“I chose Hestia because of its name, but I added the carvings, the tiny comforts. Those little details, they are why Hestia is better than the other hotels you named. And when I procure Barlows’ inn, its hearths will bear the same markings.”
“It’s very pagan of you. Offerings to a Greek goddess.”
“You clearly do not understand.”
“I do! I meant no insult. I find it rather… charming.”
“I’m glad it pleases you.” He looked surprised as he said it and looked away from her as red crept out of his cravat and across his jaw. When he spoke of the hotel, of his plans, he spoke with a surety and comfort he did not possess when discussing himself. Yet she’d learned just as much about him during his lecture concerning comfortable hotel accommodations as she had learned when he had spoken of himself, perhaps more so. He put all of himself into the Hestia, that much was clear.
It made her, quite suddenly, want to give more of herself to him, to tell him about those things that were dearest to her. But she could not. She could tell him nothing much at all because she courted scandal enough as it was, and scandal was what she was trying to avoid, that and her brother’s misery.
“I think,” she said, “even though you are clearly an unlikable human being, you are good at what you do. And though you should not be so demanding and high-handed when asking for help, I'm glad to help you.”
The muscles in his jaw twitched. “You think yourself an old henwife with magic in her bones, here to help me catch my fate? Will you gift me a pair of songbirds and golden saddle and—”
“Birds and saddles and magic? I thought you a man of sense, so I’m entirely baffled.”
“An old story my mother used to tell me about a beautiful but neglected daughter. Her sisters steal her attention and leave her a spinster.” His voice settled in a smooth and steady rhythm, his dark, gruff tones rolling over each word. “But the old henwife dresses her in magic clothes and outfits her with magic animals, dappled with gems.”
“Jeweled animals?”
“Mm. And the prince falls in love and chases her when she runs. He catches her by the size of her foot.” He smiled, lazy and sweet and ripe with memory.
Mesmerizing. He seemed to slip away to some unreachable place, and she needed to follow him there, learn more about him to fill up the still-dark spots in her knowledge.
Nonsense was right. “You apply this story because I am the henwife and you the princess?”
He snapped up straight. “I saidyou thinkthat is the correct relationship. It is not. Look. We have returned to London.”
And indeed, they had. The buildings were ever more congested, and the streets more crowded. They rode the rest of the way to the Hestia in silence, and when the coach entered the mews, Mr. Trent helped her down.
“I don't even know your given name,” she said as he helped her out of the coach. His hand gripped hers tightly, but the heat of his body, so close, made her feel as if she floated.
He released her hand, and she hit hard ground. No more floating. “I see no reason for you to have my given name.”
“Of course there is reason. I must play at being your wife at least once more. Yet I mustMr. Trentyou constantly, adding amy husbandor two for variety. It is not right. My mother and father used their given names, and my sisters and brothers-in-law use given names. I know not all married couples do, but I guarantee this is an important detail for your success. If you remember, Mr. and Mrs. Barlow are searching for—”
“Ahappymarriage, not just a marriage. Yes, so you’ve said.” Themuscle in his cheek twitched. He knew she was right, and he did not like it.
“Come, then. Tell me your name,” she coaxed.
He started for the Hestia’s back door.
She scurried to catch up. “You are immovable sometimes, a perfect boulder.” She exhaled loudly. “Very well. I concede. If you tell me your given name, I will tell you mine.”
“You've already given me yours,” he grumbled. “Sarah.”
She grinned.
“You lied?”
She shrugged. “Sometimes it is necessary. And how is it any different from you denying me your name?”
“Because you could ask around and likely find mine out.”
“Does Mrs. Smith know it?”
“No.”
