Page 20 of Snowed In with the Runaway Bride

Then he blinked, and his expression returned to its usual impassivity.

“Good morning,” she said. There was a strange lump in her throat just from looking at him like this.

“Good morning. I was hoping yesterday was all a terrible dream.”

“I’m afraid not.”

He removed his arm from around her waist and sat up with his back to her, stretching. He still wore his thin linen shirt from the day before. The light from the window silhouetted his lean body beneath the shirt, and she closed her eyes, a little ashamed to be gawping at him like he was on exhibition.

He turned back and leaned over her, scanning her face. The shirt gaped at his neck, giving her a view of his brown throat and the lighter skin of his chest, darkened with an intriguing fluff of hair. One curl sat exactly in the hollow of his throat, and she had a strange urge to tease it with her fingers.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

“Achy.”

Frowning, he laid the back of his hand against her forehead, and then put his palm to her cheek. His touch was slightly rough against her skin, and she swallowed hard.

“You feel a bit warm, but not feverish.”

“It’s not fever. My joints ache in the cold and wet, and if I exert myself too much. I should be better in a few hours if I have an opportunity to rest.”

He looked around the room, still frowning. “Is there anything that could help? A warm bath?”

She was not about to take a warm bath in this tiny room where there was no one to help her in and out of it. No one except Hugo. “Perhaps… perhaps some warm towels might help,” she said with a stroke of brilliance. “We could warm them by the fire.”

The small lines between his brows smoothed out, and he nodded. “I must dress, but I’ll ask the innkeeper’s wife for some.”

“I hate to be a bother.”

“You’re always a bother.”

She ought to have taken umbrage at his words, but there was something affectionate behind them that made them warm her rather than sting.

As he climbed from the bed, he looked back at her. “I will need to wash.”

“Yes?” she said, puzzled.

“There is no dressing screen.”

“Oh!” Her face grew hot as he crossed to the basin and pitcher in the corner near the clothespress. “I, er… I’ll turn my back, shall I?”

“That would be best. Any natural modesty I may have had fell away during my years aboard ship. Bathing by having buckets of cold seawater thrown on you while you stand on deck will do that.”

Flushing, she rolled over to stare at the fireplace, which still had a few embers glowing on the hearth. She did her best not to listen as he poured the water and began to wash, though she was sure she could hear the cloth stroking over his skin. He rummaged through his traveling bag, pausing for a moment, before searching again.

“Is something wrong?”

“No.” He seemed to look one more time, and then gave up. “I seem to have forgotten something—a few things. It’s of no matter.”

After donning his shirt and breeches, he walked back into her line of sight, buttoning his waistcoat before pulling on his jacket and boots. “I have bread and cheese from last night, but there may be hot food for breakfast as well. I’ll ask.”

“Thank you,” she said, covers tugged up to her nose. “I would appreciate that.” Her bladder was beginning to warn her that it was over-full, and she needed him to leave lest she die of humiliation at needing to use the chamber pot with him in the room.

As soon as the door closed behind him and he turned the key in the lock, Penny leapt from the bed. Well, stumbled, really, her knees trying to fail her until she gave up and lowered herself to the floor so she could locate the chamberpot under the bed. Once she was done, she clawed herself back up onto the bed and rolled over, panting from the exertion and pain.

Only two years ago, she would have been able to leap from the bed and run downstairs to seek breakfast for herself. Now she was trapped in her aching body and this tiny room, unable to do more than walk a few painful steps.

But she must. Lying down all day would only make matters worse.