“No!” she quickly interrupted. “Forgive me. I’m afraid I was not clear . . . I meant the room is perfectly lovely. Certainly sufficient enough for my . . . husband and me.” Her tongue tripped over that lie, even as her heart, mind, and soul embraced the illusory idea of it. “Beyond sufficient. It is one of the nicest inns I’ve ever stayed in.” Then she remembered the ruse and blurted out a correction: “We’ve stayed in. Together. Because we’re married, of course.”

Behind the innkeeper, Val had the look of one who wanted to hit himself in the forehead.

“But even before we were married, I’m sure.” She glanced to Val once more. “Isn’t that right, husband? Isn’t it perfectly lovely?”

“Perfectly,” he uttered, and she smiled.

The innkeeper, however, positively beamed from the praise she’d heaped upon him and his establishment. He snatched his cap from his forehead and held it close to his chest. “I’m honored. It is not every day I have a lord and lady wife as my patrons.”

And he hadn’t. A little pang hit her heart.

She made herself smile for his benefit. “We shall tell everyone we know about your establishment,” she vowed, and Gus’s spine grew several inches under that promise.

“Many thanks to you both. Many thanks. My daughters will be along shortly with the bath you’ve ordered.”

With that, the man bowed and let himself from the rooms.

Myrtle stared after him.

She’d given him a lie, however. Neither she nor Val could breathe a word about this inn or any part of these passing days. They were destined to dwell in her memory but otherwise be unspoken of for all time.

Val leaned a shoulder against the frame. “And here I thought you were banishing me to the stables.” There was a relaxation to the way he stood, and she drank in the sight of him, catching a glimpse, she suspected, of the charming rogue he’d likely been before he’d found love and married . . . and lost.

“Never,” she said quietly.

He’d called her a treasure.

They’d been words that, in the moment, had made her heart learn a new tempo, one that was galloping wild and wonderful.

Until they’d arrived at the crowded inn and he’d paid for the last remaining room and joined her abovestairs.

“You are . . . leaving?” she asked, hurt and disbelief a perfect underscore to her question, one she could not conceal. Nor did she want to. She didn’t want to pretend in any way with Val.

“I’ll be just outside,” he vowed. “The innkeeper’s daughters will help you and keep you company.”

I don’t want the innkeeper’s daughters to help me and keep me company, she silently screamed at him.

She wanted him.

The great big dunderhead.