An adorable wrinkle formed between her brows. “Continue. Groveling suits you.”
“I’m sorry.” It was on the tip of his tongue to throw some blame on her father. If the earl had fancied the match, things might have gone differently. Sure, his interest had only recently been reignited before that awful meeting with her father, but the earl had made sure Ethan knew better than to pursue a lady like her. That might have been what led to his drunken wallowing with his friends that night, but the immaturity driving those choices was entirely on Ethan. If he’d been good enough for an earl’s daughter to begin with, this whole conversation would be moot. Bringing up that long-ago humiliation he’d endured in her father’s library wouldn’t solve anything.
She maintained eye contact while sipping from her tankard. “Thank you for your apology.”
For a moment the plump curves of her mouth distracted him. With her bottom lip wet with ale, he would bet his last farthing the brew tasted better when drunk from her lips.
This dangerous path his thoughts insisted on traveling could lead only to trouble. Apology delivered. What she chose to do with it was her business. When he stood, a whiff of tangy citrus followed him. There could be no other possible source for the fresh scent except her. She smelled like his favorite desserts. Lemon ice. Lemon tart. Lady Charlotte. Delicious.
Yes, he had to go—now, before he made a bigger arse of himself.
“Why do you even care? Why make amends now?” she asked as if the question had come as an afterthought.
“I tried tae call on you after…well, before. You’d left Town already. I have much tae answer for, and this was my first opportunity tae say I’m sorry.” He’d judged her harshly—and wrongly—years ago. The fact that within moments of her reentering his orbit she’d rekindled his interest made Ethan wonder if there might be something between them worth pursuing—assuming she ever stopped hating him.
On an impulse, Ethan brushed her cheek with a fingertip, needing one touch, however brief. All those years ago he couldn’t stay away, and he couldn’t seem to stay away now. Lady Charlotte jerked her head away. That was foolish of him. “I’m sorry. But I’m glad there’s more tae you than I realized, Princess.”
* * *
The next morning Lottie awoke to an eerie silence. No raindrops on the roof serenaded her. No splash of water hitting the windowpanes with gale-force winds invaded the sanctum of her bedchamber. The blustery storm had echoed her inner turmoil as she lay awake late into the night. Wiping the sleep from her eyes, she tried to muster enthusiasm for another day at this inn. There would be no traveling until a carriage arrived for Patrick from home. She wouldn’t leave him alone, and Darling would probably revolt if she suggested such a thing. At least the weather would be a boon to a schedule that was already a disaster. Small comfort.
The first attempt at standing brought a groan. As a general rule, mornings were loathsome. Anyone who thought differently was touched in the head. With each step she discovered that the morning after a carriage accident was pure torture. Going through the motions of her morning ablutions, she had never been so grateful for simple garments in her life. Stockings, a shift, front-lacing stays, then a petticoat topped with another utilitarian gown.
Patrick’s room was three doors down, tucked in the corner of the inn. A knock received no answer, but it was early. Opening the door a crack, she spotted Darling, right where she’d expected her to be. Her maid dozed in a chair beside Patrick’s bed, their hands clasped in their sleep. Lottie smiled. Darling made a wonderful nurse. Patrick couldn’t be in better hands—figuratively or literally.
The picture they made—two former outcasts, comforting one another, warmed her heart. Darling had been the town’s fallen woman, trading her favors to survive after her husband’s death. Patrick had lived in the bottom of a bottle. Yet here they were, sober, happy, both respectably employed, even though Father would have kicked and screamed if he’d known about her hiring them at the time. Sometimes Father’s habit of hiding from the world worked to her advantage. By the time he realized what was happening, Darling and Patrick had started over and shown themselves to be model employees.
Easing the door closed, Lottie shuffled toward her room and the stairs beyond, covering a yawn with one hand. Heavens, it was early.
Lord Amesbury stepped into the hallway. They stared at one another for a moment. He’d slept across the hall from her all night. Odd that she hadn’t realized.
“Good morning. I’m checking the road conditions and having breakfast,” he said a bit too cheerfully given the hour.
Lottie blinked. She didn’t care what he did. She needed tea and food. In that order. Their conversation last night had kept her awake, so her natural instinct was to blame him for her exhaustion. To say as much would be telling, and the man didn’t need that kind of encouragement. Deciding what to do with him was something that could wait until she’d had tea and she had both eyes open.
In the narrow stairwell, his shoulders dominated the space. “Could you be any wider?” she grumbled. His answering laugh was a low rumble she felt in the air more than heard. Wouldn’t it be her luck that he was one of those awful people who were happy in the morning. The mind. It boggled.
The main taproom had filled with patrons and residents for the breakfast service. Through the window, the stable yard looked to be mucky but passable. A large portion of sky shone a bright, clear, beautiful blue that seemed to bully the soggy clouds into a retreat. Lottie searched the room for an unoccupied table, trying to ignore the obnoxiously perky man beside her. He hummed a tune and
