“Welcome to Armathwaite Hall,” she says cheerfully. “How may we assist you?”
Benedict leans forward, resting his elbows on the counter, and I swear I see her pupils dilate.
I don’t blame her.
“We need two rooms, please. I don’t have a reservation, unfortunately.”
She clucks her tongue, clicking away on her computer. “Because of the storm, we’re nearly at capacity, actually,” she mutters. Shaking her head, she squints at the screen before looking up again. “I have one regular room left and three suites,” she says slowly.
“How much are the suites?” I ask sweetly, and she smiles.
“If you’d like to include breakfast, they start at four-hundred and ninety-five pounds.”
I shake my head. “No.” Looking over at Benedict, I take his coat off and hand it to him. “We’ll share the regular room.”
He places his jacket over his arm and scowls at me, his expression slightly pained.
“Evelyn.”
“Not if you have to buy two rooms. The cost of two rooms is more than my monthly rent, Benedict.”
He purses his lips and slowly turns to the receptionist. “We’ll take the regular room, I guess. Would you mind sending up an extra blanket and some pillows when you get a chance?”
“Absolutely,” she answers enthusiastically.
As she clicks away on her computer, Benedict reaches for his wallet, handing her a black card before turning to me.
“Are you sure?” he asks, his eyes narrowing.
“Yes,” I insist. “I promise.” I smile at him, and his face softens. “Do you want to split it?”
He lets out an exasperated huff. “No. It’s fine.”
“The total is two-hundred and seven pounds,” the receptionist says, handing his card back. “I added on the breakfast option free of charge,” she adds, batting her lashes. I try not to roll my eyes.
Benedict smirks. “That’s very nice. Thank you.”
She makes a sound of contentment as she wraps our cards up in a little paper holder, handing them to him.
“Enjoy your stay, Mr. Martin.”
As we walk away, Benedict takes my bag and drags it behind him. It’s like he has an aversion to me carrying my own bags. We were directed to walk through the great hall, and once we pass through it, I know exactly why it’s referred to asgreat. It’s enormous, for one. And two, there is ornate wood paneling, a large fireplace as tall as me, and multiple animal heads hanging on the walls. Tartan pillows sit on top of leather chairs, and the dark wood makes for a very moody, very English atmosphere. Benedict slows, looking around with raised eyebrows.
“Interesting,” he mutters, gesturing to the large, expansive stairs that lead up to the second story, where our room is located.
I try not to let my nerves get the best of me. After all, we’ve slept in the same room before. Multiple times—nearly the whole first month after he rescued me. But things aresomuch different now. We’re so much different. Life has chewed us both up and discarded us, products of the same man, haunted by a similar trauma. I swallow as he stops in front of one of the many doors. His hand hesitates for a second, and I see this throat bob.
Unlocking the door, he lets me inside first, and then he follows, locking the door completely before putting the bags on the bed.
“Thanks,” I say quickly, glancing at the door nervously.
He doesn’t look up as he shakes his hair out. “Of course. I know you have a thousand locks on your door, so I figured it would be the same here.”
I smile, sitting on the edge of the bed. The room is small—a double bed, a dresser with a TV, two small side tables, a couple of armchairs next to the large window, and a small, practical bathroom to the right of the bed. Everything is classic and updated, modern yet traditionally styled. The sheets are crisp, and the furniture is beautiful. After a quick glance, I can tell the bathroom is updated as well—a porcelain pedestal sink, a clawfoot tub with a showerhead, and black and white tiles on the floor. When I look at Benedict, he’s taken his shirt off.
I spring up quickly.
“I’m going to use the restroom,” I mumble, before rushing into the bathroom and shutting the door behind me. I turn the water on in the sink, and then I lean against it, my face in my hands. I have to keep from laughing—this whole situation is so absurd. I am the epitome of nervous right now, which is so unlike me. Onlyhecan unnerve me like this—onlyhecan take me out of my skin like this.
