Paging Miss Galloway Read online

  Edward walked up the stairs with the innkeeper following behind. The aforementioned room was the first door on the right. At the innkeeper's touch, the door swung open.

  A moment of anxiety stilled Edward's actions before he entered. During his land travels, he'd experienced more than his share of dingy inns and rooms overflowing with bedbugs. Blast, he itched just recalling the times.

  He needn't have worried. A fresh scent of lemons greeted him as he stepped inside. Cheery chintz curtains brightened the room and a spotless comforter covered the four-poster bed.

  After thanking the innkeeper for his trouble, Edward waited until the man left, then he gently placed Danny on the bed. The boy could continue to rest until Edward turned in for the night.

  For some strange reason, he had a difficult time taking his gaze off the lad. The swelling on Danny's poor face had subsided somewhat, revealing fine cheekbones and a delicately sculptured nose. Indeed, the boy's features were at odds with his ill-fitting, coarsely spun clothes. A puzzle, that.

  He continued to gaze. The leather jerkin had flapped open, showing slim hips and a taut abdomen.

  Edward abruptly turned away. Why was he so taken with this youth? He was a mature man of seven and thirty years; perhaps he longed to have a son.

  Rubbing his left shoulder blade, with its souvenir from his last campaign fought in the Adriatic Sea, he closed the door to the bedchamber ... and to his own inappropriate thoughts. He should be anticipating his evening bath, not offspring as yet unborn, mothered by some unknown gently bred lady.

  And since he was not leg-shackled to said gently bred lady, Edward returned to the taproom in search of fair game.

  * * * *

  Danielle yawned and stretched in the bed. For a moment, she reveled in laziness, then she sat up with a start. Where on earth was she?

  A glance at her unusual costume refreshed her memory ... and her pain. Bother it all, she felt like she'd been beaten to a pulp.

  Thoughts of the soreness brought thoughts of her traveling companions: Lord Raleigh and Lord Tremaine. She smiled. How kind of them to procure a bedchamber for her.

  She gazed about the rustic room. Several candles, alit in their wax-filled holders, brightened the darkened room. She noted the intricate carving on the walnut posts of the bed. A quality piece, to be sure. Two panel-backed oak chairs and a massive chest of drawers were the only pieces of furniture she saw. On the wooden floorboards in front of the fireplace stood a metal hip bath. She smiled again. How wonderful to relax in steaming hot water.

  Next to the hip bath was her tapestry wool carpetbag ... and also someone else's.

  Oh! That meant this wasn't her room, at least not exclusively. She must be sharing it with Lord Raleigh or Lord Tremaine. Or both. Panic urged her to move. She jumped down off the high mattress and ran to the window. Should she leave? Escape?

  Danielle turned away from the courtyard below. It was twilight; a dusky glow dappled the scurrying potboys attending to late arriving patrons of the inn.

  No. How could she leave? She'd gotten herself into this mess. It was nobody's fault but her own. How stupid she'd been, thinking she could journey on her own to Bath, dressed as a boy. The Lord above had taken pity on her foolish self and had placed her in the care of two noblemen. The die had been cast. Now all she had to do was carry out her duties as page, and no one would be the wiser.

  She looked at the hip bath in a different light. It wouldn't be her relaxing in it.

  She gulped down hard. Gracious!

  The door opened and in stepped Lord Tremaine. “Good. You are awake."

  He was a very large man, a full six feet high, possibly more. He almost had to stoop in the small room.

  "I will wager you are starving. All young boys are, especially at this late hour.” The Earl kept his gaze on her a little too long for comfort. She fidgeted.

  He lifted an eyebrow. “The innkeeper's wife will be here in a trice. Bringing food. Nothing fancy to excite the palate of a Frenchman, but then again, we are not French, are we? The food is good honest fare. Raleigh and I have already supped."

  Danielle kept her head bowed. “Thank you, my lord. You are very kind."

  "Perhaps,” was his enigmatic reply.

  As he foretold, a matronly woman entered the bedchamber holding a platter of food. Behind her was a serving boy carrying a small tripod table.

  "Set the table there, boy.” The woman indicated a spot between the two oak chairs.

  Once the table was in place, she put the tray down, then wiped her sturdy hands on the front of her white apron. “M’ name's Martha, an it please you, m’ lord.” She bobbed a curtsey. “Mr. Barber n’ I have been innkeepers for The Admiral Rodney nigh on three years."

  The Earl eased into one of the chairs and stretched his long legs out. “The hostelry is most efficiently run. I congratulate you and your husband, madam."

  Martha beamed a broad smile at him. “How very kind of you, m’ lord."

  Danielle felt herself flush. She'd just said the same sentiment to him.

  "If you need anything...” The woman darted her gaze from him to Danielle. “...anything t'all, just let me know."

  Danielle's cheeks burned hotter. Martha's words somehow sounded unseemly.

  But then again the woman might've just been a concerned hostess, for Lord Tremaine didn't act as though anything improper had been suggested. He picked up a frosty mug and took a sip. “Other than a few buckets of steaming water for my bath, I believe I shall be set for the night. In half an hour or so, my good woman."

  Martha nodded. No emotion was displayed on her plump face. “Certainly, m’ lord."

  As she and the serving boy left the room, the Earl called after them. “My thanks.” He put his mug down on the platter. “No need to be uncomfortable, Danny. One of the duties of an innkeeper is to procure company for the traveler should he require it. I do not require it. Now, sit and eat."

  Danielle did as she was told. Oh, if only Jeanette could see her now. Her cousin would never believe the defiant Danielle was behaving so meekly. She picked up a browned biscuit. “Yes, my lord."

  "Then you can assist me with my bath."

  Panic flooded her body. Her fingers, now suddenly numb, dropped the biscuit. “Y-Yes, my lord,” she repeated.

  The Earl's sharp-eyed gaze took in her shaking hands. “I shall leave you to your meal. Expect me back in thirty minutes, Danny."

  When he left the room, Danielle collapsed against the back of her chair. What was she to do? Help a man, a stranger, to bathe? Good heavens, she was gently born. Sheltered, even. She'd never seen her father or her brother in their shirtsleeves, let alone naked.

  Her appetite, what there was of it, fled. She wished she could flee, too. But as the old saying went, she'd made her bed, now she must lie in it. She had to take the consequences of her actions.

  Right. As she stuffed a piece of roast pork into her mouth, she grumbled, “Benjamin better appreciate the sacrifices I am making on his behalf. He just better."

  Time passed too quickly. Soon there was a knock on the door. Danielle opened it.

  "Come t'fill the tub.” A servant boy, short in stature but heavy on muscles, walked into the bedchamber carrying two very large pails of steaming water. Once he dumped his load, he went about lighting the fireplace.

  He gave her a quick glance. “Yer a puny lad, but I envy you, I do. Yer master gave me a right shiny shilling for me troubles.” With his hands fisted, the boy walked closer. “Mayhap I should take yer place."

  Danielle stepped back. Was he in earnest? Did he mean her harm? This couldn't be happening.

  But it was. The boy's ugly face swam in front of her. She raised her shaking fists though she could never be any match against this stocky bull.

  The door swung open. Lord Tremaine entered. His dark eyes flickered over to them, then he strode to the hip bath. “I see my water is ready. Thank you, my good little man.” He removed his travel-stained coat. “An addit
ional shilling if you fetch another round."

  The Earl saved her again! Danielle exhaled relief as she watched the servant boy back away.

  "Yes, milord! Very good, milord!” He scooped up the empty pails and darted out of the room.

  "I leave you alone for but the veriest moment, and you come to harm, Danny.” Lord Tremaine opened his travel bag. He foraged around, then removed a long chintz dressing gown.

  Her relief was short-lived, for the Earl sat, then ordered, “Assist me."

  Oh dear. Danielle got to her knees and pulled one Hessian boot off his foot. The boot's black tassel tickled her forehead.

  Once his feet were freed, Lord Tremaine wriggled his toes with a sigh. “Ahh, it is the very devil to be trapped within those confines all the day.” He looked down at her and smoothed a lock of hair off her brow. “I entrust my worthy boots to your care. See if you cannot restore their shine."

  She pressed her lips together as she stared at the Hessian boots. She'd never polished leather before. How would she accomplish this task?

  Perhaps the Earl read her mind ... or her perplexed expression. “I usually carry a special mixture of oil and wax for just this purpose when I am on the road, however, for this trip, I travel light. That consummate dandy, Brummell—most likely you have never heard of him—in any case, Beau Brummell claims to use champagne in the blacking for his boots. Let us refine his recipe to use pale ale instead. I wager it will return shine and flexibility to the leather."

  Danielle eyed the unfinished mug of beer on the platter. She'd never heard of such an unorthodox use for an alcoholic beverage.

  "After you apply the ale, leave the boots in front of the fire to dry.” Lord Tremaine stood. “Now, help me unbutton my shirt."

  Her heart pounded so loudly, she was certain he could hear it. She also stood and started with the button at the top of his shirt. A small patch of skin plus springy chest hairs were revealed.

  She almost gasped. How could she control her fumbling fingers? Good heavens, she didn't know where to look.

  When a knock sounded at the door, she thanked her lucky stars. “I shall answer it.” She dashed over, overjoyed to place some distance between her and the Earl's impressive chest.

  Even the fact that the knocker was that odious servant boy didn't faze her. She stepped out of his way while he hauled in two additional steaming buckets, a large brass pitcher—also steaming, and rolled up bedding.

  Danielle studiously kept her gaze on the servant as he set his burden down, one by one next to the fireplace. If Lord Tremaine asked about her misplaced attention, she had a ready reply: without supervision, the unsavory boy might've been tempted to pilfer an item or two. To be truthful however, her duties as page were disturbing her equanimity in the extreme. No matter the Earl's age, he was an exceedingly virile man.

  After the boy left, she closed the door, took a deep breath and turned around. In what state of undress would she find Lord Tremaine?

  He'd just slipped into the tub, and groaned, most likely with pleasure.

  She had a wonderful view of his broad shoulders and his dark hair as he rested his head against the rim back of the hip bath. For a moment she watched him soap up a sponge and lather his muscular arms. The masculine scent of bay rum filled the air.

  "Tell me about yourself, Danny. Beside doing odd jobs for the local gentry, what else do you do?"

  She wanted to keep her gaze averted, yet, since she was behind him, he'd never know if she did peek.

  The plip-plop sound of water dripping back into the tub as he glided the sponge over his skin teased her against all distraction. She bit her lip. Why did her nerves seem to be stretched to the limit?

  "Um, some days I pass the time riding, my lord. I, um, fish, as well.” Without her father's knowledge, of course. Fine ladies did not indulge in fishing.

  "I see.” The Earl held up the sponge. “You may wash my back now."

  Gracious, if her teeth didn't start to chatter! Still behind him, she took the sponge and he leaned forward so she could have better access.

  As she lathered his back with fragrant soap, she admired the powerful contour of muscles. She would've stopped at his upper back, but he insisted she reach further down.

  She gulped back her unease. She was in heaven and hell at the same time.

  Then she noticed a jagged spot of mottled skin, just under the left shoulder blade. She gently ran her fingertips over its ribbed surface.

  "My lord, what is this?” As soon as she spoke, she flushed. She had no right to ask a personal question.

  Her impertinence didn't seem to bother him. “Shrapnel,” was his immediate reply. “Sea battle back in March, near the island of Lissa."

  "Where is Lissa?” Geography had never been her strong point.

  He tilted his head back to laugh, a rich, baritone sound. “Ironic, is it not? My page has no idea just where in the world it was that I almost lost my life"

  "Oh, I am so sorry! I did not—"

  He raised his hand, splashing her with warm water. “No matter, halfling. I survived, as you can see. The island of Lissa is in the Adriatic Sea, an inconsequential pawn in our war against the French."

  Shrugging his shoulders, he leaned his head forward. “Time to wash my hair. Pour the water."

  Danielle struggled with the heavy bucket, and as she poured, he ran the bar of soap over his hair. A sudsy white froth mixed in with the black and grey. Wisps of steam rose up from the hip bath, enveloping them both.

  "Use the pitcher now to rinse,” he ordered.

  The brass pitcher was easier to pour, and soon his hair was clean.

  Without warning, he stood, dripping water back into the bath. Then he stepped out. She blindly rushed for a thick Turkish towel and for his dressing gown. Hurrying back to him, all the while averting her gaze, she helped him into the robe.

  As he tied the belt, he exclaimed, “Begad! Every blasted bone in my body feels as if I served time on an infamous torture rack. I shall sleep well tonight."

  Danielle kept quiet. She'd managed to accomplish her tasks without violating Lord Tremaine's privacy. She congratulated herself.

  He rubbed the towel over his head. When his hair was sufficiently dried, he threw the towel on the floor. Then he strode to the bed. “I shall retire now, Danny, even though the hour is still early. No doubt Raleigh plans to carouse until dawn. It is the curse of the young to be so foolish."

  She rushed over and pulled back the bed sheets.

  "Be a good lad and dispose of the hip bath. The remaining bucket of water is for you to wash off your travel dirt. Or use the hip bath, if you prefer."

  Danielle eyed the water bucket, then the Earl. She desperately needed a wash, but however could she manage it?

  Before she could blink, he slipped under the covers without the benefit of his dressing gown. Nor a nightshirt. He rested matter-of-factly, on the mattress, in only the clothes God had given him.

  Goodness! She couldn't help a fierce flush from burning her face. In all her twenty years on earth, she never had such an excessively bizarre day as she had today.

  Then again, she'd never been dressed as a boy before.

  Lord Tremaine shifted his position. “Your bedding is on the floor, Danny. Make yourself comfortable.” His deep inhalation and exhalation signaled that slumber would soon follow. “Sleep tight, my young page."

  As she gazed at the rolled up bedding, the hardwood floors, and the rapidly cooling pail of water, Danielle sighed. Any way she looked at it, it was going to be a very long night.

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  Chapter Three

  Sleep did not tempt Edward. No, he had defied Lord Morpheus too many times to succumb to its lures now. Turning onto his side, he evened his breathing to feign slumber. Several seconds passed. The stillness of the night filled the bedchamber.

  Curiosity consumed him. What the devil was the boy doing? He cracked opened his eyelids for a peek.

  In front of the
fireplace, Danny sat on his knees and scrubbed the Hessian boots. This way and that, the small cloth he used flew over the leather. Over and over he stopped, inspected the surface, then dipped the cloth into the mug of ale. Then he would begin polishing again.

  Obviously the boy wanted to do a good job, but to be truthful; Edward had not expected to see his image reflected back at him in the shine. The boots had seen their day, and then some.

  And still Danny polished.

  Edward pressed his lips together to keep from blurting out the command to stop. The lad would cease in his own good time. Edward just had to be patient.

  This slight, tow-headed boy intrigued him. Young Danny was naïve, to blush at Mrs. Barber's inquiry on nighttime companionship. Also unprepared to defend himself adequately. Unskilled at assisting with the most basic duties, such as undressing and bathing. And he was shy, to a fault. The dear boy's discomfort with Edward's nudity was peculiar, in the extreme.

  Begad, now he added modesty to the list. Edward watched as Danny positioned himself behind the hip bath. Only a few candles remained lit, but they shed little light on the boy as he prepared to wash. Mostly hidden from Edward's view, Danny removed his leather jerkin and shirt, then proceeded to wash using the clean water from the bucket.

  Odds fish! Why was the little beggar so prudish?

  Or perhaps, more to the point, why was Edward so fixated on the lad?

  Evidently Danny finished his ablutions for he redressed himself, then quietly refilled the buckets. With a heavy groan, he carried the dirty water out, one bucket at a time.

  Poor lad was not used to hard labor.

  Only when Danny finished his duties, unrolled the bedding, and collapsed under the comforter, did Edward also close his eyes. To rest, but not to sleep. His thoughts all focused on his new page. Danny Augustus was a mystery that he would take great delight in solving.

  * * * *

  Sunbeams spilled in through the thin, colorful curtains. As a reflex response, Danielle brushed at the light to drive it away.

  Obviously, she was unsuccessful. She opened her eyes.

  "Past time you woke up, Danny.” Lord Tremaine towered over her. Thankfully, he was already dressed.