Amelia draped her shawl on a soft, overstuffed green chair beneath a window and shook her head, wide-eyed. "No, not a thing. Thank you."
"Well, then, I'll wait here until your things are brought up."
"And then you'll come in and rest?" she asked, openly puzzled.
"No!" He rubbed sweaty palms up and down the thighs of his trousers. "I'll put about the village and see what other lodgings can be had."
Amelia drew up, her face and her body, and then fell into the chair, crushing her poor cashmere shawl. "What on earth for?"
"Well, because…" He sputtered and waved his hand between them. "Because I am…and you are…"
She laughed, a musical sound that wasn't naïve at all, full of mischievous comprehension. "There can be only two reasons for such foolishness." She held up her hand, ticking fingers as she spoke. "Our reputations, which of course don't matter a fig because we're here for the same purpose as everyone else." Her cheeks flushed a deep rose, and she picked at embroidery on her skirt. "And there is, of course, the natural temptation that exists between a man and woman when they are waiting to be wed, but we have no such struggles."
She raised her eyes to his, and he gulped.
"Anyway," she continued, "it seems very silly to go wandering about the village when Mrs. Gaveston has already warned you of the situation, and none of your objections are valid anyhow."
He spared a glance for the bed, a half-canopied affair hung in green and white. Its bedding was fresh and clean, and if the lumpiness to the quilt was to be believed, stuffed with an embarrassment of heavenly down. He was exhausted, mind and body, and its mounded pillows beckoned to him in like a siren's song. If he could find a way to salve even a fraction of his conscience with Amelia's argument, he'd be asleep before he could pry his boots off.
He chewed his lip. "You really think I won't find anything else?"
"Mrs. Gaveston said as much."
The certainty of her words was so trusting that he resisted telling her that Mrs. Gaveston was a very shrewd business woman, and that the boy who'd dashed in bellowing for lodgings looked a great deal like a groom he'd seen milling behind her establishment, tending her horses.
Amelia stood, leaned forward, and patted the quilt. "I really don't see that either of us has a choice." She held up her hands. "Not that I mind! Not in the least. We can keep one another company and get acquainted. We won't even have to eat supper alone! Oh, I had to eat alone in Berwick and Fullerton, on the way up. It was miserable."