Free Wicked Games (The Sun Never Sets Book 3) by Ava Archer Payne

flight of stairs.
    Snippets of conversation trailed in his wake. Mrs. Wintress:  “Charming bloke you got there, dearie. Handsome as sin, isn’t he?”
    His disgruntled ‘bride’: “Yes. Well. He certainly seems to think so.”
    He bit back a laugh and made his way up the twisting staircase to the top landing, where he found the door ajar. He stepped through, entering a long space with broad pine floors and a sloping ceiling—he would have to duck if he wanted a view out the window. Not that there was much of a view to be seen at present. Night had fallen and the storm had swept in, bringing all its dark, blustery glory with it. Gusts of wind rattled the window glass and rain pelted the roof.
    The space was tidy, but sparsely furnished. It contained little more than a washstand, a small pine table and mismatched chairs, a wooden partition screen, and an oversized bed atop of which rested a puffy goose down quilt. Gratitude surged through him. At that moment, the finest room in London’s finest house wouldn’t have looked more appealing.
    He sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled off his right boot. He flexed his stockinged foot and gave a blissful sigh. “Nicely done, don’t you think?” he remarked as Mrs. Donnelly entered the room behind him.
    “Indeed. You could charm the skin off a snake.”
    He paused and cocked his head to one side. “Hmm. That’s not much of a compliment, is it? Given that snakes shed their skins naturally.” His left boot hit the ground, joining its partner with a solid thunk .
    “My point is, Mr. Brooks, going forward, we have to economize. Perhaps you are not accustomed to being inconvenienced. Nonetheless, sacrifices must be made. This is a rather reckless expenditure.”
    “It’s only money, Mrs. Donnelly.”
    “Spoken with the haughty assurance of someone who’s never been without it before.”
    “Ah.” He sobered and regarded her with newfound sympathy. “Have you ever been without it before?”
    She brought up her chin. “Actually, no. Because I know how to manage my money.”
    She clearly meant for this to be a teaching moment, but her advantage was lost as a light knock sounded at the door. Two young serving girls entered. One carried a pewter tray with their meal, the other held a basket of kindling.
    He stood and moved to the washstand. He poured the water, politely gesturing for her to go first. She took off her damp cloak and hung it on a hook by the fire to dry. Her bonnet joined it. She washed her hands and face, then smoothed her hands over her hair to tidy her bun.
    He followed, grimacing at the unfamiliar stubble that coated his cheeks and chin. He was in desperate need of a shave. A hot bath wouldn’t be unwelcome either. But as there wasn’t anything he could do to remedy his appearance, he shrugged the matter off.
    When he turned, he found the serving girls had finished their tasks and left. A fire blazed in the grate, snapping and crackling and banishing the chill that hung in the air. His gaze moved to the table. Mrs. Wintress, (apparently a romantic soul, bless her) had outdone herself. In addition to the food, which smelled positively divine, she’d provided them a few extra touches. A lace cloth covered the rough pine table. Wildflowers filled a pewter jug, a candle flickered.
    He took that all in with a quick glance, then his gaze moved to Mrs. Donnelly. She worried her bottom lip with her teeth, her dark eyes wide and doe-like as she surveyed the room, her gaze returning over and over to oversized bed which dominated the space. She stood uncertainly near the door, as though seriously considering grabbing her valise and bolting through it.
    Biting back a smile, he endeavored to put her at ease. “Going forward,” he said, “I shall endeavor to follow your financial judgment to the letter. For the moment, however, I am exceedingly grateful for the blessing of a warm meal and shelter from the storm.”
    That seemed to take the bluster right