Page 25 of Once Upon a Midnight Dream

Once he had swallowed, he said, “I take it you have misplaced something?”

“My valise.” She sighed, even as she roved the chamber with her astute gaze. “I wanted to move more of my clothes and other possessions to the office, but I do not recall where I stored it. I rarely need luggage.”

“I am sorry to be an inconvenience.” A colossal pain in the arse, in truth.

A pang of guilt speared him.

His presence had caused her displacement. Charles mentioned she would sleep in the study now.

Still gazing about the chamber, Miss Granger flicked a hand in his direction. “It is hardly your fault, and I would do the same for anyone who needed help.”

Yes, he rather believed she would.

A flash lit her eyes. “Aha! I remember now.”

If only his memory would return as readily.

“I put it in the chest.” She swiftly crossed to the end of the bed and dropped to her knees.

Chest?

What chest?

With a slice of scrumptious bread in one hand, he levered himself upward onto an elbow.

Indeed, a small wooden chest stood at the foot of the bed. He had not noticed it earlier because the footboard obstructed it from view and because it was not very tall.

She lifted the lid and, after pulling out several items, she released a satisfied, “Yes.”

She proudly held up a dated, battered and, he would wager his tasty snack, what was a moth-eaten carpetbag.

Observing her as she gathered the items she wished to take below, he leaned back and finished his bread. She moved with an innate grace and lack of artifice.

When Miss Granger had finished, she set the stuffed-to-overflowing bag outside the open door, then returned to his bedside.

“You finished it all. Excellent.” She collected the tray. “Charles and Mrs. B will be well-pleased.”

And her?

“It was delicious. I did not realize how hungry I was.” He wiped his mouth, then handed her the serviette. “Miss Granger?”

“Yes?” She gazed at him, her expression open and expectant.

Was she even capable of subterfuge?

He thought not.

“I think we need to give me a name for the time being.” He lifted a shoulder. “It feels rather odd not to ever be addressed by a name.”

“I imagine it is. Do you have a preference?” She wrinkled her nose. “Please do not say, ‘John Doe.’”

A chuckle escaped him, for he was going to suggest John. “How about Zander? Is that unique enough for you?”

Where he came up with that name, he could not say.

“It is.” She crossed to the door.

“Might I make one more request?” If he did not have a bath and a shave, he would go stark, raving mad. “I do not wish to be any more of an inconvenience than I already am, but is it possible for me to shave and bathe tomorrow?”