Arriving at the Speckled Hen Inn, Pippa slipped out of the coach before the driver—kept occupied by Elliott—could see her, hurried across the damp courtyard, and stood waiting in the common room. The hour was late, the room deserted. Moments later, the admiral joined her, took her hand, and led her up the stairs, leaving her to wonder at the bizarre set of circumstances that had delayed their arrival. But as Elliott pushed open a door, lit a candle from the fire that had been left burning in the grate by a chambermaid, and stood there, so tall that he seemed to hold up the low ceiling, she forgot all about the coachman’s strange behavior, and thought, instead, of the years she had sacrificed. Despite the fire, the room had a damp chill to it, and outside, rain began to pelt the leaded glass panes of the window. Pippa stood somewhat uncertainly, her nerves tingling with anticipation. Would he find her beautiful, after all these years? She, who was nearly in her third decade, she, who no longer had the nubile body she’d possessed that one time they had made love?
