But she didn’t ask to intrude on the two Malorys who were still bachelors. She wasn’t that much of a coward. At least that was what she told herself before James and Jeremy left. Nevertheless, as soon as the door closed behind the dashing pair, leaving her alonewith the servants, Anthony’s servants—Nettie didn’t count—she found she was a coward after all.
It was a ridiculously early hour to be retiring for the night, but retreat to her bedroom she did, and with all haste. Dobson was told to inform Anthony when he finally came in that she wasn’t feeling well and wasn’t to be disturbed, for any reason. Whether that would put him off remained to be seen.
In case it didn’t, however, she wasn’t taking any chances. She donned her most unappealing nightgown, a heavy cotton garment more suitable for a cold Scottish winter in the Highlands, stuck her hair under an ugly nightcap that she borrowed from Nettie, never having liked the use of them herself, and finished her ensemble with a bulky robe that she usually wore only after her bath.
She also considered putting one of Nettie’s thick night creams on her face, but that would be doing it up a bit too much. A glance in the mirror showed her that she looked appalling as it was. Anything more would just be obvious arsenal that Anthony might find funny instead of discouraging.
Of course, now that she was so bundled up, she was too warm for bedcovers. But that was just as well. Curled up with a book would be a more natural touch, rather than pretending sleep, which Anthony would likely doubt if he arrived while it was still so early.
No, she had to appear normally indisposed, as if she weren’t trying to deliberately avoid him. He would then have to give her the benefit of the doubt and leave her alone. That was, if he didn’t heed Dobson’s message. That was, if he came home at all.
Hell’s teeth, none of this would be necessary if Dobson had been able to find the cursed key to thedoor yesterday when she had asked for it. But then, might not locking Anthony out be taken as a challenge by someone like him? It would certainly be a clear statement that she didn’t want to talk to him, not now, not any time soon. No, this way was better. Let him come, if he must, but she would make him feel guilty as hell for disturbing her when she was feeling, and looking, so poorly.
The book she had on hand was a boring collection of sonnets, gushy in sentimentality, left behind by the previous occupant of the room, whoever that had been. But she was stuck with it. It was too late to risk going down to Anthony’s study, where a small library was kept. It would be just her luck that he would walk in and catch her out of bed, ruining the effect she was striving for.
She gave up reading the silly book, however. At any other time she might have been enthralled, for love sonnets, which she surmised most of them were as she flipped through the pages, usually sparked a tender chord in her. But she was in no frame of mind to be romantic tonight. Anything but. She let her mind wander instead, wondering if she ought to allow her malady to last through tomorrow. She could use the time alone to think, to get in control of her emotions again.
Fortunately, Roslynn was still holding the book in front of her and appeared to be reading, because she had no warning that Anthony had returned. The door to her room simply opened and he was there. Unfortunately, he wasn’t so easily fooled.
“Very amusing, my dear.” His tone was dry, his expression inscrutable. “Did it take all day to think this up, or were you inspired when the Hawke and his pup deserted you?”
Since she had no idea what he was talking about in reference to birds and dogs, she ignored the question altogether. “I asked not to be disturbed.”
“I know you did, sweetheart.” He shut the door, his smile unnerving. “But a husband is allowed to disturb his wife—anytime, anywhere, any way he wants to.”
He was putting another meaning on the word, one that had her cheeks flaming, which he was quick to note. “Ah, it must be a fever,” he continued, coming slowly toward the bed. “And no wonder, with that mountain of nightclothes you’re wearing. Or is it a cold? No, you haven’t bothered to redden your nose with a little pinching. A headache, then, of course. You don’t need to produce visible symptoms to claim one, do you?”
His baiting enraged her beyond good sense. “Beast! If I did have one, you wouldn’t care, would you?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” He sat down on the bed, fingering the tie of her robe. His smile was more humorous now that she had given up her ruse. “Do you have one?”
“Yes!”
“Liar.”
“I’m learning from a master.”
He laughed. “Very good, my dear. I was wondering how I was going to introduce the subject, but you’ve done it for me.”
“What subject?”
“What indeed. Are we going to play dumb now?”
“Wearen’t going to play anything.You’regoing to leave this room.”
Of course he didn’t. That would have been too much to hope for. He sat back, leaning on one elbow, infuriating her with his quiet scrutiny.
Suddenly he leaned forward and snatched her nightcap away. “That’s better.” He twirled the cap on his finger as he gazed at the red-gold locks scattered about her shoulders. “You know how I love your hair. I suppose you hid it just to annoy me?”
“You flatter yourself.”
“Maybe,” he said softly. “And maybe I’ve known enough women to know how their minds work when they turn vindictive for some supposed wrong. Cold food, cold shoulders, and cold beds. Well, you’ve served me up all but the food, but I suppose that will come.”
She threw the book at him. He dodged it handily.
“If you want to get violent, sweetheart, you’ve certainly caught me in the right mood for it. In fact, if I had found Cameron today, I think I’d have shot the bastard first and asked questions later. So don’t press your luck.”
He said it too quietly for her to take him seriously. She was too caught up in her own enraged passions to realize that she’d never seen Anthony like this. He was calm. He was in control. He was furious. She just didn’t know it.
