“Can’t you wait till tomorrow to start interfering with me?” She plumped herself back into the chair, curling her legs under her. “You’re not my husband yet; I shall do as I please.”
He noticed that she formed the words carefully, as if struggling to force them out.
Still somewhat at a loss, his lordship groped for a reply. “I had no notion of disturbing you, Miss Quinn. By all means continue reading.” He moved toward the liquor cabinet. “I only wish to drink a cognac before returning to my hotel.”
“Well, that is a fortuishus—fortu—” After a few more attempts to pronouncefortuitous, she gave up. “It’s your lucky night.” She held up an empty snifter under his shocked gaze. “Papa keeps his spirits locked up, but I had the same thought. I wager you don’t even know where he keeps the key.”
Glancing inside the open cabinet, he saw an empty space in the line of crystal decanters. Wrenching his gaze back to his fiancée, he gaped as she held up the missing container.
“I have no idea what this is, but I highly recommend it.” She swirled the liquid around its interior, and chuckled, an unexpectedly musical sound. He realized he had never heard her laughter. “It tasteslike fire going down, but do you know, I have not felt the least draft for over an hour.”
Striding over, he relieved her of the decanter despite her protests. Up close, alcohol-scented breath confirmed Miss Quinn’s words. His fiancée had indeed imbibed a good portion of the drink.
He examined the level of cognac remaining. “How much of this have you had?”
“I don’t precisely recall.” Under his incredulous eyes, she wrinkled her brow as she pondered the question. “I remember bringing the decanter over after my second glass because I kept tripping when I walked over to refill it.”
“Never mind.” He bit off the words before returning the decanter to its place and shutting the cabinet doors. Seeing the key where the girl had left it in the lock, he turned it, and faced her once more. From her position in the large chair, she regarded him with a puzzled expression.
“Aren’t you going to have your drink?” She picked up the snifter again, peering mournfully into its empty bottom.
“You need to get back to your room at once, Miss Quinn.” He ignored the mulish expression on her face. “As it is, you shall feel quite wretched tomorrow.”
“Ha!” She ejaculated the syllable bitterly. “I shall feel wretched anyway.” She shot him an unexpectedly shrewd glance. “So will you.”
Thrown off balance for a second time, he resorted to his most formal manner. “I assure you that I shall feel nothing of the sort on such a momentous occasion.”
“Stuff!” She straightened in the chair, tensingher body as though to spring. “You came in here for a drink for the same reason I did.”
“And what reason is that?” Wondering if her family had forbidden her to speak for fear of exposing a sharp temper, he braced himself in case she flew at him.
“You don’t want to marry me any more than I want to marry you.” She did not make a move to attack him, but her accurate assessment of his feelings startled him into taking a step back.
“Whatever gave you that idea?” Never mind that she spoke the truth; one did not betray one’s emotional state in public. He paced a few steps to the dark fireplace, dropping his eyes.
“You only like pretty women. Everyone says so.” The anger left her voice. “I mean, look at me.”
Although not a command, he lifted his eyes and did as she said. Miss Quinn stood once again, regarding him steadily from her place in front of the chair. Even with those appalling nightclothes tied at her waist like a pudding bag, he could detect the slim curves they covered. His gaze lingered on the full breasts that rose and fell with her agitated breathing.
And for the first time he found himself able to examine her face. Brown tendrils gleamed around a firm jaw where they had escaped the thick braid hanging down her back. Her mouth with its full, curved lips hinted at sensuality.
“I have mirrors, you know.” Her voice broke into his thoughts. Although slightly slurred, it held nothing but a matter-of-fact acceptance of her appearance. It occurred to him that part of her reticence in their courtship might result from growing upwith a beauty for a mother. Certainly they had conversed more in the last quarter of an hour than they had in the months previous.
“Oh dear.” She swayed suddenly and clutched at the cushioned chair for support. “The room is tipping!” She stared at him accusingly.
He sighed. Moving toward her, he picked up the book from the floor. It had fallen open at a page detailing the mathematical composition of a Palladian building.
“You were reading this?”
She shrugged, her face closed. “Just thumbing through it.” A bitter smile twitched across her lips. “I like to look at the pictures.”
He shelved it and returned to her. “Allow me to escort you.” Holding out an arm he waited for her to take it.
Instead, she put her hands behind her back and tried to step away from him. Stumbling over a leather-covered hassock, she nearly fell. His hands shot out to catch her and she grabbed onto them with a gasp. Holding her upright, he prayed for patience.
“Apparently I am doomed to assist inebriated members of your family to their bedrooms tonight.” As she emitted an outraged shriek, he scooped her into his arms and strode out of the library.
“Put me down!” She struggled to get down for a few minutes, then ceased. “Bother! You’re making things spin again!” With a small groan, she buried her head in his shoulder as he strode toward the foyer.
