Her bottom hit the door, and it closed with a clack. She jumped at the sound, and her hand rose to her chest to still her racing heart.

“Wh-what are you doing?”

“I’m taking off my trousers.”

“I see that,” she snapped, heat licking her cheeks. “Why are you removing your trousers?”

“They restrict me when I’m sleeping.” He moved his fingers over a button and quirked a brow.

“You aren’t sleeping!”

“Not at the moment.”

She rubbed her suddenly moist hands against the rough cotton weave of her breeches and said a bit desperately, “B-but, you can’t sleep here.”

“Tsk, tsk, Kate. You’re stuttering, and I thought we’d already been through this.” He shook his head in mock resignation.

“We have. Multiple times, if you will recall.”

“Buck up, Kate. I’ll toast up the bed for you. No need to fear I’ll leave you cold.” He smiled devilishly and undid the last fastening.

She examined the knotty floorboards with interest, waiting for the thud of heavy cloth striking wood.

As the silence stretched on, she risked a glance upward to see him still standing motionless before her, bare-chested, with his thumbs hooked into the top of his trousers, buttons redone. If Daisy were here she would surely be in euphoria by now. Kate had just overheard Daisy talking to Bess, the cook, about chests and big hands.

She peered at Christian. He did have large hands, capable, although more graceful than utilitarian. What had Daisy said about chests? That she loved it when men had large, capable hands to handle a well-developed chest. Well, Christian certainly had capable hands.

Heat licked her skin again as her thoughts caught up to her. She noticed his predatory smile and realized she’d been staring like a starving woman.

She lifted her chin and marched to the bed, snatched the counterpane, and dragged it to the rickety pine chair in the corner. She pulled the spread around her shoulders and cocooned herself in it, then plopped onto the hard, uncomfortable chair.

“Honey, what are you doing?”

“Don’t call me honey. My name is Kate Simon. Mr. Kaden to you.”

He sighed. “Kate, get into the bed.”

“No. I’m not sleeping with you.”

“I’m not going to steal your virtue. Not when I could relieve you of it so easily,” he drawled.

She gasped in outrage. “You are a blackguard.”

He shrugged, an easy smile played at the corners of his mouth. “Not much fun to be anything else.”

“What’s wrong with being a gentleman?”

“Dull, dull, dull.”

“I’ll have you know that gentlemen deserve the utmost respect. And they treat ladies in kind.”

“Never knew a lady who dressed like a lad.” His voice grew sly.

Angry heat stole into her cheeks, and she wondered if it would be a permanent condition for the night. “And I never knew a gentleman who would say such a thing.”

He leaned back against the bedpost and crossed his bare forearms. He was an artist’s delight—a tall, lean, muscular Adonis. Blast him, why couldn’t he just put on his shirt?

“And how many times do I have to tell you that I’m not a gentleman.” He shuddered. “Dead boring. Now get into this bed.”

He unfolded his arms and reached for a plain white shirt, the muscles in his stomach stretching beneath the golden light of the lamp as he did so.

Kate swallowed, and it took her a moment to remember what they were arguing about.

“You just claimed you weren’t a gentleman. Why would I climb into bed with you?”

He smoothed the shirt down over his chest, and she swore she could still make out the definition beneath. “Because all the ladies like to bow and curtsy and trade staid witticisms with gentlemen, but none of them want one in their bed.”

“Of all th—”

“It’s true.” He leaned his head back against the post, peering at her lazily from under half-closed eyelids. “Ask the widow downstairs. Or ask her companion. Even the dour Mrs. Wicket could probably tell you that Mr. Wicket is a jolly underachiever between the sheets.”

“This conversation is finished.”

“Are you a prude, Kate? How depressing.”

“I’m not a prude, I’m just not a…not a trollop.” She jerked the counterpane higher.

“You don’t have to be a trollop to enjoy the pleasures of the flesh, Kate. You merely have to have the passion and fire to revel in it.”

The word all but dripped from his tongue. If her face and body were going to remain this heated, perhaps she wouldn’t require the coverlet after all. “Well, there will be no reveling tonight.”

“It’s a damn shame, that.”

“Good night, Mr. Black.”

He sighed. “Kate, get into the bed.”

“No.”

“I’ll carry you over here and deposit you myself.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

He lifted a brow.

All right, so perhaps challenging him hadn’t been the smartest rejoinder.

“I wish to sleep in this chair.”

“No you don’t.”

“I don’t wish to sleep with you, Mr. Black, no matter what charms you think you possess.”

Or what her body thought otherwise.

“I have no use for unwilling or contrary females, Kate. Until you choose to revel, you are quite safe.”

“Hardly reassuring.”

“You will freeze in that chair.”

“Quite possibly.”

He tapped a rhythm against the post with his finger. “Looks quite uncomfortable. You’ll end up in the bed sooner or later.”

“I highly doubt that. Now leave me be.”

“Fine. But you’re going to get a stiff neck and Lord knows what else. When you relent, feel free to crawl right in.” He motioned to the bed magnanimously and then pointed to her bare feet. “I’ll even let you warm your pinkies on me.”

Kate tucked the traitorous digits into the coverlet. “Lovely. I assure you I’d as soon be knocked dead as to warm my feet on you.”

“Interesting. And here I thought—”

Whatever he thought was cut short by a shout of rage coming from the room behind Kate. A shuffling knock from the wall behind Christian indicated that Freewater had heard the shout as well and was likely pressing his ear to the boards.

“Do you know who is occupying that room?” Christian’s voice was low as he pointed toward the wall behind her.

She matched his whispering tone. “Lawrence Lake, I believe.”

“The man who started the fight in the taproom?”

Kate nodded. “He and Janson have more between them than just an unfriendly cricket rivalry.”

“That much seems obvious.”

Another bellow of rage echoed through the walls, followed by the tinkling of glass shattering against the floorboards.

Heavy footsteps pounded across the floor above. A small section of the innkeeper’s room was directly above theirs, the rest of it located above Mr. Freewater’s room.

Sure enough, footsteps treaded heavily on the stairs and someone pounded on the door next to theirs moments later.

They heard the door creak open and a voice boomed, “Mr. Lake, I warned you earlier.”

“How can you stand it, Mrs. Wicket? Janson must be stopped. He’s an animal unfit for society.”

“Mr. Lake! Do not speak about Mr. Janson that way. It is no business of yours.”

“Deep inside everyone must know what kind of man he is.”

“Mr. Janson is a passionate man. Headstrong and competitive. And furthermore, he is a guest here at the inn, as are you, although how much longer you remain is yet to be determined. I expect you to clean up that glass; I won’t be sending Sally to sweep up this mess as she has other tasks occupying her.”

There was a pause. “Sorry, ma’am,” Lake said in a voice that could only be described as defeated.

Mrs. Wicket’s voice dropped and Kate had to strain to hear. “No more of this, do you hear me, Mr. Lake? I thought we had straightened this out earlier. You remember what we discussed?”

“Yes.” Lake’s voice was subdued.

“Very well. Good night, Mr. Lake.”

“Good night, Mrs. Wicket.”

The door shut and footsteps treaded back upstairs.

Christian gazed at the wall thoughtfully, before looking back toward the Freewater wall. The room seemed to chill momentarily.

“Good night, Kate.”

Kate blinked, unsure what had occurred to change his mind. He wasn’t going to argue anymore? She really didn’t want to sleep in a chair, but the alternative was…unacceptable. Much too dangerous. Sharing a room with a man who was obviously of a rakish stamp was a danger by itself. Sharing a bed? She’d be lucky to leave without an extra mouth to feed nine months down the road.

“Good night, Mr. Black.”

Kate watched him slip under the bedcovers and scoot up against the wall, his body facing Freewater’s room. She didn’t know why he wanted to listen to Freewater, who seemed dull in the extreme. Other than the occasional swearing, the only things to be heard were shuffled papers, slammed books, and squeaky bedsprings. If Freewater didn’t keep making little noises every few minutes, she would forget him completely.

Kate watched Christian settle in. His dark locks contrasted sharply with the white embroidered pillowcase, like a demon who had taken advantage of an angel’s fluffy cloud.

She blew out the candle on the small table between her chair and the bed, then buried her head into the surprisingly soft counterpane and closed her eyes. It was going to be a long, uncomfortable night.

 

Kate woke at the one o’clock chime and again at two. She automatically looked to the shadows and didn’t see the lump she had expected. Where had her roommate gone? A loud snore came from Freewater’s room, and she could hear the steady beat of Lake’s leg as he bounced it up and down on the floor.

The door opened and Christian was silhouetted in the low light of the hall. He looked weary.

“Where have you been?” she asked tiredly.

He shut the door and walked toward the bed. “Nowhere interesting. Pretty curious for someone who is not sharing my bed. You ready to give up your chair?”

She was more than ready to give up the chair.

“No.”

“You are going to be cramped by morning.”

That was probably true. And she could use a trip to the common room’s chamber pot. There was no way she was using one in front of Christian.

Making sure her head wrap was in place, she stood and hobbled to the door. Christian’s chuckle followed her. “A bit stiff, Kate?”

Although pins and needles stung her feet and she thought she could hear her knees creaking, she ignored him and ambled to the common room at the end of the hall. Smug, irritating man. Thought he knew everything.

No one was in the room so she ducked behind the privacy screen and quickly took care of things.

On her return she noticed two figures standing on the gallery; one looked like Janson, but she couldn’t be sure from the distance. Shrugging, she hurried back to their room and slid inside.

“Where did you go, Kate?”

“Nowhere interesting. Pretty curious for someone who is not sharing my chair.”

There was a pause. “I could be, you know. There is plenty of room for the both of us to get off.”

“Why would you get on a chair if you were only planning on getting right back off?”

A snort was her only answer. “Good night again, Kate.”

 

When Kate next opened her eyes it was to find them inches from another pair, a dark blue pair calmly studying her.

Shrieking, she pushed backward and promptly fell on the floor, the covers tangled around her.

Christian leaned over. “Graceful too, I see.”

“What are you doing in my bed?”

He raised a brow.

“What am I doing in the bed?” she amended at a lower volume.

“You were moaning and I figured if you were going to be moaning that sexily, you might as well do it in bed so that I could get maximum enjoyment from it as well.”

“What?!”

“Quite a deep tenor you have when you moan.” He winked down at her. “Not quite the same as a man’s though, to the pity of your disguise, but not to my ears. Quite the sexy sounds you make when you sleep, Kate. Passion veritably lashing at its bindings.”

Kate’s mouth worked in silent starts, her legs still wrapped tightly in the bedcovers. Sometime during the night Christian had removed his shirt and was lounging half naked on the bed, idly tapping a finger on the sheet and lazily inspecting her.

She took a deep breath. “Let me repeat my question. What am I doing in this bed?”

“Seems to me you are on the floor. And have taken most of the bedcovers with you. Not very hospitable.”

The edges of the covers remained tucked under the mattress, while the rest were either draped over the edge of the bed or wrapped tightly around her body. She tugged at the covers on the bed, attempting to unwrap herself, but Christian grabbed them before she could complete the task.

She tugged again. “Let go.”

“No.” He smiled, his teeth even and white in the morning light.

“Why did you move me?”

“You don’t believe you wandered over here and curled against my lovely body on your own? I’m wounded.”

“I’ll just bet you are.”

He flopped on his back, staring toward the ceiling, one arm covering his face. “Crushed.”

“Black!”

“Irreparably damaged.”

“Christian!”

“Yes, sweetest?” He turned over, propped his head on his elbow, and peered down at her, the same lazy, heavy-lidded gaze in place.

“You are the biggest blackguard imaginable.”

“Why, thank you. Although I’m not sure you should grant me that title yet. There are plenty of blackguards you have yet to meet. But that you think of me that way…well, it is an honor.”

“I’ll bet,” she muttered, finally slithering out from between the twined sheet and blankets, but remaining on the floor. “Now would you explain why I was in the unfortunate position of being in bed with you?”

“You fancy me, of course.”

“I assure you, I most definitely do not.” She focused on the insipid watercolor above his head again. It seemed a prudent place to stare. His eyes were too intense and his skin too, too uncovered in the bright light.

“Maybe you just aren’t quite aware of it yet.”

“May that never happen then. Now answer the question.”

She unwisely met his eyes, and the blue deepened to midnight.

“You were moaning most deliciously, until you started screaming around three. Yes, it was most definitely three. I remember the chimes.”

Kate maintained a blank expression as she straightened her shirt and touched her hair, sighing in profound relief to find her wrap still in place. She couldn’t believe she had forgotten to check immediately. The man had completely muddled her brain.

“And?”

“And we couldn’t very well have Mrs. Wicket rushing down here to investigate the noise, now could we? Could expose your whole ruse.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Why would you care?”

“Inconvenient, that. Might toss me out too.”

Kate snorted. He probably did think that. Yet it would be easy enough for Christian to claim he hadn’t known she was a female. Since he was a paying customer and a man, the Wickets wouldn’t throw him out. And Kate had a feeling that Christian knew it too.

“So you, what? Carried me to bed to shut me up?”

“Course. You were most willing too. Snuggled right up against me. Lovely flashes of skin too. You should really wear less to bed.” He reached out a finger and traced it down her forehead and off her nose.

Kate automatically withdrew and touched her still hidden ear. He hadn’t seen it then. Not that she would care, she told herself in a voice that was too defensive by far. He was a devilishly handsome man and no doubt a connoisseur of beautiful women. It would sting to hear disgust and condescension from anyone, but doubly so from this type of man. It had been only two weeks since Connor had destroyed a few of her more naïve views. She still needed to work on building up her defenses.

“That was it? We just slept?”

“That was all. Unfortunately. I even let you have all the covers while I slept on top of the sheet.”

Kate noticed that he was indeed on top, pinning it down—part of the reason she had become so entangled.

Christian grabbed his shirt, seemingly bored with the conversation all of a sudden. “I’m going down to the dining room. Coming?”

Kate narrowed her eyes at his abrupt change in attitude, but nodded. She checked the clock. It was nearly eight. Why hadn’t the sounds from the carriages, the post, and the bustle of the early morning country folk awakened her?

“You go ahead. I’ll be down after I dress.”

“I could help you dress.” His smirk grew at her frown. “No? I’ll just wait in the hall then.”

As the door closed, Kate bounced off the bed. She completed her toilette in record time, not wanting to press her luck and have Christian saunter back in midway through.

Stepping into the hall and walking toward the stairs, Kate was stunned to see snow, heavy and thick, piled on the furthest section of the covered gallery walkway, as if the winds had distributed the entire clump in one area.

Christian followed her gaze. “Snowed all night. Seems the storm the farmers have been expecting finally materialized.”

They walked into the dining room, where only Tiegs and his two cronies had congregated. Kate sat at a small table, and Christian sank into the seat across from her.

She gave him a pointed stare. “You are aware that our sharing a room does not necessitate sitting together?”

He smiled. “Why would I want to sit with anyone else?”

She shook her head, but her words held no real bite. “I cannot be rid of you soon enough.”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”

Kate turned to see Mr. Wicket wringing his hands on his apron.

“Snowed in. Completely snowed in. Received word that the roads are all blocked. A blizzard stormed across the lowlands. Earliest estimate for the roads to be cleared is a week. The south road from Sherringate will be particularly troublesome, didn’t you know? The coaches will get stuck in the drifts if they run too soon. Even the Haywood would be hard-pressed to make the trip. Oh, and I had some new supplies scheduled to arrive. The winter ale needs replenishing.”

Kate stared at the man, her mind not quite getting past the “week” portion of his words. “A week?”

“At the least.”

“But I need to be in London by Monday next.”

“Reduced room rate, Mr. Kaden. Sure as sure that you would not get that in London. I suppose that is a good thing. Our inn full of guests for the week. I expect that Misters Janson, Desmond, and Lake may choose to leave, as they are locals, but the rest, yes, good business.”

The innkeeper hurried off, leaving Kate stunned in his wake. She turned to see Christian smirking.

“What are you so jolly about?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all.”

As guests arrived in the dining room, they were informed of the dismal conditions. They responded to the news that they would be forced to stay for another week with varying degrees of dismay (the Crescents), or joy (Nickford).

By nine o’clock everyone was gathered except Janson and Freewater. Mr. Wicket clapped his hands to gain everyone’s attention.

“I have a few announcements to make. Oh, now, where are Julius and Mr. Freewater?”

No one said a word.

“Mary, dear, fetch them, will you?”

Kate watched Lake’s eyes narrow, but he said nothing as Mary walked from the room.

Freewater appeared in the dining room a few minutes later, looking disgruntled and muttering to himself. He chose a seat at a table by himself and glared at everyone whose eyes he met.

Mr. Wicket fiddled with some papers until Mary returned with a strange look on her face. “Mr. Janson doesn’t appear to be in his room. I knocked loudly and called out, but he didn’t respond.”

Mr. Wicket’s brows drew together. “Elias, take the key and wake Julius.”

Elias did as he was told, only to return with a strange expression as well. “Mr. Janson is not in his room, nor are his belongings.”

Mr. Wicket twitched. “Not like Julius to dash off without paying. A lively lad, Julius, but not inconsiderate.”

Kate held back a snort. From what she had seen, Janson was a blackguard in the truest sense. At least Christian was the harmless type unless a woman did something foolish like love the man. Everyone knew that men like Christian flitted from one thing or person to another, leaving only unhappiness in their wake. Men like Janson, however, caused much worse damage. Physical scars, even. Kate had no idea why the Wickets didn’t see what was in store for their own daughter. Kate was inclined to agree with Lake’s assessment.

“Well, we’ll just have to wait until—”

The side door burst open and a stocky man fell inside along with a drift of snow.

“Gordon! What are you doing, man? You’re letting in the snow and wind. Get inside and close that door.”

“Mr. Wicket, sir. There’s a dead body in the stables. Julius Janson’s been murdered.”