No Groom at the Inn: A Dukes Behaving Badly Novella by Megan Frampton Read Free Book Online Page A

Unfortunately,” he said with a laugh, his tone audibly changing, “there are such essential things as sleep, and visiting with one’s mother.”
    “You love her very much, don’t you?” Even in his jacket, she was shivering, but she didn’t want to go back in, not when she had the chance to speak with him out in the open—in so many ways.
    “I do. I would do anything to keep her happy.” He paused, then continued. “Anything, that is, except marry someone when I’m not ready to.”
    They were both silent for a time, each looking up at the sky. The one place, Sophronia mused, that he hadn’t been yet.
    “My father and I were on our own, much as you describe with your mother.” They did have things in common, Sophronia realized. Just not hieroglyphics. “It often felt to me as though it were us against the world.” She shook her head, burrowing herself further into his jacket. “Not that we were against anything, but we were on our own. Just us.”
    “You have no other family?” he asked, a surprisingly soft tone in his voice.
    She thought of her cousin, and her cousin’s children, and the chickens. “Not precisely. I do, but none I wish to be with. That is why I was so willing to take you up on your offer. Or non-offer,” she said with a laugh.
    He didn’t reply. He seemed content to be still here, just standing beside her, his head flung back, the strong lines of his throat showing fierce and strong.
    Add throat to the list of body parts she was now thinking about.
    “We should go in, you’re freezing,” he said after a bit. He took her arm without waiting for her reply—something characteristic of him, she was coming to realize—and walked her back into the house, her mind jumbled up with cold, and Christmas, and what home meant, and why someone would find it impossible to stay in one place, even though that one place held people who loved him.

 
    Gyrovague:
    1. Loss of freedoms.
    2. One of those monks who were in the habit of wandering from monastery to monastery.
    3. The outside circle of a compass.

 
    C HAPTER S EVEN
    “T oday we thought the young people in the company would take the carriages and visit the abbey. It remains as it was when Henry II reigned, and I am certain Mr. Archer and my own dear girl will find plenty to admire.” Mrs. Green issued her words like a proclamation, leaving no possibility of declining. “As well as the rest of the party,” she added, even though it sounded as if “the rest of the party” was an afterthought to Mr. Archer and her own dear girl.
    Sophronia looked to where Mr. Archer—James—sat at the breakfast table, a bleary look on his face as though he were still sleeping. Perhaps he did not like the mornings as she did—she found she did her best thinking at that time, much to her night-owl father’s chagrin.
    She felt her lips curve into a smile as she recalled just how many times he wanted to discuss some new discovery he’d made after a long evening of reading, only to get exasperated because she was so tired.
    “Something amusing, my dear?” He was so observant, even when looking as though he were still lying in bed, the covers tangled about his—
    Oh, no. Now she was thinking about his torso. Who knew the study of anatomy was so fascinating to her?
    “Nothing in particular, my dear,” she replied, stressing the last two words. He grinned back at her, his eyes lighting up with a shared amusement.
    He was altogether too charming, even when half-asleep. Especially when half-asleep.
    “The visit to the abbey sounds delightful, Mrs. Green,” Jamie said, turning to speak to their hostess. “My Sophy was just saying the other day that she hadn’t visited enough ancient abbeys in her lifetime.” He spoke without a hint of amusement in his voice, as though he were entirely serious.
    How did he do that? Sophronia had to bite her lip to keep from giggling, and meanwhile, he had an entirely serious mien.
    And yet—and yet when she met his