House of Trent 01.5 - His for Christmas Read Free Page A

continued hesitantly. He took a breath. “It’s not a room so much as a closet. But they’ve an extra bed they can put in there for us.”
    “Ah,” she said quietly.
    Finally, he met her gaze. “I fear this is our only option. I will sleep on the floor, of course. I would not…er…take advantage of the situation in any way. I give you my word.”
    Could this day get any worse? Amelia stifled a groan. She wasn’t worried about Evan not being a gentleman; she was far, far more worried about herself not being a lady. Lord knew what a fool she’d made of herself in his proximity in the past. And the way her body was responding to him…she felt like a giant magnet inexorably drawn to his compelling force. Her skin was prickly and hot, aching all over. And something told her that only his touch could soothe that kind of pain.
    She pressed her lips together, knowing full well she needed to somehow find a way to put an end to these erotic thoughts. “What about Joseph and John?”
    “They’ve arranged for extra pallets to be brought into the stable lofts for the male servants.”
    She gave a short nod. He probably read the trepidation on her face as shrewish disapproval, but she couldn’t help it. “Well, then. It appears there’s no other choice.”
    *  *  *
    Once the innkeeper had settled them inside the room, Amelia sat on the edge of the narrow bed in mute horror. Evan had been right—the place was little larger than a closet, with one tiny square window high up on the wall above the bed, and a doorway even Amelia had to duck to pass through.
    Worse, there was no place for him on the floor. The bed filled the entire space.
    Evan lowered himself next to her, and she stiffened at his proximity. They both stared at the planked, arched wooden door for a moment. If she reached out from the foot of the bed, she could grasp the door handle.
    It was going to be a very, very long night.
    “Mr. Johnson said supper will be served in the common room at eight,” Evan said.
    She shook her head. “I cannot go.”
    Evan’s brows rose. “Why not?”
    “Because the Duke of Dunsberg knows me. If he and his friends discover I’m spending the night with a gentleman here, the rumors”—she faltered for a moment, then finished—“will not be kind.”
    Again the furrow appeared between Evan’s brows. “Right. Of course. I’ve been away from England for so long, it seems I’ve forgotten the basic tenets of gossip and scandal. I won’t go either, in that case. I’ll bring you a supper then stay with you.”
    “That’s very kind of you, Mr. Cameron—”
    “Evan.”
    “—but you needn’t feel coerced to stay in here on account of me.”
    He grinned, and it was such a brilliant, blinding smile, her heart began to pound in reaction. Good Lord, he was an appealing man, completely grown out of that youthful softness he’d possessed when she’d last known him. Now, he was harshly masculine in a way that made her more aware of her femininity than she’d ever been before.
    She turned away, closing her eyes against the fantasy of licking that little cleft in his chin.
    He touched her arm. “It’s going to be all right, Pudge.”
    She stiffened further, her muscles tightening in her stomach and across her shoulders. “Please don’t call me that.”
    “Why not?”
    “Because it is cruel.”
    “But I’ve always called you that.” He sounded confused. “Everyone called you that. It was your nickname from babyhood. No one meant it as a cruelty.”
    She sighed. When she was fifteen, she’d asked her parents to stop calling her Pudge, and they’d understood her dislike of the name and had immediately complied. The children of the neighborhood hadn’t given it up as easily, however, especially since she’d been too shy to ask them directly to stop.
    In any case, he was deluded if he thought it hadn’t been a cruelty. “I know everyone called me that. But I don’t like it.”
    He froze. “Wait,” he said.