Rosalyn glanced up at him sharply. "You're jesting."

"No, I'm not," he said. "We've dashed up here in record time, ridden all night, and almost broken our

necks. Considering all that, you look marvelous."

Rosalyn didn't know if he was teasing or serious. "You look like you need a shave."

He laughed, not taking any offense. "I imagine I do."

A stable hand came lumbering out, yawning, leading three horses. Rosalyn had to yawn in answer, and

she caught the colonel stifling one too. She couldn't wait to go to sleep.

The lad took one look at the two of them, their clothes and their horse, and frowned. He tied the horses

to a post and would have turned on his heel to go back in the stable except for the colonel stopping him.

"Here, lad," he called to him. "Rub this horse down and feed him well. He's done his duty for the day."

He flipped a coin in the air with one hand. Before the coin landed back in his palm, the boy was in frontof him, ready to take Oscar's reins.The colonel pressed the coin in the boy's hand. "There will be more if he is well taken care of.""Yes, sir," the stable lad said and pulled his forelock."Shall we?" the colonel said, offering Rosalyn his arm. "The place looks decent enough. All the shutters are on their hinges."She placed her hand in the crook of his elbow and let him lead her toward the inn's door. "I just realized," she said, "that I don't know your prospects. You own Maiden Hill, but will we be scrimping and saving, or are you wealthy?"

He stopped, and her first thought was she had offended. Instead, he studied her a moment and said, "I

like the practicality of your mind. It is a good quality in a woman."

Rosalyn didn't know whether to be flattered or insulted. Perhaps this was why she'd never had an offer

before. She was too "practical." The word made her feel frumpy. But then, practical women married forsecurity-and what was she doing?"So, do you have an answer?" she prodded."I'm not as wealthy as I'm going to be," he assured her, opening the door, "after I marry you."She didn't know if this was more of his flattery or a statement of fact. She really knew very little about him. A wiser woman would run now.

But it was too late. She was committed. She'd said she'd do it, and so she would.

They stepped into an open tap room filled with trestle tables. The fire was cold in the hearth, and the air

smelled of stale ale. This was a man's place, although a young woman with shaggy yellow hair was wiping down tables. On the other side of the room were stairs that presumably led up to the guest rooms. The walls were yellow with smoke and age.

A short, thin man with a big nose and eyebrows that looked like caterpillars came out from behind the bar. His shirt was clean. "May I help you?" he asked in a soft Scots accent.

"We've come to marry," the colonel said grandly. "I know this isn't Gretna, but do you have a parson?" The innkeeper looked over Colonel Mandland, with his roguish growth of whiskers and travel-stained clothes, and Rosalyn, with her now shabby bonnet, and he must have thought them a pair escaped from an asylum. However, he generously kept his opinion to himself.

"You can marry here. The parson is a patron of ours, but you may have a wee bit of a wait."

"We can't wait," the colonel said, hanging his hat, which was almost the worse for wear as her own, on a peg. "We want to be married this morning. The sooner, the better." The innkeeper raised his bushy eyebrows, and his gaze dropped to Rosalyn's belly. She caught the implication and felt herself blushing.

"Well, you can marry whenever you want," the innkeeper said, "but first, you'll need to wake the parson." He stepped aside and nodded to a pair of boots coming out from under a table by the wall.

From the other end of those boots, as if to punctuate the innkeeper's words, came a rumbling snore accented by whiskey fumes. The parson wasn't just asleep. He was dead drunk.

Chapter Nine.

What else could go wrong?

Colin wanted to grab the parson by his boots and pull him out from under the table, except he was afraid of what he'd find. The temper he tried to keep always in check threatened to ignite.

And then Rosalyn started laughing. It was a giggle at first, but it built quickly into a merry, tinkling sound.He turned, fascinated by the music of it. He was also stunned to realize that he wanted to marry. Hewanted to marry her.

The realization almost sent him flying for the safety of the front door.

She met his gaze, her eyes animated and alive. "I'm sorry," she managed at last. "But the Fates are

against us. I mean, who would have thought the parson would be drunk? Especially at this hour of the morning?" She almost doubled over, unable to control herself.

"I'm certain Matt wouldn't be surprised," Colin answered, and he started to chuckle himself. "Of course,

he'll be angry enough about the elopement. We must never tell him about the parson."She sobered. "Your brother doesn't know you eloped?"A sharp stab of guilt pricked Colin's conscience. "The subject didn't come up.""You didn't tell him?""Some things are better left unsaid," he hedged."I thought you were close."This was the Rosalyn he knew, the woman who turned into a terrier when she had her mind wrapped around an idea. "We are, as long as what I do is what he approves of. Innkeeper, do you have a bucket of water?" Colin said, changing the subject. "And hot coffee or strong tea?"

"He always likes a nip of the dog that bit him to bring him back to his senses," the innkeeper explained.

"Then bring me a tankard of that," Colin ordered.

"You can't give the man more drink," Rosalyn protested."Why not? He's already had more than his share," Colin answered and, lifting the parson's leg,unceremoniously dragged him out from under the table.

"He's in no shape to conduct a service," she predicted.

"We can get him in shape." Colin knelt down, lifted the parson's head, and started rolling it back andforth between his hands. The man didn't even blink.Rosalyn crossed her arms. "You were saying about your brother?" she asked Colin frowned at her, a word to the wise that this was not the time to question him. He'd been up all night and was not pleased to

have a sodden parson on his hands.

She frowned right back, and suddenly the innkeeper, who was walking over with a tankard of ale, started laughing. "Are you sure the two of you aren't already married? You bicker just like my wife and myself."

"You don't get along?" Rosalyn asked, her eyes widening in mortification at the innkeeper's blunt

remark.

"We get along fine," the innkeeper soothed in his slight brogue. "She has her way of doing things, I have mine." He lowered his voice to admit, "The truth is, she often knows better than I."

"But you can't be happy if you argue," Rosalyn said."Arguing can be the best part of a marriage," he answered. "We agree on everything important, and thelittle things don't matter if you get along in the bedroom." He waggled his bushy eyebrows for emphasis.

Holding up his ring finger to display a gold band, he said, "Twenty-two years, and every night is as goodas the first. That's a good marriage."Colin thought Rosalyn would go up in flames, she was so embarrassed.Nor was she the only one.The blonde who had been cleaning tables came up behind the innkeeper and cuffed him on the head.

Seeing her face up close, Colin realized the woman was older than he had first thought. "Lucas, the lady doesn't want to hear you brag."

"It's not bragging when you are telling the truth," her husband answered."Well, if we can't bring the parson to his senses, we'll not be married at all," Colin said. He took thetankard and dribbled a few drops onto the parson's lips when the man was in mid-snore. To Colin'ssurprise, his glassy eyes popped open immediately. His tongue searched out the drops.

"You have it bad, don't you, friend?" Colin murmured."My best customer," the innkeeper told Rosalyn."Sad, isn't it?" his wife echoed. She turned away to finish her cleaning, just as four gentlemen dressed for hunting came down the stairs.

The innkeeper excused himself to see to his other guests.

Colin waved his hand in front of the parson's eyes. They didn't move in one direction or the other. "Are

you awake?"

"I will be with a drop or two more" was the answer. The parson sat straight up. He reached for the tankard, which Colin managed to skillfully keep away from him.

Rising, Colin said, "We need to have a wedding done, and then you can drink all you want."

"And pay off the tab from last night with your fee," the innkeeper's wife hinted. Obviously feeling a need

to enlighten Rosalyn, she said, "Those gents are up here for the hunt. Hounds are being brought over. There's a party of twelve."

"Fox hunt?" Colin asked.

"Yes, sir."

"Barbaric sport," Colin answered, setting the tankard down on the table.

"Only if you are the fox," Lucas the innkeeper replied as he returned to join them. "Will you be needing a

room? I have one left, and those gentlemen over there are saying they want it for this night. Turns out oneof their number snores, and the others refuse to share a room with him if they don't have to.""We'll take the room," Colin said.

"I thought you would," the innkeeper said, but Rosalyn interrupted him."I'm not certain." Colin could almost hear her thought process. A room? Together? No one was sayinganything about two rooms. "Don't we need to get home?"

Colin bit back his first response. "I'm tired," he said simply.

She nodded. She was, too. Tired and bedraggled... and that was what he was gambling on.

"I want a drink," the parson said, as if his opinion mattered. He scrambled to his feet on surprisingly short

legs. His head barely reached Colin's chest. He reached for the tankard."After the ceremony," Colin reminded him, sweeping the mug out and away from under the man's grubbyfingers. "We'll take the room," he told the innkeeper.

Rosalyn told herself everything would be fine... including the room debate, because she didn't want to argue in front of the hunters, who were now craning their necks to see what was going on.

"A wedding," the innkeeper helpfully explained to them, and Rosalyn could have cheerfully wrung his neck. Her affairs were none of these gentlemen's business.

They made it so.

One hopped to his feet. "I say, I'll be a witness," he volunteered and crossed the room to join them. He clapped his hands together in anticipation. "This will make for a good story back in London. Galen," he introduced himself. "Lord Galen."

"Mandland," the colonel answered, "Colonel Mandland." Was it Rosalyn's imagination, or did she catcha hint of annoyance in the colonel's voice? Was she starting to know him well enough to pick up thenuances in his speech?

Lord Galen was oblivious. Two more members of their party made their way down the stairs, and he called cheerily, "Patterson, Tomblin! Look at me. I'm a witness at an elopement!"