Leaning close, he peered at her plate. “My child, you hardly have any meat on your bones. Help yourself to a second bread roll.”
Weatherton watched from across the table, glaring back and forth between the two of them. Clearly, he was aware that she had earned the vicar’s undivided attention and he didn’t like it.
She had the niggling suspicion that the vicar was no vicar at all and he laid claim to the title to gain the trust of females. She, however, wasn’t a trusting female. When she felt his hand close over her knee beneath the table, she slid her fork out from beside her plate and stabbed his hand.
He gave a quick yelp before catching himself and pressing his lips in a flat line.
She blinked innocently. “Something amiss, vicar?”
He resumed eating, scowling at her as though seeing her for the first time.
Her gaze lifted to meet Weatherton’s amused stare. Gone was his glare. His lips twitched and he looked on the verge of laughter.
The rest of the meal passed tolerably without the vicar’s cloying attentions. Weatherton excused them as soon as they finished their desserts, pleading travel-exhaustion. Not an untruth. She was weary.
Mrs. Collins offered to send up hot water so that they might bathe. Alyse had washed her hands and face before dinner, but she gladly accepted the offer of a bath.
“Thank goodness that’s over,” she declared once in their room.
“What? You didn’t care for Mrs. Collins’s mutton?”
“I didn’t care for the vicar!”
He chuckled. “You handled him aptly enough.”
She huffed. “Vicar, my foot.”
“Well, I would gladly have had the vicar fix his attentions on me rather than endure the peddler. He was relentless. I bought two kettles I didn’t want! What am I supposed to do with them?”
She outright laughed. A deep laugh that swelled up from her belly. It felt good. Real. It was nice. She could not recall the last time she had laughed in such a manner.
“Well. You could have conversed more with Gregoria. She had eyes for you.”
“Did she? I hadn’t noticed.”
“You didn’t notice how many times she asked you to pass her something?”
He shrugged and she realized female admiration was likely nothing new for him. He probably never even noticed the stir he created in the female population. Even Mrs. Collins was caught under his spell.
He sank down onto a chaise and started tugging off his boots, his face creasing in mirth.
“And what did you think of Mrs. Collins’s infamous scones?” she heard herself tease. “As wonderful as promised?”
His eyes widened and he pointed to his mouth. “I think I left a tooth buried in the one I bit into. Truly, they can’t be digestible. She could use them as artillery. The army should be notified.”
Alyse giggled. “So we won’t be staying an additional night in order to indulge in more of them?”
“Another night of enduring those scones and I fear I shall have no teeth left.”
They were still chuckling when a knock came at the door. Weatherton admitted Gregoria inside the room. He quickly relieved her of one of her sloshing buckets.
“Ah, much thanks, sir.” The young woman stared up at him with an expression of wonder. She moved slowly, casting him several admiring glances.
Gregoria filled up the hip tub tucked behind a dressing screen. Finished with that, she carried both empty buckets to the door. Casting a final lingering glance Weatherton’s way, she promised to return with two more buckets and then departed.
While she was gone, Alyse stared at the dressing screen, satisfied to see that it was not made of any kind of translucent material. It was impossible to see through the thick blue fabric. Even if Weatherton remained in the chamber whilst she bathed she should be afforded her privacy. That was some comfort.
Gregoria soon returned and added water to the half-full tub. As soon as she left the chamber, Weatherton motioned toward the dressing screen. “Your bath awaits.”
She nodded, not bothering to even decline the invitation. She was eager for a bath to wash away the rigors of travel.
A few strides carried her across the chamber. Safely ensconced behind the screen, she made quick work of shedding her clothes. Aware that the water was losing its heat and there was little more miserable a thing than a cold bath, she hurriedly sank into the water and went about her washing. Stepping from the tub, she reached for the nearby towel, valiantly trying not to listen for Marcus on the other side of the screen.
She rubbed herself dry, first her body and then her hair. Slipping on her nightgown, she smoothed her hands down her length and exhaled. When she emerged from behind the screen, she noticed that he was donning his boots again.
“Er. Are you going somewhere?”
He stood. “I thought I’d check on our mounts. Make sure they’re properly stabled and fed for the night.”
She nodded a tad too jerkily, wondering why he seemed to have trouble meeting her gaze.
“G’night. You’ll likely be asleep when I return.”
“Oh. Of course. Good night then.” She supposed she should be thankful that he was giving her some time to herself. She’d fall asleep without any anxiety because he wouldn’t be there in the bed beside her. When she woke in the morning the worst of it would be over. She would have slept throughout their nerve-racking proximity.
He glanced her up and down as she stood in her nightgown, her bare toes peeping out from beneath the hem. She fidgeted self-consciously. It was just a hasty examination but her face burned from it. She didn’t know why his glance should unnerve her. He’d seen her in her nightgown before.
Over the course of this journey there would be all manner of intimate moments between them. She understood that now. Traveling together—just the two of them—modesty would be elusive. Still, knowing that and accepting it were two very different things.
Without another word, Weatherton spun around and exited the room.
She sank down into the chair before the fireplace and began combing out her hair, pausing more than once when she heard footsteps in the hall, wondering if he was returning. And wondering why her pulse leapt at the possibility.
Marcus took his time checking on Bucephalus and the mule. He lowered himself down onto an old wood stool as they munched on fresh hay in their stalls. Stretching out his legs, he watched them distractedly, sticking a stalk of hay in his mouth and rolling it idly between his lips.
He needed a little space. He actually welcomed the bite of cold air. It shocked his body and helped get rid of the infernal warmth he had felt as he heard Alyse getting undressed behind that screen . . . the swish of water and her throaty sigh as she eased into the tub, the scratch and drag of the sponge against her skin.
It was a torment he had not anticipated. He’d had no choice but to listen to the sounds of her bath and imagine her naked, all that warm and wet flesh . . . sudsy water running down the curves and hollows of her body. It wasn’t to be borne.
He fully intended to avoid that room . . . avoid her in that room until he’d put such manner of thinking from his head and came to his senses.
He lingered on the stool until the chill started to seep into his bones. Confident she was in bed by now and likely asleep, he left the stables, telling himself he was being cowardly. She was but one small female. He didn’t need to run from her. He frowned as he considered that he had been running from a good many things lately. His life, in fact.
Mrs. Collins waylaid him in the foyer and invited him to help himself to some of the whisky she kept in the parlor for her gentlemen guests.