The Pirate's Duty (Regent's Revenge #3)(24)

Euphoria washed over Walsingham. He knew this room. Months ago, he and his men had entered the tunnels by way of the beach. Inside, they’d pressed Carnage’s crew up the tunnels into the kitchen, trapping them in the tavern between Walsingham’s and Underwood’s men.

He glanced at the floorboards, quickly noting the iron handle of the trapdoor that led to the cellar and tunnels below. The cellar would be the first thing he’d explore when everyone was asleep.

“Follow me.” She set off again, leading them up a flight of stairs that curved around the cob walls. “Watch your heads.”

They arrived at the second floor and faced a long hallway. Doors sectioned off each room, six in all.

She led them past the first room. “Do not disturb Mr. and Mrs. Lovell. They’ve already spent a long day traveling.” And they could expect an even longer coach ride to Exeter. “The jingle is due early in the mornin’, so they need a good night’s rest.”

“Aye,” Walsingham said. “You’ll get no trouble from us, Miss.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” Her stern tone held a bite. She moved on to the next set of rooms, bypassing the room across the hall from the Lovells’. “Ye can have your pick from this room or the one across the hall from it.”

“Is there a difference?” he wondered aloud.

“None but the cold.” Her brow lifted adorably in the muted light, but her eyes sparked a challenge. Was this a test? Was she waiting to see which room he’d choose?

“Southwesterly winds blow fierce against this side of the inn,” she explained, having no idea what he was accustomed to. If a waft of air bothered him, he’d have never joined the Royal Navy. “’Tis a terrible shame because the view is worth it.”

“I’ll take this one, then.” There were countless advantages of having a view of the sea. First and foremost, he could signal his men with a lantern once they knew which room he was in. “Thank you for taking the time to show us to our rooms.”

He started to bow his head like a gentleman, the way a viscount’s son had been raised to do in the presence of a lady. Thankfully, he caught himself in time. Fishermen didn’t bow . . . to anyone. Callous pride generated from deep in the marrow prevented men of the sea from lowering their heads.

“Many thanks,” Jarvis said, pilfering her intense stare away from Walsingham.

“That leaves the room across the hall for ye, Jarvis,” she said with a smile.

Jarvis nodded. “Thank you, Miss.”

Jarvis moved to his room and turned the latch, entering without hesitation. A single candle glowed from within as he closed the door behind him.

Miss Thorpe stood silently in the hallway like a sentinel, pinioning him with her sultry eyes as she waited patiently for him to enter his room.

“I should probably warn you,” he said.

The silence stretched tighter between them until she spoke. “About what, Mr. Hunt?”

He put his hand on the latch of the door leading to his room. “Jarvis and McHugh . . . snore. Loudly.”

“A man cannot help the way he breathes, Mr. Hunt.”

Or the way a beautiful woman steals his breath. “I wonder . . .”

“Yes?” she asked, her voice a lure in the semidarkness.

“About you, Miss.” Was she waiting for him to retire to his room before she made her way to hers?

“Where do you sleep?” he asked.

Girard had already conveyed the layout of the Roost and which room was hers when he first arrived, but the rake inside him wanted to tease her, to see if he could bring a flush to her cheeks once more.

“’Ers is the last room at the end of the ’all,” Girard said, fortuitously appearing at the top of the stairs. “Nice room with a ’omey ’earth.”

“I’m quite capable of answering Mr. Hunt myself, Girard.” Miss Thorpe’s annoyance at Girard’s interference couldn’t be plainer as her mortification deepened.

Girard glanced from Walsingham to Miss Thorpe and back again. “I-I was only tryin’—”

“I understand.” Her face softened as she offered Girard a warm smile and then faced Walsingham coldly. “Now . . . pray excuse me. It’s been a long day, and the cock crows at dawn.”

Walsingham nodded as he turned the latch on his bedchamber door and went inside. Within, he shrugged his shoulders to ward off the sudden chill and glanced around the sparsely furnished room, closing the door soundlessly behind him.

Before him, a large bedstead jutted out from one wall, flanked by a nightstand where a single candle had been lit for his use. A large oaken wardrobe leaned against the opposite wall. Other than a chamber pot in the corner and a washstand in the opposite corner, the room was empty and the floors bare. A floor-to-ceiling tapestry hung on the outer wall as a barrier to the breeze hissing through the windowpane.

He walked across the room and pushed the heavy drapery aside, placing his hand on the glass. A bracing cold seeped into his bones as he gazed out over the jagged, moonlit cliffs clawing their way to sea.

His ship wasn’t far away. Hidden within the Seatons’ fleet at Abbydon Cove, his crew awaited his signal—a large fire burned on a pyre stationed on the cliffs. At a moment’s notice, they could make sail and be in range of the Roost within the hour, providing the wind and tide complied. He prayed nature was on his side as he turned away from the window, dropped the tapestry, and glanced down at the large bed once more.