“Très bien.” Grandmère nodded, turning back to her letters with another flick of her hand.
Alex looked upas Lady Charlotte stomped back into his bedchamber.
He was quite sure she would bristle at being accused of something so unladylike asstomping, but there was no other way to describe her walk.
For his part, a trio of footmen had assisted him in sitting up in bed—two to move the bone box and another to lift his body—but Alex was finally able to eat sitting up. He was halfway through a luncheon of beef broth and dry bread when the door smacked open.
Lady Charlotte clearly had not forgiven him for his harsh words earlier.
Alex knew he needed to apologize.
Hewantedto apologize.
But just like the dry bread, the words stuck in his throat.
Instead, he said, “I am currently drafting my scathing commentary about Frome Abbey for the editors ofCary’s.”
If he thought to ruffle her with his words, he should have known better. She set several items down on a table near the side of the bed and shot him a saccharine smile over her shoulder, the expression far too sweet to be palatable.
“Does your commentary read something like, ‘Frome Abbey, seat of the Marquess of Lockheade. Dreadful pile. Do not recommend.’?” she asked.
“Not quite. I’m leaning toward ‘Uncivilized hovel.’”
“Ah.”
Lady Charlotte removed a perfectly innocent landscape painting of a river and trees from the wall.
A small tendril of her white-blond hair had escaped her coiffure to dangle tantalizingly down the nape of her neck. That wee lock of hair did uncomfortable things to Alex’s breathing.
“Redecorating?” he asked the back of her head.
“Mmm?”
She turned her bright blue eyes on him. Robin’s-egg blue. The shocking blue of a loch in mid-summer. The color of liquid sunshine.
Och! Enough with the florid thoughts!
He felt that irrational irritation rising again as he waved a hand toward the wall. “Why did you remove the painting?”
“Are you truly going to ask me questions now?” She turned fully around, a hand on her hip. “I’m quite sure the only thing you should say at the moment is, ‘I do beg your pardon, Lady Charlotte. I have been an insufferable cad and wish to throw myself upon your mercy.’”
The sheer pissyness of her tone startled a barking laugh out of him.
He preferred her like this, he realized.
A princess with claws, feisty and determined.
Thiswoman would not cower in fear.
He wanted reasons to dislike her, to cast aside his unwanted attraction.
Instead, the more he learned of her, the opposite kept occurring. Like her errant mole, her spunk and quick intelligence were unexpected.
Lady Charlotte pivoted and hung another painting in place of the one she had removed. He leaned forward in the bed in an attempt to see it, but her head and body blocked his view.
She turned back to him, a book in her hands. “I am sure chronicling your woes to all and sundry will likely take you days, but in case you get bored, I took the opportunity to provide you with some reading.”
She set the book beside him, though her eyes said she would have preferred to toss it at his head.
