Minx

"No," he sighed, thinking that he was bone tired, and if he couldn't make love to her that night—which he knew he couldn't do no matter how many times he had unwillingly fantasized about it during the past few days—then at least he'd like to get a good night's sleep on a soft mattress. His eyes traveled to a wing chair in the corner of the room. It looked dreadfully upright, just the sort of chair that was meant to encourage good posture. Not very comfortable for sitting, much less sleeping. He sighed again, this time loudly. "I suppose I can sleep in the chair."

"The chair?" she echoed.

He pointed at the piece of furniture in question. "Four legs, a seat. All in all, a rather useful item for one's home."

"But it's—it's here."

"Yes "

"I'll be here."

"That is also true."

She stared at him as if he did not speak English. "We cannot both sleep here."

"The alternative is that I sleep in the stables, which, I assure you, I have no wish to do. Although..." He cast an eye at the chair. "...at least I would be able to lie down. However, the innkeeper said the stables were even more crowded than the inn, and quite frankly, after my experience with your pigpen, the delicate smell of animals has been engraved permanently on my mind. Or in my nose, as the case may be. The thought of spending the night wedged in between horse droppings is decidedly unpalatable."

"Maybe they just mucked the stalls?" she said hopefully.

"There is nothing to stop them from doing their business in the middle of the night." He closed his eyes and shook his head. Never in a million years would he have dreamed he'd one day be discussing horse manure with a lady.

"All—all right," she said, looking dubiously at the chair. "I—um, I need to change, though."

"I'll just wait in the hall." He straightened his spine and walked from the room, deciding he was the noblest, most chivalrous, and possibly the most stupid man in all Britain. As he leaned against the wall just outside the door, he could hear her moving around. He tried desperately not to think about what those sounds meant, but it was impossible. Now she was unbuttoning her frock...Now she was letting it slip from her shoulders...Now she was...

He bit his lip hard, hoping the pain would steer his thoughts in a more appropriate direction. It didn't work.

The devil of it all was that he knew she wanted him too. Oh, not in quite the same way and certainly not with the same intensity. But it was there. Despite her sarcastic mouth, Henry was a complete innocent and did not know how to hide the dreamy feeling in her eyes whenever they accidentally brushed up against each other. And the kiss...

Dunford groaned. She had been perfect, so completely responsive until he'd lost control and scared her. In retrospect, he thanked God she had become frightened, because he wasn't certain he would have been able to stop.

But despite the hungry cravings of his body, it was definitely not his intention to seduce Henry. He wanted her to have a season, as was her due. He wanted her to meet some women her age and make some friends for the first time in her life. He wanted her to meet some men and... He frowned. No, he decided with the resigned expression of a young child who has been told he absolutely, positively must eat his brussels sprouts, he did want her to meet some men. She deserved to have her choice of England's best.

And then perhaps his life could find its way back to normal. He'd visit his mistress, which he badly needed to do, he'd game with his friends, make the endless round of parties, and continue his much envied bachelor life.

He'd been one of the few people he knew who'd been truly content with his existence. Why the devil would he want to change anything?

The door opened, and Henry's face poked around the corner. "Dunford?" she said quietly. "I'm done. You can come in now."

He groaned, not certain whether the sound was born of stifled desire or plain tiredness, and pushed himself away from the wall. He walked back into the room. Henry was standing near the window, clutching her faded wrapper tightly around her.

"I've seen you in your dressing gown before," he said, quirking what he hoped was a friendly and decidedly platonic smile.

"I-I know, but. . ." She shrugged helplessly. "Do you want me to wait in the hall while you change?"

"In your dressing gown? I think not. I may have seen you so attired, but I certainly don't want to share the privilege with the rest of the inn's occupants."

"Oh. Of course."

"Especially with that old Beresford dragon and her brood about. They're probably on their way to London for the season and won't hesitate to tell the entire ton they saw you wandering half naked around a public inn." He raked his hand wearily through his hair. "We should take pains to avoid them in the morning."

She nodded nervously. "I suppose I could close my eyes. Or turn my back."

He thought that this was probably not the best time to inform her that he preferred to sleep in the nude. Still, it would be damned uncomfortable to sleep in his clothing. Perhaps his dressing gown...

"Or I could hide under the covers," Henry was saying. "Then you would be assured of your modesty."

Dunford blinked in disbelief and amusement as she dove into the bed and crawled under the blankets until she resembled a very large molehill.

"How is that?" she queried, her voice considerably muffled.

He tried to disrobe but found that his shoulders were shaking with mirth. "Perfect, Henry. It's perfect."

"Just tell me when you're done!" she called.