Because she remained intent upon divorcing his miserable arse.
“Why are you still here?” she demanded. “You have no right to be in my chamber.”
His jaw clenched. “I have every right to be in your chamber, Nell. And I am here because I was worried. It is half past noon, and you are still abed. I thought something was amiss.”
Somethingwasamiss.
He was not supposed to be here. Not just here at Needham Hall but here in England. He was supposed to be very far away. Seeing him reminded her of too much.
She glared at him. “I was sleeping, Needham.”
“I suppose I ought to thank you for that, as it made sending your guests home easier.” He was still hovering over her bed, so tall, his face a study in disapproval.
She sat up with far too much haste, clutching the bedclothes to her chest as she realized she was naked beneath them. Her head swam. “The house party has only just begun.”
Above his dark, neatly trimmed beard, the scratches she had made on his cheek last night were visible. More scratches marred his hand as he passed it over his jaw. “I will not countenance a house filled with guests, Nell. We have much to discuss, and none of it requires an audience. When the rest of your guests arrive today, Sidmouth included, they will be turned away as well.”
Irritation flared, chasing the incessant pounding in her skull for a moment. “You cannot turn away my guests. Especially not Tom.”
She wondered how he knew more guests were arriving today. How he knew Tom was one of them. The butler, Reeves, she supposed. Or the housekeeper, Mrs. Harris. They were stalwart old retainers, and neither of them had ever approved of her house parties.
“I will not host your lover. Sidmouth is not welcome here at Needham Hall.Ever.”
The succinct, angry words gave her pause. Surely Needham was not jealous of Tom, when he had undoubtedly been enjoying the charms of any number of ladies himself during their separation?
“Of course he is welcome here,” she countered. “This is my home. You cannot simply appear in the dining room and start acting the despot. You have been gone for three years.”
“At your request.” He was grim, all harsh angles.
Irritatingly beautiful.
“Because you bedded Lady Billingsley,” she reminded him. “Do not dare to act as if you are an angel, my lord. We both know you are not. Now, kindly remove yourself from my chamber. It is too early in the morning for me to be dealing with faithless scoundrels.”
“It is afternoon,” he returned, his voice still cold. “And I did not bed Lady Billingsley.”
Lies.That was all he had ever given her. She was not as easily fooled as she had once been. Lady Billingsley had gone to her rewards, but her death had not undone what had happened. Nell would never forget.
“Do shut up, Needham.” Her patience was waning. Her mouth was sour and felt as if it had been stuffed with cotton. So, too, her head. Her stomach clenched, threatening to cast up her accounts.
And this, she would not do before him. Retching into a chamber pot after a night of overindulgence was shameful enough without an audience.
“Your manners have suffered in my absence,” he observed, unperturbed.
Why did he linger? Was it his intention to torture her?
“My manners are negatively impacted by the hatred I feel for you.” She pinned him with a glare as two different sorts of agony skewered her: emotional and physical. “To say nothing of the fact that I am about two minutes away from retching all over you.”
She was never drinking port again.
His lips quirked into a small smile. “Giving the bottle a black eye is not nearly as enjoyable come morning, is it darling?”
“You ought to know,” she muttered, thinking of all the late nights of wickedness they had once shared.
How wild they had been, once upon a time.
His smile faded. “No longer. I do not drink spirits. If you had not been so sotted last night, perhaps you would recall our conversation.”
Ah, yes. He had told her he was a teetotaler now, hadn’t he? Was that the reason for his superciliousness? For all that she had once known him so well, he seemed a stranger to her now. If only her old memories of familiarity could be killed.
