Evie looked, felt, and no doubt smelled like a wet rodent. The inn’s stable hand seemed to think so. After being subjected to her presence, the young boy had taken the horses and scurried off with such haste that Evie wondered if he feared she’d give pursuit.
“This is humiliating,” she grumbled as they made their way under the eaves of the old building. With the rain and wind out of her eyes, she took stock of their shelter for the night.
Weathered wood, sagging roofline, and missing shutters all gave the distinct impression that whatever better days the inn might have seen were at least several decades past. At the sound of rhythmic squeaking above her, Evie stepped back and looked up to see the inn’s shingle, dangling precariously from one chain.
“The Sow and Boar,” she read aloud, squinting her eyes through the rain. That didn’t bode well, did it?
“Why this one?” she asked McAlistair over the howling wind. “We passed a much nicer inn not five minutes ago.”
“Nicer wants wedding bands. Keep your hands under the cape here,” he suggested. “Just in case.”
“Ah.” She pulled her hands inside. “Right.”
An inn catering to the well-heeled wasn’t likely to sully its reputation by allowing a man and woman who were not husband and wife to take a room. She and McAlistair might be tossed out on their respective ears if they tried it.
McAlistair tugged the hood farther over her face. “And keep quiet.”
The first bolt of lightning lanced through the sky as they pushed through the heavy front door, and the chasing roll of thunder sounded as McAlistair closed the door behind them.
She was relieved to find the interior at least marginally more maintained than the exterior. The furnishings were as old and scarred as the floor beneath their feet—which, she couldn’t help noticing, sloped heavily to the left—but someone seemed to have taken a broom and duster to them in the last year, and there was a not altogether unpleasant smell of candle wax and hot food in the air. Then again, a fresh pile of horse manure might seem an improvement at the moment.
She dearly wanted to get out of the wretched cape.
McAlistair procured a room with a minimum of fuss. Though the squat, balding man who introduced himself as the innkeeper made several poorly concealed attempts at sneaking a peak under her hood, he appeared more curious than concerned. And when that curiosity led him to lean just a bit closer, he received little more for the effort than a great waft of wet, stinking wool.
Nose wrinkled, he jerked back. “Top of the stairs, second door on the right. Fire going already to dry your things. Would…er…would the missus care for a hot bath?”
“Oh, yes—”
“A basin of water will do.”
She scowled at McAlistair, for all the good it did her. The innkeeper wasn’t the only one who couldn’t see through her hood. Still, it made her feel a touch better to make a face at McAlistair’s back as he led them upstairs.
The room was small and sparsely furnished, with only a table and two chairs, a changing screen, and a bed, but it was clean, dry, and came with a cheerful fire blazing in the hearth. She felt her spirits lifting.
She tore the cape off the moment the door closed and, fearing the odor might fill the whole room, decided to fold it into a corner rather than dry it in front of the fire.
“I should have liked that bath,” she grumbled, then waved her hand dismissively before McAlistair could respond. “I know, we can’t have staff coming and going.” She grudgingly relinquished her daydream of hot water and soap and moved to warm herself in front of the fire. “Why didn’t you ask for two rooms?”
McAlistair stripped off his overcoat. “Suspicious.”
She wondered about the cleanliness of the floor, then considered whether she had the energy to drag a chair over from the table.
She took a seat on the floor. “You could have told him we were siblings.”
“More suspicious.”
“I can’t see how.”
He actually sighed a little, a fact she found both gratifying—gaining any sort of reaction from McAlistair was gratifying—and irritating. She didn’t think it was too much to ask for him to explain his choice of actions.
“He knows we’re lying, but assumes we’re hiding a lovers’ tryst. He’s curious but otherwise unconcerned. Should we take separate rooms—”
“He’d have to assume we’re lying for other reasons,” she finished for him. “I suppose you’re right.”
He studied her a moment before pulling off his waistcoat and tossing it in front of the fire. He hadn’t bothered with a cravat that morning, and a smooth triangle of tanned skin was visible where his dry shirt opened at the chest. Evie found herself mesmerized by the sight. That skin was smooth and tan right down to the waist, she remembered. Feeling the beginnings of a blush, she tore her eyes and thoughts away from the memory of McAlistair’s muscled chest.
“How is your leg?” he asked.
“I…fine, thank you.”
His dark eyes searched her face. “Does it pain you?”