“Then what on earth is all of this? You cannot possibly require this many changes of clothes per hour. Even a dandy like Beau Brummell wouldn’t need—”
Hudson opened the topmost valise.
Three neatly packed columns of fashionable ladies’ day dresses greeted them.
“You brought me clothes?” Lady Tabitha stepped forward and pressed one of the gowns to her bosom. “My favorite clothes?”
“Mary Frances helped,” he said gruffly. “I simply told her what I wanted, and she put the trunks together.”
Lady Tabitha stared at the pile of luggage. “What did you tell her you wanted?”
“Suitable garments for all weather possibilities, and enough variety to last for weeks, if necessary.”
“Just in case?”
“I try to always be prepared.”
She wrapped her free arm around his shoulders and kissed his cheek. “Thank you. I fear I am currently wearing the entirety of my travel wardrobe, so your forethought is serendipitous indeed.”
Hudson’s cheek burned where she’d kissed it. All of him burned for her. He was glad to have pleased her. The happiness radiating from her face made him feel like a knight who had vanquished a dragon.
Dangerous thoughts filled him.
Thoughts like: if Lady Tabitha got to know the real Hudson over the course of this week, might she perhaps decide he suited her far better than her unwanted betrothed?
Thoughts like: if they were to fall in love, in truth, not for pretend, then perhaps somehow the always-prepared man of business could find a way for such a union to work, without ruining either of their lives.
“We should get some sleep,” he informed her, keeping his voice firm and impersonal to hide the direction of his traitorous thoughts.
She dropped her favorite gown back onto the pile as if the material had caught fire in her hands. “Straight away.”
“Separately,” he added, in case there was any doubt.
She sent him a sunny smile and pushed open the door to the sleeping quarters. “About that…”
One bed. There was just one bed.
Barely big enough to hold Hudson, much less Hudson and Lady Tabitha. He stared at it in horror. In want. In agony.
“I’ll sleep on the sofa,” he said quickly.
“You won’t fit on the sofa,” she pointed out.
“I’ll sleep on the floor.”
“No one can sleep well on a hardwood floor. You’ll sleep with me.”
“I won’t sleep.”
“Then rest.” She began to unpin her hair. “Relax, Mr. Snowfeather. I’m already compromised, if you wish to be technical about such things. Sleeping atop the same mattress cannot worsen an already ruined reputation.”
Sleeping was the least of Hudson’s concerns. He willed himself to appear utterly disinterested in debauching the feathers out of her, right here and now.
He’d known this terrible plan would require them to pretend. He would simply have to pretend every atom of his being wasn’t straining toward her in abject longing, burning to act as husband and wife as more than a jest. God help him. Hudson swallowed hard.
It was going to be a very, very long night.
Chapter 16
