Two rooms . . . for my wife and I . . . His was clearly the introduction that needed be given—otherwise she’d be ruined. A lady didn’t go gadding about the countryside with a man who was not her husband or family. Even so, her heart doubled its rhythm at hearing those words fall from his lips about her.

Of course there would be two rooms; he was too honorable to book just one.

The innkeeper shook his head. “I’m afraid I cannot do that.” He pointed his fiddle over at the room. “Snow turned fierce, and the mail coach was forced to stop. I’ve only got the one room remaining.” He held a single finger up.

“That will do,” Val said without hesitation.

That would do . . .

He’d not sought to lord his title over the servant. He’d not dangled money that would see other men and women displaced this evening. Instead, he’d let the kindly innkeeper believe he was nothing more than a mere “sir” and accepted that lone remaining room for them.

As Val finalized his arrangements with the smiling innkeeper, Myrtle’s mind wandered.

There’d be . . . one room that they need share. Which also meant one bed for the two of them. Myrtle’s pulse pounded as she recalled shared kisses and the longing that had not left her for more of his embrace. The sound of her name as it had fallen from his lips while he’d kissed her.

A name which she’d always thought hideous until she’d heard it spoken by this man.

Myrtle.

Myrtle.

“Myrtle? . . . Myrtle?”

Wait . . . that was not her rememberings. He really was calling her.

A blush burning her cheeks, Myrtle whipped her gaze over to Val. “Hmm?”

He stood with his arm outstretched, a question in his eyes.

She immediately slipped hers through his once more and allowed him to escort her to that lone room they’d share.

They followed the rotund fellow abovestairs and down a long, narrow hall, one that contained a surprising number of doors, as if the rooms that had existed here had been chopped in half to double their capacity.

Humming the tune of “Good Christian Men, Rejoice,” the innkeeper, Gus, at last brought them to a stop at the last door at the end of the hall. The hall was too narrow to comfortably fit the three of them, so Myrtle hung off to the side as he removed a rusty key from the ring at his waist, jammed it into the lock, and then let them inside. “Here you are, sir,” the man said, handing the key to Val, who hovered at the entryway beside him.