“A man like Mr. Barlow will not buy my silence. Do you not see him? How easily he laughs, how jolly he looks. He puts his children’s watercolors on the wall. That is not a man who keeps his wife silent. Do you not see the handmade doilies on every surface? Do you think he put those there? I have no doubt his wife stands at his shoulder, whispering in his ear. I have no doubt she bellows loud enough when she feels like it. Mr. Barlow knows how to love a woman, especially one who bellows. I can tell.”
“And how's that?” She was right, though. He had seen it with the admiral and Aunt Lavinia. The admiral always had an ear for his wife and always sat back quite pleased when she decided to raise her voice.
“I have three brothers-in-law who are all terribly besotted. I know what a happy husband and a happy wife look like. You are trying to sell this man not just a marriage but a happy one. He will buy nothing less. He will sell to you for nothing less. Therefore, I will not be silenced. You will thank me later.”
God, he wanted to silence her. He could rise from this chair and march her backward till her back hit the wall and silence those lips. With his own.
He snapped away from her just as the waiter and Mr. Barlow approached, porcelain clinking on silver and being passed among them.
“Please do sit, Mrs. Trent.” Mr. Barlow gestured toward a chair. “I will pull up a third to join us or we will change tables. I cannot abide to sit while a lady stands.”
She took her teacup from him gratefully. “Perhaps if I take a turn about the room first. I would like another look at your daughter’s paintings, and I might, if you do not mind, sneak upstairs to look at the rooms. Your wife has done such a lovely job decorating the public rooms, I am fascinated to see what delights await me upstairs.”
Mr. Barlow glowed. He folded his hands over his belly and smiled as if Miss Crewe had handed him the moon. “You have free rein over this establishment, good lady. Go where you will and act as if it is yours.”
She put a hand to her heart and nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Barlow.” And then, teacup in hand, she began a measured circle about the room.
Mr. Barlow settled into the seat across from Rowan, studying Miss Crewe. “How in heaven's name did you end up with a wife like that?”
“I have very little idea how it happened, only that it did. Quite unexpectedly.”
“Some things hit you over the head like a hammer, my boy, and women like her know how to wield hammers well. Mrs. Barlow is just her sort.” He chuckled. “I can see you are ready to discuss business, though, and I am ready to oblige you. I have heard you know how to run a hotel, how to make it a success. But an inn is a different beast. Things are not so polished here as they are in London. While your guests in the city may expect a certain elegance, here they want the comforts of home. They want a roaring hearth, and they want to feel as if they are visiting friends. As their hosts,youmust be their friends.”
“I will not live here,” Rowan said. “My home is London. I plan to hire someone to run the inn on a daily basis. And I guarantee they will be the best. They will ensure that the Blue Sheep runs smoothly and profitably.”
“Yes, yes. That is all well and good, but it is not enough.Smoothly.Profitably. But what aboutcomfortably?”
“Smoothness, profitability—those are aspects of comfort.”
“I mean comfort of the soul. Surely you understand that. Any man in possession of a wife such as yours… you understand. Do not pretend otherwise.”
“Yes, of course.” Rowan resisted a scowl. He did not at all understand. His own scheme had backed him into a corner.
Miss Crewe caught him looking at her and winked, then gave a tiny wave of her fingers before slipping out of the room and toward the hallway that held the stairs. His thighs flexed as if he might rise and go after her. She seemed to have rearranged his life to her liking in fullview of him and without him knowing. What trouble would she get up to if he wasn't looking at all?
“Don’t worry,” Mr. Barlow said. “She’s safe upstairs. Safe as can be. I know how it is, though. With young folks. Scared to let her out of your sight, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” Rowan said. “But not enough to follow. We have business to discuss, Mr. Barlow. I will pay well for the Blue Sheep. Enough for you to buy a spacious house wherever you please and retire comfortably. More than comfortably. Stylishly.”
Mr. Barlow stroked his chin. “Hm. Mrs. Barlow does envy stylish things. And she deserves a good, big house with plenty of room for grandchildren.” He chuckled. “I’m sure your parents desire the same thing.”
“My parents are dead.”
Mr. Barlow’s cup toppled to its saucer with a clatter. “Ah. Well. My sympathies. Is it a… new loss or—”
“Quite an old one. It is of no matter. Now, shall I contact my solicitor? He’s already drawing up contracts.”
“No. No. Not quite yet.”
“You like my wife.”
Mr. Barlow blinked, then blinked again. He blinked a third time. “Why, yes, she’s lovely, but—”
“Ah!” The joyful gust of sound appeared from the doorway before Miss Crewe did, and she followed close behind, bursting into the room like the first bloom after a long winter freeze. “As lovely as I expected, Mr. Barlow. Perfection, even. I cannot see how…” She paused, looked at Rowan with a tilted head, then moved forward as if she’d never stumbled. “My husband can improve upon matters.” She settled herself just behind him once more, draping herself over the back of the chair. Her hands on his shoulders again, her cheek brushing against his temple. She brushed his hair back, a wifely gesture that flipped his gut once more, and this time, he could not pin it back in place. “I must admit to feeling quite covetous. If… my husband were not already attempting to buy it away from you, I’d beg him to do so.”
She straightened, and the flutter of her hand on his shoulder warned him—she would pull entirely away.
He slapped his hand on top of hers, keeping her exactly where she was, their gloves the only barriers between them. Too much and too little all at the same time. And was he… did his thumb rub back and forth along her wrist? Yes, a clever way to play his part of a doting husband.
