“She ain’t no lady,” the cook said, scowling fiercely. She continued to wave the knife in a most threatening manner. The innkeeper hurried up at last and took it from her.
“I suppose that is a matter to be disputed, if one is considering propriety,” Riley said dryly. “But the truth is that this is Lady Abigail of Briarcliff.” He gave a forced smile, then added, “My wife.”
Abby gasped and regarded him in dismay.
“Surely not,” the cook said, clearly aghast, though it was impossible to tell if her reaction was to the Earl of Wilton’s choice or her own treatment of the lady in question.
“It is true,” the earl confirmed. “Though she has a most unorthodox way of demonstrating her devotion. No doubt she sought to surprise me by turning up here tonight, when I had thought her safely at home with her family.”
“I thought you’d be far from here by now, my lord,” Abby grumbled, not liking his put-upon tone one bit. The man had the gallantry of a pig. As for claiming that they were already wed, she would make him pay for such a lie.
He grinned. “Then it is just your luck that I am not, or you would be sleeping with the horses.”
“Perhaps that would be an improvement,” she drawled.
The innkeeper regarded the two of them worriedly. “You will be needing a more spacious room, then?”
The earl shook his head. “My present accommodations will do quite well for my lady and me.”
“Are you mad?” Abby whispered. “I cannot stay in a room with you.”
He smiled indulgently. “And where else would a loving wife stay?”
“My lord!”
“You would do well to remember that,” he warned, half dragging, half carrying her up the stairs, while Abby bit back any number of curses.
Inside the room he bolted the door and stood regarding her with a look she found quite disconcerting. He appeared to be enjoying the position in which they found themselves.
“Are you laughing, my lord?” she asked suspiciously.
“I am trying not to,” he said, sounding rather noble.
“You find this amusing?”
“I find it...intriguing. Could you not bear to wait another month for our wedding night, my lady?”
“I did not come here to bed you, my lord,” she snapped. “I came to help you catch a crook.”
“Did you not trust me to handle it well?”
There was a lethal undercurrent to his voice that warned her to speak cautiously. “It wasn’t precisely that, my lord.”
“What then?”
“I was hoping to be of some help. I wanted you to see how much better things would go if we did them together.”
His gaze shifted toward the very large bed. “There are some things I am sure we will accomplish quite well together, my lady.”
Abby watched him worriedly. “My lord, that is impossible.”
“No, I assure you it is not.”
“We are not wed,” she reminded him. She was beginning to feel most anxious. She had counted on him being a gentleman, but that glint in his eye had a devilishly wicked cast to it.
“Those downstairs think otherwise,” he reminded her. “And it will soon be the truth of it. We could simply speed along the process.”
He stole closer. There was no place for Abby to go, except onto that soft bed, and she refused to do that. Once she’d tumbled onto that mattress, she knew for a certainty that all would be lost. She stood her ground.
“You would never disgrace a lady,” she said firmly, though she was far less convinced of this than she might have been an hour or two earlier.
“If we cheat the date of our wedding by a week or two, who would be the wiser?” he said, his fingers trailing along her jaw, his gaze locked with hers. “You are the first to say how daring you are, is that not so?”
So that was it, she thought miserably. He intended to take her at her word. How could she tell him that she was not that daring—when it came to climbing into bed with him—without losing ground all around? She drew herself up.
“I think before I take such a risk, my lord, you must prove yourself to me,” she said haughtily.
“Oh, I intend to acquit myself quite impressively,” he taunted.
“Not that,” she said impatiently. “First, you must show me that you intend to treat me as an equal, that you respect and care for me.”
He regarded her with infuriating amusement. “And how am I to do that?”
Abby spotted a chair in the corner of the room and made a dash for it. Once seated as regally as any queen on a throne, she declared, “By first ordering that ill-tempered cook to prepare a feast for me. I am quite famished.”
An indulgent gleam lit his eyes. He leaned out the door and told his footman to fetch a meal for the two of them.
“Done,” he informed Abby a moment later. “What more?”
“Now you shall tell me everything you know about this crook you seek. Is it the bookkeeper?” She leaned forward. “Or perhaps a conspiracy at the docks to take your cargo?”
“I see you have given this some thought, my lady,” he said, his expression once again amused.
Abby frowned at him, but plunged on with determination. “A great deal, as a matter of fact. I have been hampered, however, by not knowing all of the facts. So, my lord, which is it? The bookkeeper or thugs on the waterfront? Have I hit upon the problem?”
He grinned and leaned in quite close, until his breath fanned her cheek. “Not quite, my lady. Though I am impressed with your powers of deduction.”
“If not the bookkeeper
