She sighed. The more viable recourse was to stay. Keep on with Weatherton and hope that she remained unmolested in his company. Hope the offer of employment was legitimate. Hope that this was the only night they would be forced to share a room.
It was all a risk, of course. One she would take while staying ever alert and ready to protect herself.
Her gaze narrowed on the tea service beside her chair. Even though the maid had not bothered to supply her with any biscuits or sandwiches there was a small butter spreader. Hardly the sharpest of knives, but it was . . . something. She reached out and picked it up, tucking it inside her bodice.
She actually dozed off in front of the fireplace, waking abruptly when a garrulous pair of women entered the parlor.
“Och!” one of the women exclaimed, looking Alyse over critically. “Didn’t know the room was already occupied.” She tugged off her fine-looking gloves with a sniff and glanced at the innkeeper as though he needed to rectify this.
Alyse glanced at the clock above the mantel. She’d been gone nearly an hour. She rose, brushing a hand against her bodice. The butter spreader was still there. “I was just leaving.”
The innkeeper looked relieved that he did not have to ask her to leave. She exited the parlor and made her way up the stairs and down the corridor to their room. Their room. She cringed.
Weatherton should have had enough time to finish his bath by now. She knocked on the door tentatively. Muffled footsteps sounded and then the door swung open.
She looked up, expecting to see the familiar sight of Weatherton.
Only it wasn’t him. A younger man stared back at her, the tall lean lines of his body filling the threshold to capacity. He was so handsome she actually blinked as though needing to clear her vision. Smooth-shaven. Square-jawed. Aquiline nose. Lips well-shaped, the bottom full. Like he’d just finished kissing someone. She stopped breathing altogether at that unsolicited thought. She held it in for several punishing moments.
It had been a long messy day. She exhaled. He was quite certainly the prettiest man she had ever seen and the sight of him addled her head.
“I-I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I must have the wrong room.”
He angled his head and looked at her curiously. Then his voice came—cultured and deep, a rub of gravel on her skin. Gooseflesh broke out over her skin and she rubbed at her arm. “Alyse.”
The instant he spoke, she knew. His deep tones washed over her and her gaze darted to his eyes. Those familiar blue eyes. There was no mistaking them.
Dear God. This was the man who bought her. Her employer. He’d bathed and shaved and was positively transformed.
He was . . . beautiful.
No no no no. He could not be this. He could not look like this. She could not be stuck with . . . this.
She wanted to disappear into the floorboards.
He wore fresh clothing. Dark trousers and a white lawn shirt without a cravat. It gaped open at the neck, hinting at a well-formed upper chest. In fact, all of him was well-formed.
If she had any doubts as to the validity of their union, this confirmed it. She could not be married to this man. She wasn’t. He was as far removed from her as the moon itself.
It was as he said. They were not man and wife and she would do well never to forget that—to never let herself be so seduced by his looks that she dared to dream for more from him.
“Forgive me. I did not recognize you.”
His lips twitched and she knew he was enjoying this . . . enjoying discomfiting her. Men who looked as he did could not be unaware of their impact on the female gender. He was aware that he had unnerved her—she who had made no attempt to hide her distaste for his aroma—and he was amused at the reaction.
He stepped aside so that she could enter the room. Grasping for the fraying ribbons of her composure, she crossed the threshold into his room. Their room for the night.
“Did you enjoy your tea?” He shut the door after her.
She nodded mutely, struggling to find her tongue as she drifted forward and stopped before the fireplace. She held her hands out to its warmth.
“I trust my person does not offend your nose anymore.” Oh, he was really enjoying this.
She nodded jerkily, not allowing herself to look at him again. Not yet. That first look had been bad enough. His beauty was imprinted on the backs of her eyelids. Of course the man had no wish to be her husband. With a face like his and pockets that ran deep, why would he want someone like her?
He continued, “I’ve asked that dinner be served in our room. I confess I did not sleep well last night. My accommodations weren’t idyllic.” Even with her back to him she could hear an edge of derision in his voice. “I would not mind retiring early tonight so that we might get an early start in the morning.”
Her gaze swerved to the bed at his mention of sleep. She nodded in agreement. What else could she do? Did she think he would molest her? He had established that he had no interest in her for base purposes. Clearly he could find any number of willing bedmates far more attractive than she if that was his inclination.
Except she knew that cruelty defied logic. He could hurt her simply because he could. His pretty face changed nothing. She needed to remain on guard.
Sucking in a deep breath, she rubbed her slightly warmed hands together. At her inhalation, she felt the press of the butter spreader inside her bodice. Silly as it seemed, it was a comfort. Somehow just having the cutlery in close proximity made her feel stronger.
Turning, she faced him again, telling herself that he didn’t need to know just how little she trusted him. Blast. The sight of him was no less astonishing than it had been when he first opened the door.
“You’re looking at me as though you fear I might gobble you up.”
Apparently she was more transparent than she thought.
She relaxed her features. “Not at all. I . . . thank you,” she managed, aware that she should probably at least appear to be appreciative. She hadn’t gotten the words out before. It was probably overdue.
He arched an eyebrow as though mildly surprised. “You’re thanking me . . . why?”
She swallowed thickly. “You saved me from a wretched fate.” She motioned around them. “You’re caring for my needs. You’ve offered me employment.” It was all true, she supposed. If he delivered all he claimed and didn’t perpetrate any dastardly deeds against her person, she owed him her gratitude.
His expression turned inscrutable again. She could not fathom his thoughts . . . specifically whether he believed in her show of appreciation.
“If you execute your duties well at Kilmarkie House then it shall all be repaid.”
She nodded. “I will serve you well as a housekeeper and pay you back for your kindness.”
“Kindness,” he mused. “I’ve been guilty of many things. Never that.”
Not exactly a bolstering personal recommendation. She eyed him warily. He stared back. Tension throbbed on the air between them, and it derived from her. He looked calm and unaffected. A man in control . . . who held all the power in this scenario.
A knock at the door spared her from replying. Weatherton bade them enter. The innkeeper stepped inside, holding the door open for two servant girls carrying in trays.
The girls gawked at her Non Husband, one practically walking right into the table in her distraction.
“Sheila!” the innkeeper snapped. “Where are yer wits?”
Sheila snapped into focus and set the tray upon the table before the fire. They quickly unloaded a bounty of food. Smoked salmon. Bannock. Tatties. Creamed turnips. Plump slices of shortbread.
Before departing the two girls dipped deep curtsies to her Non Husband, allowing him to look down the front of their dresses. They did not once glance in Alyse’s direction, instead feasting their eyes on the attractive man before them.
“Please let us ken if we can be of any other service tae ye, sir.”
“Any at all,” the other girl seconded, her eyes looking him up and down as though he were a tasty morsel she might like to bite.
“Out wi’ ye now!” the innkeeper barked.