Minx

Which bothered him.

Damn, but it bothered him.

But it didn't bother him half as much, however, as the fact that he had been bothered by it in the first place.

This was getting far too confusing. He gave up thinking about it and helped her down from the carriage.

They walked into the inn, one of the grooms trailing behind with their valises. Henry was relieved to see that it appeared to be satisfactorily clean. She hadn't slept on any sheets save for the ones at Stannage Park for years, and she always knew exactly when those had last been washed. It finally occurred to her just how much she had controlled her own existence up to now. London would be quite an adventure. If only she could get over this paralyzing fear of polite society...

The innkeeper, recognizing Quality when he saw it, quickly rushed over to their sides.

"We require two rooms," Dunford said briskly. "One for myself and one for my sister."

The innkeeper's face fell. "Oh, dear. I was hoping you were married because I've only one room left and—"

"Are you quite certain?" Dunford's voice was like ice.

"Oh, milord, if I could boot someone out for you, I would, I swear, but the entire place is full of Quality tonight. The Dowager Duchess of Beresford is passing through, and she's got quite a collection with her. Needed six rooms altogether, what with all her grandchildren."

Dunford groaned. The Beresford clan was notorious for its fertility. At last count the dowager duchess—a nasty, old woman who certainly would not look kindly upon being asked to give up one of her rooms—had twenty grandchildren. Lord only knew how many of them were here tonight.

Henry, however, had no such knowledge of the Beresfords and their amazing fecundity, and presently was having trouble breathing due to the panic rushing through her body. "Oh, but you must have another room," she blurted out. "You must."

The innkeeper shook his head. "Only one. I'll be sleeping in the stables as it is. But surely the two of you won't mind sharing so much, since you're brother and sister and all. It's not very private, I know, but—"

"I'm a very private person," Henry said desperately, grabbing hold of his arm. "Extraordinarily so."

"Henrietta, dear," Dunford said, gently uncurling her fingers from their death grip on the innkeeper's elbow, "if he hasn't another room, he hasn't another room. We'll have to make do."

She eyed him warily, then immediately calmed down. Of course, Dunford must have a plan. That was why he sounded so collected and self-assured. "Of course, Du...er, Daniel," she improvised, realizing belatedly that she didn't know his given name. "Of course. How silly of me."

The innkeeper relaxed visibly and handed Dunford the key. "There is room in the stables for your grooms, milord. It'll be a tight squeeze, but I think there'll be a spot for everyone."

Dunford thanked him and then saw to the task of showing Henry to their room. The poor girl had gone white as a sheet. True, the blasted bonnet hid most of her face, but it was not difficult to deduce that she was not happy with the sleeping arrangements.

Well, curse it, neither was he. He was not in the least pleased by the thought of sleeping in the same room with her all night. His damned body was getting aroused just thinking about it. More than a dozen times that day he had wanted to grab her and kiss her senseless right there in the carriage. The deuced chit would never know the level of self-control he had exerted.

It wasn't when they were talking. Then, at least, he could keep his mind off her body and on the conversation. It happened when they lapsed into silence, and he'd look up and see Henry staring out the window, her eyes aglow. Then he'd look at her mouth, which was always a mistake, and she'd go and do something like lick her lips, and the next thing he knew he was clutching the seat cushions just to keep from reaching for her.

And those delectable, very pink lips were pursed just then as Henry planted her hands on her hips and looked around the room. Dunford followed her gaze to the large bed that dominated the chamber and gave up any hope that he wasn't going to spend the night uncomfortably hard. "Who's Daniel?" he tried to joke.

"You, I'm afraid, since you never told me your given name. Don't say anything that will give yourself away."

"My lips are sealed," he said, bowing grandly, all the while wishing they were sealed on hers.

"What is your real name?"

He smiled devilishly. "Secret."

"Oh, please," she scoffed.

"I'm serious." He actually managed to school his features into an expression of such earnest honesty, that for a moment she believed him. He moved stealthily to her side and clapped his hand over her mouth. "A state secret," he whispered, looking furtively toward the window. "The very livelihood of the monarchy depends upon it. If revealed, it could topple our interests in India, not to mention—"

Henry yanked off her bonnet and batted him with it. "You're incorrigible," she sputtered.

"I have been told," he said with an unabashed grin, "that I frequently act with a decided lack of gravity."

"I'll say." She planted her hands on her hips again and resumed her perusal of the room. "Well, Dunford, this is a bind. What is your plan?"

"My plan?"

"You have one, don't you?"

"I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about."

"For our sleeping arrangements," she ground out.

"I hadn't really thought about it," he admitted.

"What?" she screeched. Then, realizing she sounded decidedly shrewish, she modified her tone and added, "We can't both sleep...there." She motioned to the bed.