“Thank God!” Anthony gave a mock sigh between chuckles. “Thought you were slipping there for a moment, brother. Now you’ve got my complete sympathy.”
“Like hell I do,” James snarled, and started toward Anthony again.
But Roslynn intervened once more, this time grabbing her husband’s arm. “You just don’t know when to quit, do you?” she admonished, pulling him toward the door.
“I’ve hardly begun,” he protested, but a glance back at James made him amend, “You’re right, sweetheart, indeed you are. And didn’t you tell Jason we’d pay him a visit while he’s in town? By God, I don’t think I’ve ever looked forward so to seeing the elders, or had such interesting news to tell ’em.”
Anthony was barely out the door before it was slammed behind him, but that only started his laughter again, particularly when he heard the muffled string of oaths from the other side.
Roslynn gave him an exasperated look. “You really shouldn’t have done that.”
“I know.” Anthony grinned.
“He might not forgive you.”
“I know.” His grin widened measurably.
She clicked her tongue. “You’re not the least bit repentant, are you?”
“Not one bloody bit.” He chuckled. “But damn me, I forgot to congratulate him.”
She jerked him back sharply. “Don’t you dare! I happen to like your head on your shoulders.”
In an abrupt change of interest, he cornered her up against the wall there in the hallway. “Do you?”
“Anthony, stop!” She laughed, trying only halfheartedly to avoid his lips. “You’re incorrigible.”
“I’m in love,” he countered huskily. “And men in love usually are incorrigible.”
She gasped as he nipped her ear. “Well, when you put it that way…our roomisjust down the hall.”
Chapter Forty-one
“Good God!” Anthony said when James and Georgina entered the dining room the next morning. “How the devil did I fail to notice you’ve got yourself a prime article there, James?”
“Because you were too busy ribbing me,” James replied. “And don’t start again, lad. Be grateful my night was more pleasantafteryour departure.”
Georgina blushed, wanting to kick him for saying something like that. Anthony was saved from the same wish, simply because she had no idea the prime article he referred to was herself. And since the night had been very pleasant for her as well, and she was now looking her best in a deep plum-colored gown of plush velvet that fit her perfectly, She was feeling mellow enough not to make a comment to either of them.
But Anthony couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her, and his wife finally did some kicking of her own—under the table. He flinched but was not the least bit put off, even when James started frowning at him.
Finally he said, with some exasperation, “Where the deuce have I seen you before, George? You look damned familiar, damn me if you don’t.”
“My name isn’t George,” she told him as she took her seat. “It’s Georgina, or Georgie to my friends and family. Only James can’t seem to remember that.”
“Are we hinting that I’m senile again?” James asked, one brow crooking.
She grinned sweetly at him. “If the shoe fits.”
“If memory serves, I made you eat that shoe the last time you tried forcing it on my foot.”
“And if memory serves,” she countered, “I believe it was delicious.”
Anthony had watched this byplay with interest while he patiently waited to repeat his question. But the question was quite forgotten when he noted that James’s eyes were suddenly smoldering with an inner heat that had nothing to do with anger. Passion flaring over a shoe? And she’d eaten the thing?
“Is this a private joke?” he asked mildly, “or do we get to hear the punch line?”
“You get to hear how we met, Sir Anthony.”
