Don't Tie the Knot

by Bianca Blythe

  He sighed. If he were on his own, he would simply hire a horse and gallop on ahead. Georgiana probably could handle the coach on her own—she was clever, but he didn’t want to abandon her to the whims of fate. What if another wheel broke? What if highwaymen attacked?

  Tall hedges loomed on either side of the coach, and Hamish scanned the area, just in case any highwaymen decided to waylay them.

  He shook his head. They would catch up with his brother at Gretna Green.

  The sun had not yet set, and the stucco inn was swathed in pink and orange light.

  “The Old Goblet?” Georgiana asked, staring at the sign.

  “Likely an exaggeration,” Hamish said optimistically, as he opened a wooden door and ducked underneath a low beam.

  Patrons stared at them, and he was conscious of tension moving through Georgiana. Squeezing her hand seemed very appealing, though the action seemed of the tempting variety.

  They would need to pretend to be married.

  The thought caused him to smile, and he walked up to the proprietor. “My wife and I were hoping to spend the night here.”

  The proprietor, a man with bushy white hair, nodded. “Very well.”

  The other patrons looked curiously at them.

  “And we’ll need dinner too,” Hamish said.

  “I can send it to your room.”

  Hamish glanced at Georgiana.

  They couldn’t share a room.

  They’d shared a coach last night, and he’d spent the time longing to claim her, even though he would have to deal with all the spatial challenges that the manufacturers had not accommodated for in their designs.

  He’d never survive the night were they to be in the same room.

  “We need two rooms,” Hamish said.

  The innkeeper frowned. “But you are married.”

  He cast a doubtful look on Georgiana which Hamish despised.

  “Yes,” Hamish said. “It’s only—”

  The innkeeper continued to look disapprovingly at them. “This ’ere is a right fine establishment. No riffraff. Or—er—ladies of the night.”

  “He snores,” Georgiana said suddenly, and Hamish jerked his head in her direction. “Like a—”

  “Thunderstorm,” Hamish finished, smiling.

  She grinned back and something that was very much like magic flickered between them.

  “A really terrible thunderstorm,” Georgiana said.

  “I know there are not such bad thunderstorms in England,” Hamish said. “You might not understand the significance of it.”

  “Think Scandinavia,” Georgiana said. “Imagine that Thor himself has decided to wage a bitter war from this man’s nostrils.”

  The innkeeper widened his eyes and stared at Hamish’s nose. “I-I wouldn’t have guessed it.”

  “It’s a hidden talent,” Georgiana said benevolently.

  “Perhaps—er—you would be most suited for the barn.”

  “I wouldn’t want to disturb your horses,” Hamish said. “They have to work in the morning to plow the ground.”

  “Oh.” The innkeeper nodded. “That’s very thoughtful of you.”

  “He has some good qualities,” Georgiana said.

  Hamish gave a modest shrug, even while feeling wilder than he had for years.

  He didn’t make up lies to tell people, even the kind that misrepresented his ability to sleep without disturbing people.

  “Two rooms then.”

  “Money is no hindrance,” Hamish said magnanimously.

  “Well then.” The innkeeper said a number, and Hamish handed him some coin.

  “Thank you.”

  “Perhaps one day you can improve,” the innkeeper said gravely. “It is sad to see someone who struggles so with sleep when he’s so young.”

  “Oh, I don’t struggle with sleep,” Hamish said.

  “I have to throw a pail of water on him each morning to wake him up,” Georgiana said in an explanatory tone.

  “I suppose I could get that for you,” the innkeeper said. He turned to his companion. “Can you—er—make sure this ’ere lady has a pail of water in the morning?”

  The man nodded solemnly.

  “That’s right unconventional,” the innkeeper said. “Perhaps I should try it on other guests.” He leaned forward. “Some of them sleep rather too well after a long night, if you catch my drift. It never occurred to me to douse them in water, though.”

  “Oh, my wife is quite creative.”

  “It might only work on my husband,” Georgiana said quickly, and the word “husband” sent a jolt through Hamish. “Most men might find the experience unpleasant.”

  The innkeeper gave a thoughtful nod.

  “I’ll—er—show you to your rooms.” The innkeeper grabbed two keys and then turned to Georgiana. “You don’t mind sleeping in the one next to his?”

  Hamish had a sudden vision of one of the men sneaking into her room. “She doesn’t mind.”

  The innkeeper handed them two keys. “You’re just upstairs at the end of the hallway.”

  They headed past stunned-looking patrons. Perhaps it hadn’t been completely necessary for Georgiana to say that he needed to have a bucket of water thrown over his head to wake him up. It probably also wasn’t necessary to be quite so dramatic when referencing his snoring, especially since Hamish had always been proud that he was not prone to snoring to begin with.

  Hamish opened one room, and then the other. He peeked inside. “I believe this is—er—nicer. You’ll want this one.”

  “Oh.” Georgiana blinked. “If you’re certain.”

  “It has paintings of flowers in it. The other one has birds.”

  “Neither are particularly architectural.”

  “But you’ll prefer the flowers,” he said, and she smiled back.

  God in heaven. The lassie had a magnificent smile.

  Footsteps sounded behind them, and Hamish and Georgiana both jumped away, as if to expand the distance between them as much as possible.

  “Oh, I am sorry,” the innkeeper said. “I’ve just come with the bucket.”

  “BUCKET?” GEORGIANA squeaked

  “Yes,” the innkeeper nodded. “Should wake him up in no time in the morning.”

  Right.

  “Thank you,” Georgiana said.

  “My pleasure.” The innkeeper strode through the room, and some water sloshed from the bucket onto the floor. “My. What a romantic couple you are. Especially given your husband’s snoring. That couldn’t have been a pleasant surprise. Makes you quite the angel.”

  “Yes,” Hamish agreed, and Georgiana pinkened.

  Georgiana wasn’t Hamish’s wife, and he didn’t think her an angel.

  And yet, somehow the innkeeper’s babbling made her body warm, and she considered that it might be quite nice if both those circumstances were true.

  Of course, they weren’t, and Georgiana forced the thought away.

  They were friends. Nothing more. They were spending long hours on the coach, not in an effort to get to know each other, but so that Hamish might leave her with her sister and avoid anyone thinking he compromised her.

  Her heart tightened, and she was grateful when the innkeeper left. She entered the bed quickly, not speaking to him, though her thoughts remained on him.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Ever since they’d entered North Yorkshire, the road had become more difficult. Steep, soaring hills surrounded them. Goats had turned into their main source of company. The rain had formed deep rivulets, and the horses had to proceed more slowly, since they were hindered both by the uncomfortable angles of the slopes and the unevenness of the roads.

  At the end of a day that had involved guiding the horses through perilous swerves and horse changes at each station, they arrived exhausted at a coaching inn. The stone walls, that looked as if they’d been there since the sixteenth century, seemed to portend good things, and Georgiana smiled when they stepped onto the stone-flagged floors. A ro
aring fire crackled in a large hearth, and Hamish approached the innkeeper.

  “How can I help you?” the innkeeper asked with a broad smile. “Dinner? Lodging?”

  “Aye,” Hamish said. “Both of them.”

  The woman’s cheery expression vanished, and Hamish stiffened.

  Georgiana frowned. The woman had been friendly until she’d heard Hamish’s Scottish accent.

  “I might have one room,” the innkeeper said, obviously reluctantly.

  Perhaps she regretted announcing she had lodging moments before.

  Hamish sent Georgiana a querying look, but Georgiana nodded. She was in no mood to make an excuse for why they couldn’t share a room now. It seemed disloyal to state that she needed her own room because she couldn’t abide to share one with Hamish, and of course she would hardly want to give this woman the impression that Hamish was traveling with an unwed woman.

  “Do you have any extra bedding?” Hamish asked.

  The innkeeper frowned. “I assure you, our bedding is sufficiently warm.”

  “I have confidence in the quality, but—”

  “This is England, after all,” the innkeeper interrupted. “You may be used to frigidness in the barren north, but I assure you in England we are quite comfortable.”

  Georgiana supposed the innkeeper might have a lax interpretation of the word comfort. The Moors seemed remote and hardly a holiday location for those seeking warmth coupled with their relaxation, and she supposed the potential for the latter was limited when one was surrounded with unfriendly hosts.

  “Is that so?” Hamish asked.

  Georgiana had grown accustomed to the musical drawl of his words. His emphasis on the letter “R” seemed charming, but it was evident that the man’s accent brought no similar favorable reaction from the innkeeper.

  “No doubt your bedding is tolerable,” Georgiana said, hoping to lessen the tension ricocheting about the tavern and drawing attention from the tankard-clutching patrons, but unwilling to use a more enthusiastic word than tolerable to describe anything in this establishment.

  “You’re English.” The innkeeper’s eyes widened. “What are you doing with this man?” The innkeeper leaned forward and lowered her voice to a whisper that still somehow managed to be far too loud. “Don’t you know ’e’s Scottish?”

  Georgiana shifted her feet over the wooden planks of the floor, unsettled by the woman’s blatant prejudice and snobbery.

  “I can tell by ’is accent,” the woman continued, giving a proud smile.

  “I didn’t doubt your ability to tell,” Georgiana said.

  The woman beamed.

  “Though I did wonder at the importance of that fact,” Georgiana added, which caused the innkeeper to flash a much more disgruntled expression at her.

  Hamish cleared his throat. “This is my—er—wife.”

  “And you require two sets of bedding?” The innkeeper asked again, and then she paused. “But of course. You must be having an argument.”

  Georgiana gave Hamish an uneasy smile.

  “I mean,” the innkeeper continued, “It must be only natural, what with your different backgrounds.”

  “I’m very troublesome,” Hamish said in a gentlemanly gesture.

  “But not as troublesome as I am,” Georgiana said quickly.

  “I call her shrew for short,” Hamish said.

  “I suppose that meets the requirements in length for a nickname,” the innkeeper said slowly.

  “Indeed it does,” Hamish said.

  “And you wouldn’t prefer two rooms?”

  “Oh, her heart would ache too much if she were in a different room,” Hamish said.

  “Only because I would worry too much about his proclivity to shout out my name in the middle of the night,” Georgiana replied quickly. “The man is prone to missing me. Rather like a new kitten.”

  “She calls me kitten for short,” Hamish said. “Even though it does not meet the requirements for shortness of length. She’s rather less clever in that regard.”

  “Despite your Scottishness,” the innkeeper said.

  “Some Scots are quite clever with language,” one of the patrons said. “Like that fellow.”

  “And Robert Burns,” said another.

  The innkeeper directed a sympathetic look at Georgiana. “You poor thing. But please do not worry, despite your husband’s derogatory comments, I do consider ‘kitten’ to be a perfectly reasonable nickname. I only question that it might not suit his personality.”

  “Oh, he does appear strong and brave,” Georgiana said.

  “In that case,” the innkeeper said firmly, “You will certainly get two sets of bedding. I’ll even move a bed into your room.”

  “How splendid,” Georgiana said, flashing a smile at Hamish who for some reason did not seem nearly as amused.

  “Did you need to give me that nickname?” Hamish whispered as they followed the innkeeper up the stairs.

  “Did you see the looks she was giving you?” Georgiana asked. “I think they thought Scottish men scary.”

  “Evidently not anymore,” Hamish said mournfully.

  “Oh, you’ll survive,” she said. “Besides, now you’re getting a bed.”

  “You make it seem that I was going to be the one to sleep on the floor.”

  “Well, it wasn’t going to be me!”

  “You’re the one who sneaked onto my coach.”

  Georgiana gave him an innocent shrug. “None of this would have happened if you hadn’t tried to stop my sister’s wedding.”

  “It was a responsible action,” Hamish grumbled. “You wouldn’t understand.” The innkeeper led them to some rickety wooden steps to their chamber. Each creak of the steps seemed to sound an ominous tone to her heart with such efficiency that would make the director of a music hall melodrama envious.

  Because even though it might make sense to share a room here, and heavens, she’d learned her lesson about attempting to travel in the dark, the thought of actually being in an enclosed space with him was unsettling. This would differ from riding alongside on the perch for the driver, where they might comment on the scenery or simply enjoy the flutter of fresh air against their attire. This would even differ from when they’d slept side by side on the stiff seats inside the coach. Beds had different connotations.

  The innkeeper marched quickly, as if unwilling to waste any time with them.

  “You can go downstairs to grab your grub when you’re ready,” the innkeeper said. “I won’t carry it up for you.”

  “That’s fine,” Georgiana said hastily.

  The innkeeper nodded and pushed open the door to a room. She jerked her thumb in the room’s direction and then turned around to go downstairs, muttering about foreigners.

  Georgiana entered the room, conscious of Hamish behind her.

  She had been right not to desire to share a room before. Perhaps she’d shared a room with her sister in their parents’ home in Norfolk, but this in no manner compared.

  The man’s presence dominated the room, despite the generous square footage the posting inn had allotted for it.

  She forced her attention on the room itself. Perhaps musing on the pleasant paintings of windmills and hay stacks that dotted the room would distract her from him.

  He was standing, and his towering stature was unmistakable, heightened by the medieval timbers that lined the ceiling, further diminishing its height.

  “They gave us a nice room,” she said, but he merely arched an eyebrow.

  Heat rushed to her cheeks.

  Of course.

  The man’s brother was a duke.

  Hamish wouldn’t have spent his childhood sharing a room with his brother. He would have had his own room. His home wouldn’t have had a thatched roof: it would have been a castle with towers, bartizans, crenellations, and perhaps even a dungeon where he could threaten to lock up any tiresome cousins. He wouldn’t have played in a garden, careful to not trample over the vegetables or pierce h
imself with the thorny rose stems. He would have had an entire estate on which to roam about.

  “This is probably too old-fashioned for you.” She gave a forced laugh, conscious that her cheeks were growing warmer, not cooler.

  His eyes widened. “I don’t mind old-fashioned things.”

  “Truly?”

  He nodded. “Why would you think that?”

  “I mean, you’re the brother of a duke. The son of a duke. The cousin of...”

  “A marquess,” he finished for her, and she smiled.

  “Yes,” she said. “I mean you must be accustomed to a certain level of elegance, and perhaps this room, which I consider nice, doesn’t quite meet those standards. And now I’m rambling.” She clamped her mouth shut. “I-I should stop talking. I must be tired.”

  “We should sleep,” he said.

  “Yes,” she agreed quickly, even though she’d never felt more awake. Sleep seemed an impossibility when her heart was hammering and her nerves seemed to be fluttering.

  Her hands quivered, and she smoothed her dress, as if a wrinkle were unsettling her and not the fact that they were alone in a room.

  “You should change from it,” Hamish said. “That can’t be comfortable.”

  It wasn’t.

  The buttons and laces made changing from the dress on her own a daunting task.

  “It’s—”

  Comprehension seemed to dawn on Hamish. “I should have realized. I can help you.”

  Hamish closed the distance between them, and Georgiana’s heart leapt, as if it had decided to dance a cotillion right inside her chest.

  She turned around quickly. No need for him to see her cheeks flush. The idea was perhaps imperfect, for in the next moment his hands were upon the back of her dress.

  She’d never longed for a linen dress more. The sensation of Hamish’s fingers brushing against her back shouldn’t remind her of fire. He undid her dress, and her shoulders relaxed, glad to be rid of the fabric.

  “You’re smiling,” Hamish said.

  “I was thinking of how much I longed to have this dress. I suppose things change.”

  “Yes,” Hamish said, still staring into her arms, and something about his expression made her shiver.