Roslynn yanked hard on his cravat before she pushed him back on the bed. “Sleep it off,sweetheart.” And she turned on her heel.
“You’re a cruel woman, Roslynn Malory,” he called after her.
She closed the door with a decisive bang.
Chapter Thirty-one
Anthony woke with a splitting head and a curse on his lips. He sat up to light the lamp by his bed, cursing again. The clock on the mantel said a few minutes after two. It was dark outside his window, so that told him which two o’clock it was. He cursed again, realizing he was wide awake now in the middle of the night, with his head coming off and too damn many hours till dawn.
What the hell had possessed him? Ah, well, he knew what possessed him, but he shouldn’t have let it. He vaguely remembered old George bringing them home and something about his having belted Billings—bloody hell. Wished he hadn’t done that. Billings was a good sort. He’d have to apologize, probably more than once. Hadn’t George left angry? Anthony couldn’t quite remember.
Uncomfortable, he glanced down at himself and grimaced. Mean-tempered wife. She could at least have undressed him and tucked him in proper, since it was her fault he’d got foxed to begin with. And hadn’t she got snippy there, rubbing it in? He couldn’t remember that clearly either.
Anthony leaned forward, gently massaging his temples. Well, he had his options, even at this hour. He could try to get back to sleep, which was doubtful. He’d slept more than his customary hours already. He could change and go back to White’s for some whist—that is, if he hadn’t behaved too abominably earlier and they’d let him in. Or he could beas mean-tempered as his wife and wake her up to see what might come of it. No, he felt too bloody rotten to want to do anything about it if she did prove amenable suddenly.
He laughed, which made him grimace. Best to just work on getting rid of this hangover before morning. A bath would be nice, but he’d have to wait for a decent hour to rouse the servants. Some food, then.
Slowly, because each step reverberated through his head, Anthony left his room. He stopped just down the hall, seeing the light under his brother’s door. He knocked once but entered without waiting for permission, to find James sitting naked on the edge of his bed, holding his head in his hands. Anthony almost laughed but caught himself in time. It hurt too much to indulge.
James didn’t glance up to see who had intruded. Softly, ominously, he grated out, “Not above a whisper if you value your life.”
“Got a little man hammering in your head too, old man?”
James raised his head slowly. His scowl was murderous. “A dozen at least, and I owe every bloody one to you, you miserable—”
“The devil you do. You’re the one who offered to buy me a drink, so if anyone has a right to complain—”
“One drink, not several bottles, you ass!”
They both winced at the raised tone. “Well, I suppose you have me there.”
“Good of you to admit it,” James snorted as he massaged his temples again.
Anthony’s lips began to twitch. It was ludicrous, the punishment they put their bodies through, though James’ body didn’t look any the worse for wear. Anthony had been surprised for a moment on first entering, not having seen his brother naked since the time he had burst into that countess’ bedroom, he couldn’t even remember her name now, to warn James that her husband was on his way upstairs. James had changed since that night more than ten years ago. He was broader, more solid. In fact, he fairly bulged with thick muscles running across his chest and arms, down his legs. Must be from climbing all that rigging in ten years of pirating.
“You know, James, you’re an incredible brute specimen.”
James shook his head at that sudden remark, looking down at himself, then back at Anthony. He finally grinned at his brother’s surprise. “The ladies don’t seem to mind.”
“No, I don’t imagine they do.” Anthony chuckled. “Care for a few hands at cards? I can’t get back to sleep to save my soul.”
“As long as you don’t break out the brandy.”
“God, no! I had coffee in mind, and I seem to recall we missed our dinner.”
“Give me a few minutes and I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”
When Roslynn sat down to breakfast, she was still bleary-eyed, having spent another restless, sleepless night. This time it was her own fault. She felt rather guilty about her treatment of Anthony yesterday afternoon. She could have at least undressed him and made him more comfortable instead of leaving him as she had, not even bothering to see he got under the covers. After all, he was her husband. She was familiar with his body. Nothing to be embarrassed about.
Half a dozen times she had nearly gone up to rectify the matter but changed her mind, afraid he might wake and misconstrue her concern. And after she had gone to bed, well, she wasn’t about to enter his bedroom in her nightclothes.Thatwould certainly be misconstrued.
It bothered her that she felt guilty at all. She wasn’t sympathetic to his plight. If he wanted to get drunk and blame it on her, well, that was his problem. And if he suffered for it this morning with a gruesome hangover, that was also too bad. One had to pay for excesses, didn’t one? So why had she lost half a night’s sleep thinking about him sprawled helpless on his bed?
“If the food’s so bad that you must scowl at it, perhaps I’ll eat at my club this morning.”
Roslynn glanced up, Anthony’s sudden appearance surprising her enough that she replied simply, “There’s nothing wrong with the food.”
“Splendid!” he said cheerfully. “Then you won’t mind if I join you?”
