Cards & Caravans by Cindy Spencer Pape

some oats.” Even Lucifer was tired and nestled snugly in her arms, weighing her down until she could barely walk.
    “Hullo.” Connor approached the man behind the bar. “Any rooms still available for the night?”
    “Aye. Who’s askin’?” The barman at the bar gave them a careful look and then added, “Sir?”
    Fortunately, Connor’s fine wool greatcoat covered his filthy shirt and trousers. “Sir Thomas Hadrian,” he said, reaching over the bar to shake the other man’s hand. “And my wife, Lady Hadrian, of course.”
    Belinda smothered her own gasp with an all too real yawn. “Excuse me. The inn in the last town was full up, and we’re just too exhausted to go any farther tonight.” The idea of her ever being Lady Anything was laughable, but she couldn’t cause a scene by contradicting him in front of witnesses.
    The barman looked him up and down, then finally shrugged. “All right. First room on the left at the top of the stairs.”
    “Thank you.” Connor reached across the bar and shook the other man’s hand. “What do I need to pay to get a bath sent up?” Connor asked.
    “No worries, there’s hot water and a hip bath in the room.” With another nod, they were dismissed and Connor stepped back to allow her to precede him up the stairs.
    Inside the room, she set her cat on the bed. “Just one room?” She was supposed to share a bedroom, with one average-sized bed, with him? The bathtub and loo were simply tucked behind a screen—not even a proper door to provide privacy. Ah well, she’d endured worse back in her circus days and even those accommodations had been luxurious compared to the gaol.
    He shrugged. “I told them you were my wife because your squire—not to mention the damned army—is looking for a woman on her own, not a married couple, and most definitely not a lady who’s in a ‘delicate condition,’ which is the hint I intend to drop when I go downstairs to pay the innkeeper, along with a fat bribe for keeping his mouth shut. You needn’t worry about your virtue. I’ll sleep on the floor.”
    The bastard was laughing. Not out loud, but the creases beside his eyes gave him away. He thought this was funny. Damn him. She’d just lost her home, her friends, almost everything she owned.
    For the first time since this whole ordeal started, Belinda broke. She struck out at him, punching him in the chest with her fists. Tears began to run down her cheeks and she gasped for breath.
    He stood for a few moments and let her pummel him. Then he swore viciously and pulled her against his chest. Strong arms banded around her as she cried, soaking his coat with her tears. He rocked her gently and eased into a wooden chair, pulling her not inconsiderable weight down onto his lap, still soothing her like an injured child.
    “Easy, there, blackbird. I’m not going to let them catch you.” His breath was soft against her hair. “You’re safe. Once we’re at the Tower, you can take all the time you need to deal with things and decide what you want to do next.”
    “Assuming I’m not going to be executed?” She sniffed. “Find a position, I suppose. Perhaps someone can use a slightly inept housekeeper. I’m not very good at keeping things tidy.” Sniffles punctuated her sentences. “I hear there’s a market for card readers and palmists in London. Maybe I can set up a shop.” She hiccupped loudly.
    “You’re exhausted, frightened and likely in shock. There’s no need to make any decisions tonight.” He kissed the top of her head, and she could have sworn she felt the stirrings of an erection through her layers of clothing.
    Connor stood suddenly, lifting her away from his body and setting her down on the bed. “Now have your bath and crawl under the covers. I’ll go take care of the caravan and your mule, pay the man and then come clean up myself. Are you hungry? Should I have them send up some tea or soup?”
    “No.” She was too tired to eat. “Go. I’ll try not to