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innkeeper’s wife entered the room.
    Joseph saluted her with his glass and downed the drink. He knew he was behaving like an arse, but he was angry. It stung to be newly married and discover that your wife was in love with another man.
    …
    Abigail stiffened her spine and left the room, trailing behind the portly woman who led her upstairs. If she ever needed proof that the only reason Joseph had married her was because of her dowry, his attitude when she said she didn’t want to consummate their marriage just yet, confirmed it.
    He had not even tried to dissuade her, only questioned her on Redgrave. Whatever had he to do with the conversation? Joseph hadn’t even asked her to explain. Not that she could have, since she had no idea why she’d said what she had. As she’d sat at the table with a new husband, with the night looming in front of her, she’d felt uneasy, as if she were doing something wrong. So in a fit of panic, she’d made that stupid statement.
    Instead of the blasted man attempting to deter her from her decision by sweet talking, or even trying to seduce her, he’d brought Redgrave into the discussion. Then he’d merely accepted her words and proceeded to attempt to drink the inn dry.
    After bidding the innkeeper’s wife a good night, she mumbled to herself as she set her bonnet and gloves on the dresser. She didn’t want sweet talking, bald-faced lies, and false romance, anyway. She’d got precisely what she’d wanted. A marriage that would provide her with a home and, eventually, children. And an outlet for her energy. If that didn’t sit well, then she’d not spend a great deal of time wallowing in self-pity.
    As she unbuttoned her pelisse, she surveyed the room. By public inn standards, it was lovely. Someone had turned down the bed sheets and lit candles around the room. A bottle of wine rested in a bucket, along with two wine glasses. Her eyes took that all in, but settled on the large tub near the fireplace with steam rising from the water.
    A bath would be just the thing. Once the promised maid arrived, Abigail would soak in the hot water until her skin wrinkled.
    Much later, she wandered the room in her nightgown, examining the bottle of wine, tempted to open it and have a glass, then set it firmly down in the bucket.
    Hell and damnation, where was the man? Was he so annoyed with her that he planned to sleep at the dining table? She’d no sooner formed that complete thought when there was a banging on the room door.
    “Yes?”
    “Open the door.”
    The voice sounded like Joseph, but odd, and his words a bit garbled. She hurried to the door. “Joseph? Is that you?”
    “I think so,” he answered sotto voce.
    Frowning, she opened the door. Joseph had apparently been leaning against it, and the movement caused him to bolt into the room. Arms spinning, he fought to keep himself upright as he barreled past her.
    He stumbled to the bed, grabbed the bedpost and hung on, swinging to and fro. “I am here.”
    Her eyebrows rose. “Indeed.”
    He pulled himself up and released the bedpost, only to make a grab for it when he started to slide sideways.
    “Sir, you are drunk!”
    “I believe you are right, wife.” He hiccupped.
    His hair stood straight up, as if he’d spent the past few hours running his fingers through it. His coat was gone, his cravat hung limply around his neck. He peered at her through blood shot eyes. “I am sorry there is only one bed. At least I think there is only one. Right now it is hard to say. It appears we will be forced to sleep next to each other, or I can sleep on the floor.” He burped.
    Abigail wasn’t altogether sure that was what he said, his words coming out somewhat twisted. As he released one hand from the bedpost to wave at the bed, then at the floor, it was her best guess.
    “There is no need for you to sleep on the floor. I can sleep in the chair.”
    He shook his head, then moaned. “No, should not do that,” he mumbled. “Not