He didn’t wait for her to answer, but moved to the sideboard and began piling a mountain of food on his plate. Roslynn stared at his tall frame, immaculately encased in a coat of dark brown superfine, buckskin breeches, and gleaming Hessians. He had no right to look so magnificent, to be so chipper this morning. He should be moaning and groaning and damning his folly.
“You slept late,” Roslynn said tersely, stabbing a plump sausage on her plate.
“I’ve just come back from my morning ride, actually.” He took the seat opposite her, his brows raised slightly in inquiry. “Did you only just rise yourself, my dear?”
It was a good thing the sausage hadn’t entered her mouth yet, or she would have choked on that seemingly innocent question. How dared he deny her the satisfaction of taking him to task for yesterday’s disgraceful behavior? And that was exactly what he was doing, sitting there looking as if he had just had the most wonderful night’s sleep of his life.
Anthony didn’t expect an answer to his last question, nor did he get one. With an amused glimmer in his cobalt eyes, he watched Roslynn attack her food, determined to ignore him. Perversely, he wouldn’t let her.
“I noticed a new rug in the hall.”
She didn’t spare him a glance, even though it was an insult to call the expensive piece woven to resemble the figured Aubusson tapestry a rug. “Strange you didn’t notice it yesterday.”
Bravo, sweetheart. He smiled to himself. She was going to get her licks in one way or another.
“And a new Gainsborough too,” he went on conversationally, his eyes briefly touching the magnificent painting that now dominated the wall to his left.
“The new rosewood china cabinet and dining table should arrive today.”
She still had her eyes fastened on her plate, but Anthony didn’t miss the sudden change in her. No longer was she sitting there seething with suppressed anger. Her smug satisfaction was palpable.
Anthony nearly laughed aloud. She was so transparent, his sweet wife. Considering her present antipathy toward him and the subject they were discussing, it wasn’t hard to figure out what she was up to. It was an old trick, a wife making her husband pay for her displeasure through his pocketbook. And from various remarks Roslynn had made in the past,he knew she didn’t think his pocketbook could bear too much displeasure.
“So you’re doing a little redecorating, are you?”
A barely perceptible shrug, but a too-sweet tone. “I knew you wouldn’t mind.”
“Not at all, my dear. I meant to suggest it myself.”
Her head snapped up at those words, but she was quick to reply. “Good, because I’ve only just begun. And you will be glad to know it isn’t going to cost as much as I thought when I first toured the house. Why, I’ve spent only four thousand pounds so far.”
“That’s nice.”
Roslynn gaped at him, disbelieving her ears. His blatantly bored response was the last thing she had expected. Was it possible he thought she was spending her own money? Well, the wretch would find out differently when the bills started coming in.
She stood up, throwing her napkin down on the table, too chagrined with his reaction, or lack of it, to remain in his company. But she couldn’t make the dramatic exit she would have liked. After yesterday, it was imperative that she insist there not be a repeat performance today when she was expecting company.
“Frances is coming for dinner this evening. If you should happen to change your habit of returning late and show up to join us, kindly do so soberly.”
It was all Anthony could do to keep his lips from twitching. “Bringing in reinforcements again, my dear?”
“I resent that,” she said with icy hauteur before she stalked away, only to whip around at the door,glowering at him. “And for your information, my lord, I don’t distrust all men, as you so boorishly pointed out yesterday while introducing me to your friend—only rakes and bounders!”
Chapter Thirty-two
“That be ’im, m’lord.”
Geordie Cameron turned to the short, bewhiskered man next to him and could have crowned him. “Which one, ye idiot? There are two of them!”
Wilbert Stow didn’t blink an eye at the Scot’s abrasive tone. He was used to it by now, used to his impatience, his short temper, his arrogance. If Cameron didn’t pay so well, he’d tell him where he could stuff this job. Probably slice his gullet too, just for good measure. But he was paying well, thirty English pounds, a fortune to Wilbert Stow. So he held his tongue as always, letting the insults pass over him.
“The dark one,” Wilbert clarified, keeping his tone servile. “’E’s the one what owns the ’ouse. Sir Anthony Malory be ’is name.”
Geordie trained a spyglass across the street, bringing Malory’s features into sharp relief as he turned at the door to say something to the blond chap with him. So this was the Englishman who had been combing the slums for Geordie these past few days, the one who was hiding Roslynn? Oh, Geordie knew she was in there, even if she hadn’t shown her face outside the door since he had ordered Wilbert and his brother, Thomas, to keep a constant watch on the house. She had to be in there. This was where her clothes had been sent. And this was where that Grenfell woman had come twice now to visit.
Roslynn thought she was so smart, secreting herself inside that house and not coming out. But it was easier here, keeping watch, what with Green Park just across the street. Plenty of trees for concealment, not like having to sit in a carriage that might draw suspicion, as had been the case on South Audley Street. She couldn’t make a move without Wilbert or Thomas knowing it, and they kept an empty coach up the street just waiting to follow her in. It was just a matter of time.
But in the meantime, he would take care of the English fop who was hiding her and who had twice forced Geordie to change location in the last five days because of his infernal snooping. Now that he knew what the dandy looked like, it would be an easy task to settle.
