Page 18

Chapter Eighteen

A knock startled Evelyn just as she was wringing out the ends of her damp hair by the hearth. She turned, glancing at Robert, who leaned lazily against the wall near the bed, looking far too comfortable for someone so recently drenched. Another knock came, gentle but insistent.

“I’ll get it,” she said quickly, smoothing her skirts as she crossed the room.

She opened the door to find the innkeeper’s wife standing there with a bundle of neatly folded clothes in her arms. The woman’s round cheeks were flushed from the heat of the kitchens, and her gray-streaked hair was pinned beneath a simple linen cap.

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” the woman said kindly.

“My husband told me you two were caught in that sudden rain. Said you’d gotten lost.” She smiled in a way that made her eyes twinkle.

“I thought you might get cold, so I brought you some dry clothes. They’re my son’s and daughter’s, grown and gone now, but I kept a few things just in case someone passing through might need them. I hope they’ll fit.”

Evelyn blinked, momentarily speechless.

Such simple, uncalculated kindness was rare.

It hit her somewhere deep and raw. Her throat tightened unexpectedly, and for a moment, she had the insane urge to throw her arms around the woman and hug her.

But she stopped herself. This wasn’t London, but still, such a gesture might be wildly inappropriate.

Instead, Evelyn reached out and gently squeezed the woman’s hand.

“Thank you,” she said sincerely. “This… is incredibly kind of you.”

The woman’s smile softened. “No trouble at all, dear.” She handed over the bundle. “Do come downstairs when you’ve changed. The soup’s hot and hearty; it’ll warm your bones.”

Evelyn nodded, still touched. “We will. And thank you again.”

The woman nodded and bustled off down the corridor. Evelyn closed the door quietly behind her and turned to Robert, who had straightened up and was watching her with something unreadable in his expression.

“She brought us clothes,” Evelyn said, almost in awe, holding them up. “Just… out of kindness.”

Robert smiled. “You look like you’re about to cry.”

“I am not,” she huffed, turning away to hide the prickling in her eyes. “It’s just… nice. No motives, no pretense. Just decent, genuine people. I wasn’t prepared for that.”

“You’d better change, then,” he said, his voice unusually soft. “Before you go hugging the entire inn.”

That made her laugh, and the heaviness in her chest eased a little more.

Evelyn placed the bundle of clothes on the edge of the bed and gave Robert a long look, her brow arching as she asked. “How exactly are we supposed to change?”

He tilted his head, already smirking. “Well… in this room, I presume.”

She crossed her arms and pouted though her eyes gleamed with mirth. “You know what I mean.”

That earned a chuckle from him, low and amused this time, the kind that made his shoulders shake slightly. “Of course, I do.”

He pushed away from the wall, making a show of glancing around the small room. “I could step out if you’d prefer,” he offered.

But she hesitated.

“It’s… it’s all right. You don’t have to leave,” she told him softly, almost too quietly. Then, quickly, before he got the wrong idea, she added with haste, “So long as you turn your back.”

His grin widened, and there was a devilish flicker in his eyes. “Ah. Rules. I see.”

“Yes,” she said firmly, ignoring the flutter in her chest. “We turn our backs. We change. The first one finished calls out. We don’t turn around until we’re both dressed. Understood?”

He gave an exaggerated bow. “Perfectly, Your Grace.”

She rolled her eyes, suppressing a smile, and turned toward the window while he turned toward the fireplace.

Her fingers moved quickly, undoing the buttons of her wet bodice and stepping carefully out of her soaked gown.

The innkeeper’s wife had brought her a soft cotton dress and a shawl, which were plain but warm.

She slipped it over her chemise, shivering as the dry fabric touched her skin.

“Not fair,” Robert muttered aloud behind her.

Evelyn froze mid-movement. “What isn’t?”

“You saw me shirtless,” he replied, clearly pouting, “and I didn’t get the same privilege.”

She gasped in mock shock, clutching the shawl at her chest. “Your Grace! How scandalous!”

“I think it’s perfectly reasonable,” he argued, and she could hear the smile in his voice. “Turnabout is fair play, after all.”

“You are absolutely incorrigible,” she said, barely keeping the laughter from bubbling up. “It’s a miracle your estate has not burned to the ground from sheer lack of supervision.”

He sighed dramatically. “It would’ve if not for my tragically underpaid staff. All saints, each of them.”

She was chuckling now, slipping on the dry stockings and smoothing her skirts. “I’m done,” she called over her shoulder.

“Same here.”

They turned around at the same time.

He wore a loose white shirt, which was thankfully buttoned this time, and a pair of dark trousers that didn’t quite match but suited him far too well regardless. His dark hair was still damp, pushed back from his forehead, and his eyes found her with quiet intensity.

She smoothed the skirt again, suddenly self-conscious. “Do I look ridiculous?”

His gaze lingered. “No,” he said slowly. “You look…”

He didn’t finish, but he didn’t need to. Her cheeks warmed again, and she looked away, clutching the shawl more tightly around her shoulders.

“Let’s go down before the soup gets cold,” she suggested quickly, moving toward the door.

Robert followed, his eyes never leaving hers, not even for a second.

Robert leaned back in his chair, one arm casually slung over the side while the other brought the warm, hearty soup to his mouth.

The inn was lively, to say the least. It was filled with the hum of chatter, the clinking of mugs, the scent of roasted meat, and rain-soaked travelers drying off by the hearth.

And for once, he wasn’t the Duke of Aberon. He was just a man beside a woman, enjoying a simple meal.

Evelyn sat across from him, her damp hair now curling gently near her jaw. Her cheeks were still flushed from the ride or maybe from the fire. She looked utterly at ease, spooning the soup with quiet delight, and a pleased little sigh escaped her lips with each bite.

“If I’d known soup could earn that sort of praise, I’d have insisted Cook serve it every evening,” Robert said, tilting his head with amusement.

She raised a brow. “You’re not nearly as funny as you think you are, Your Grace.”

He narrowed his eyes playfully. “We’re lost travelers, remember? No titles tonight.”

She considered him for a beat, a teasing smile tugging at her lips. “Very well… Robert.”

His name from her lips… it nearly made him forget the spoon halfway to his mouth.

He took a breath, letting the warmth of it settle in his chest. “Much better,” he murmured.

They sat like that for a moment until Evelyn leaned back slightly and made a comment that seemed to have been plaguing her for a while. “I dislike the lack of control that comes with a side-saddle.”

His brows lifted. “Do you now?”

“I was thinking about it on the ride over. There’s something very… frustrating about being at the mercy of the horse’s movements and not being able to steer properly. It’s a bit humiliating to be honest.”

Robert leaned forward, intrigued. “I once heard about a rather unconventional design,” he said, swirling his spoon lazily. “A skirt that, with the clever use of hidden buttons, transforms into trousers. Looks modest enough on first glance but underneath, absolute freedom.”

She gasped. “You’re joking.”

“Would I lie about such a noble invention?”

“That’s… brilliant!” she said, her eyes shining. “And why have I never heard of such a thing before?”

“Likely because it would terrify half the aristocracy,” he replied dryly. “Imagine the scandal: women wearing trousers.”

“Imagine the convenience,” she shot back.

He chuckled and then, more sincerely added. “If that’s something you’d like, I’ll see what can be done. I’m sure someone in town could fashion you a few riding habits like that. Discreetly, of course.”

She looked at him for a moment, touched. “Thank you.”

He waved it off with a faint smile, but her gaze lingered just a little too long, just enough to make him feel it everywhere. Then she returned to her soup, taking another bite with a soft hum of appreciation.

Robert sat back, with his spoon forgotten, more satisfied in that moment than he had been in years. The rain still tapped against the windowpanes, the fire still crackled, but he only saw her, laughing in the firelight, daring to be free, surprising him again and again.

He watched as her gaze flicked to the lively crowd around them, the unaware people, uninterested in who they were, and then back to him. Her lips parted, hesitating before she finally spoke.

“I’ve never felt this free,” she confessed softly. “No one watching, no expectations, no titles. Just… me.” She bit her lower lip gently, her teeth catching on the pink curve in a way that made Robert’s pulse hammer in his ears. “I don’t want it to end. Not yet.”

The way she looked at him did something to him.

Desire pulled tight across his chest, heat rising low and slow in his stomach. He wanted her. God, he wanted her. To kiss her, to pull her into his arms, to bury his hands in her still-damp hair and taste every word she’d just said. But he held himself in check, barely.

He leaned in with his elbow on the table. “Do you really want that?” he asked.

She nodded once, quickly, following it with the barest flicker of a smile at the corners of her mouth.

He exhaled slowly, offering her a smile that was both reassuring and unmistakably something more. “Then tonight,” he said, his voice a mere murmur between them, “is all about fulfilling your wishes.”

Her eyes widened slightly, and he saw it, that spark. Not surprise, not fear but anticipation.

He stood and offered her his hand.

“Come,” he urged. “Let’s see where your freedom takes us next.”