“We have but two rooms with private washing chambers,” Mr. Fogg continued, “but, of course, we have saved this one for you.” He opened another door, displaying a small windowless room with a chamber pot and a copper tub. “One of our maids will draw you a hot bath, should you wish it.”

“I will let you know, thank you,” Iris said. She wasn’t sure why she was so eager to make a good impression on an innkeeper of all people, except that her husband seemed quite fond of him. And, of course, there was no reason to be rude to someone who was so clearly going out of his way to please her.

Mr. Fogg bowed. “Very well. I shall leave you, ma’am. I am sure you wish to rest after your journey. Sir Richard?”

Iris blinked in confusion as he led Richard to the door.

“You’re just across the hall,” Mr. Fogg continued.

“Very good,” Richard said.

“You’re—” Iris caught herself before she blurted something embarrassing. Her husband had reserved separate rooms for their wedding night?

“Ma’am?” Mr. Fogg asked, turning back to her in question.

“It’s nothing,” Iris said quickly. There was no way she was going to let on that she had been surprised by the sleeping arrangements.

Surprised and . . . And relieved. And maybe a little bit hurt, too.

“If you will just open my room for me,” Richard said to Mr. Fogg, “I can make my way there myself. In the meantime, I would like a private word with my wife.”

The innkeeper bowed and took his leave.

“Iris,” Richard said.

She didn’t turn toward him, exactly, but she did glance in his direction. And tried to smile.

“I would not do you the dishonor of demanding a wedding night at a roadside inn,” he said in a stiff voice.

“I see.”

He seemed to be waiting for a lengthier reply, so she added, “That is very considerate of you.”

He was silent for a moment, his right hand tapping awkwardly against his thigh. “You have been rushed into this.”

“Nonsense,” she said crisply, forcing a touch of levity into her voice. “I have known you all of two weeks. I can name half a dozen marriages that have been forged on slighter acquaintances.”

He lifted a brow. A very sardonic one, and not for the first time Iris wished she weren’t so bloody pale. Even if she could raise a single brow, no one would be able to see it.

He bowed. “I will take my leave.”

She turned away, pretending to fuss with something in her reticule. “Please.”

There was another uncomfortable silence.

“I shall see you for supper?” he inquired.

“Of course.” She had to eat, didn’t she?

“Will a quarter of an hour suffice?” His voice was scrupulously polite.