Romancing Lady Stone (A School of Gallantry Novella) by Delilah Marvelle

beyond the doorway. The creaking of the old inn was all she could hear. She froze.
    A stocky young blond male smoking a half-cut cigar leaned against the peeling wall beside an open door next to her own. His yellowing, linen shirt was open to the waist, revealing a fit chest, and his stained wool trousers were barely affixed to his hips as if he had just finished entertaining every last woman in town. He inclined his head toward her in a gentlemanly manner and lifted his cigar to full lips. Dragging in a long, indulgent puff, he slowly released the smoke he’d drawn in through his nostrils and his mouth as if he were making love to it. He smiled and said something conversationally in Russian.
    She blinked. “Uh...forgive me, sir, but I don’t speak any Russian.”
    The young man’s brows popped up. “Ah.” Sticking his cigar into the side of his mouth, he scrambled to tidy his appearance by sweeping back his hair from his eyes. He removed his cigar, cleared his throat and edged closer, brokenly offering in a heavy Russian accent, “Woman is…English?”
    His English was certainly better than her Russian. “Yes, sir. I’m English.”
    He dashed out his cigar against the frame of the door and shoved it into his trouser pocket. Opening the door to his room, he swept a hand toward it, his eyes brightening. He pointed at her and then cupped his hand and pretended to drink from it to indicate that he was inviting her into his room for a drink.
    She cringed but sensed he was actually trying to be nice in the only way a twenty-year-old could. She shook her head. “No, thank you. I have to—”
    He yanked out his cigar from his pocket and held it out, offering that instead.
    A startled laugh escaped her. “No, thank you, sir. I don’t smoke.”
    He tucked away the cigar and hurriedly pulled out a deck of cards from his other pocket. He held up the warped deck and gestured to her and them himself, asking if she wanted to play.
    Another laugh escaped her. “Whilst I appreciate all the generous offers, I am actually looking for someone.” She tried to slow her speech in the hopes that he would understand. “Did you happen to see a gentleman leave my room? Do you know where he went?”
    He squinted at her, shoving the deck of cards back into his pocket. “Man?”
    “Yes. A man.” She tapped at her hair. “Dark hair. Did you see him?”
    He held up his hand high over his head and then hit each arm as if to demonstrate Mr. Levin’s tall, muscled frame. He gestured down the corridor. “Outside.”
    Thank goodness there was a sighting. “Bolshoe spasibo,” she offered. Thank you was the only Russian word she did know.
    He pointed at her, grinning. “Russian.” He wagged the tip of his fingers, insisting she say more in his language.
    Something told her he would keep her in the corridor all night if she let him. “I’m so sorry, but I really should find my travelling companion.” She smiled, closed the door behind her and locked it with the key, clutching it. “I wish you a good-evening, sir.”
    He hesitated and then pointed to himself. “Markov.”
    The boy was adorable. “Thank you for the wonderful conversation, Mr. Markov.”
    He inclined his head twice, searching her face. Falling against the wall beside his door, he slowly held up a wistful hand.
    Russian men certainly were nice. It made a woman want to get lost in Russia. She swept down the narrow corridor in the opposite direction. Her feet grew colder against the rough wood as she hurried down the staircase. She winced, feeling splinters digging into the soles of her feet and glanced behind herself, shoving the key from the room into the bosom of her gown to keep herself from dropping it.
    Coming to the bottom of the main stairwell, she scanned the dilapidated hall of the inn whose iron sconces hung crookedly from the uneven walls. It was eerily quiet. The main hearth filled with coal which had earlier seen countless people gathered around it, glowed