

The maid started to pull the door closed.

“Wait,” Bink grabbed the door. “Who sent you here?”

She lifted a shoulder. Her eyes slid to Paulette and widened. “The man. He asked for the lady’s chamber and said I should come to you.”

He pushed her aside and rushed out. An oil lamp cast a hazy sheen on the empty corridor. Everyone was abed. Even the taproom was quiet.

At Paulette’s door, he felt a hand grip his arm.

Paulette shook her head. “I switched with Mabel and Jenny,” she whispered.

He eased open the door anyway. The room was dark and quiet, but he made out the forms of both maids, and heard a faint snore.

“This way.” Paulette took his hand. They crossed the corridor and went down to a door at the end.

It was ajar, and light twinkled within.

Alarm rattled through him, and his hand went to his waist.

Hell and damnation, he’d left the bloody pistol in his room. He reached down and pulled the knife from his boot, silently cursing.

“Ask who is there,” he breathed into her ear.

She nodded. “Mabel, is that you?”

“Yes, miss.” The whispered voice could have been the rasp of a sleepy woman, but Paulette shook her head.

Bink slammed the door open hitting the wall with a bang. The dark figure within froze and for one startled moment so did Bink.

Agruen’s valet, Spellen, stood framed in the candlelight, dressed all in black and clutching a handful of Paulette’s clothing.