She was his home now.
But first, Knox.
Then he’d find Alyssia, and nothing would stop him from taking her into his arms.
Chapter Eight
Afew hours,her arse.
Afewhours were two or three. It had been nearly twelve, and Giles hadn’t returned yet. When had he said he’d confront his uncle? She couldn’t recall and blamed all his teasing! Perhaps he meant for it to distract. Every creak in the corridor had her glancing up from the pillows of her bed, her heart giving a ridiculous leap before disappointment settled again. Every time she lay back down, she told herself she wasn’t worried.
Merely annoyed.
Entirely, thoroughly annoyed.
The doorknob to their adjoining room turned softly. Her breath caught. She shuffled to her elbows as Giles slipped inside, a block of relief melting into her body. He looked tired, dangerously tired, and far too at ease given said tiredness as he crossed to her bed without a word.
He was also bare-chested. Bare-chested and vexingly unbothered about it, only a pair of trousers hanging low on his hips, his hair wild and unruly as though he’d run a hand through it one too many times.
Her relief promptly transformed into indignation.
Do not explode, Alyssia.
She wouldn’t let his lack of attire once more distract her. She sat up straighter, dragging the sheet higher over her nightdress, as if linen could shield her from his sheer audacity.
“Where have you been?”
“Knox,” he said simply.
She narrowed her eyes on him. “You didn’t go see your uncle?”
“I did.”
“What are you doing?” she whispered when his knee settled on her mattress, tipping her slightly toward him. She scrambled back an inch, clutching the sheet tighter.
“I’ve come to sleep,” he murmured, as though it were the most natural thing in the world, already pulling back the coverlet.
“Then go to your own bed!” she hissed. Had he gone entirely mad in the hours he’d been gone?
He slid in beside her, his big body invading her cocoon, his foot brushing hers. Lawd. This close, she could feel every breath he drew.
“But I can’t sleep when I’m not by your side.”
This man! “Don’t lie.”
He turned his head toward her, eyes half-lidded, voice low. “It’s a recent development, princess. I believe they call it being besotted with one’s wife.”
Princess. Besotted. Wife.
Blast him. And blast her pulse for racing so. Did the man have no mercy? Her mind scrambled, her pulse rioted, and not a single sensible thought survived the word assault. “How many times must I remind you we’ve a marriage of convenience?”
“It’s cold tonight. Is it not convenient to borrow my warmth?”
She turned on her side to glare at him, which only put them nose to nose. Foolish move. Heat rolled off him, and she could smell something darker, brandy, on his breath. “Have you always been this insufferable?”
“Don’t you remember?”
She snorted, flopping back onto the mattress. “What does it matter what I remember or not?” It would be best just to ignore his presence in her bed, wouldn’t it? It was no use quibbling with him when it was clear she’d only be wasting her breath trying to chase him off. Let him stay. Let him sleep. If he insisted on being impossible, she would be sensibly indifferent.
