She sat up, her eyes narrowed. “I was doing nothing of the sort. You’re acting as if I went through your private papers.” She emitted a small gasp. “And how do you know about the books?”
Kieran realized she must not remember their conversation the night before their wedding, but he was in no mood for amusement. “You were still in my bedchamber, handling my things.” He held up the daguerreotype.
By now Diantha had found her feet. His normally timid wife approached him until her nose nearly touched his chest. “I’ll thank you to remember that I’ve already touched some exceedingly privatethingsof yours.” She tipped her head back, two bright pink flags of anger on her cheeks. “And you liked it. A great deal!”
Her finger jabbed his solar plexus. “You certainly don’t have the least qualm about coming into my room whenever you please.”
Her wrath startled him enough that he backed up a step in his turn. “That is entirely different!” He floundered for a reason to uphold a statement even he found ridiculous. “I don’t go rummaging through your possessions,” he said with a sense of triumph.
She sniffed. “No, you just avail yourself of my body whenever you feel like it.” Her pretty face settled into a scowl. “And I was not rummaging. I thought I heard you, and came in because I foolishly thought you might be interested in hearing about my riding lesson.”
She indicated the daguerreotype he still held.
“I committed the cardinal sin of admiring your family.”
The scrolled silver edges bit into his palm. “Your approbation is noted.” He did not quite eliminate the anger from his voice. “Appearance does not always match reality, however.”Why in God’s name had he said that? The morning’s events must have rattled him more than he thought.
Diantha still regarded him, hurt in her eyes, for the second time that day. He wished he could confide in her, but his wife was the last person in the world he should explain his feelings to.
“If you will excuse me, I have some things to attend to.” Even to his ears, the words sounded priggish.
She stiffened. “Indeed, I haven’t the remotest desire to disturb you further.” She marched to the door separating their rooms. “Rest assured, I will never disturb the sacred precincts of your bedchamber again without an invitation.”
Opening it wide, she looked at him over her shoulder.”I suppose it’s too much to expect you to offer me the same courtesy.” She strode through the doorway, slamming the door hard enough to rattle the pictures on either side of it.
Kieran stared after her for several heartbeats. Finally, he returned the portrait to its resting place. He touched the glass cover. Had his father started his chronic womanizing when it had been taken? His mother looked cheerful, as she usually had before pain became a part of her every breath. Perhaps in those days, she had not known about his father’s secret life, either.
Kieran discovered at tea that he had worse problems than painful memories. Diantha did prepare a cup for him, but responded to his request for additional lemon by spearing several slices with her fork and depositing them with a loud clink into the porcelain shell. He responded with his best outraged glare, but was forced to direct it at the back of her head as she conversed with Barclay and Iona.
The situation did not improve by dinner. She addressed him when spoken to, although in tones of arctic civility. Thoroughly irritated by the time he retired, he slid into his robe and marched into her room, determined to settle the quarrel. As he hoped, she was still awake, sitting up in bed to read.
At his entrance, she straightened up and squared her shoulders. Laying the book aside, her gaze swept over him. “To what do I owe the honor of this visit?”
Used to lovers who resorted to tears and shouting when angry, Diantha’s glacial demeanor gave him several ideas on how to proceed. He took several steps into the room, prepared to charm her. “I believe we should try to kiss and make up, my dear.”
Her gaze turned to blue steel. “You’re certainly strong enough to force me, but I shall not accept your attentions willingly.”
Fury almost choked him. “I have never forced a woman in my life. And I am not about to start now.” He turned on his heel and left. As he shut the door behind him he realized his wife had the power to wound him.
* **
Diantha hugged her knees, heart pounding. She’d never successfully stood up to anyone before. She stared at the door connecting their chambers for some time, gnawing her lower lip and wondering what she should do next. She should apologize for implying he would attack her. He always treated her with tenderness, even affection, in bed. In truth, she loved the way he made her feel.
She brought herself up short. She already found herself far too attracted to Kieran. If she gave him her heart, he’d smash it into smithereens.
No, he could not toss her out of his room while expecting to enter hers anytime he wanted. She refused to apologize before tomorrow.
The following morning, however, Kieran shut himself into his office with the steward. He appeared only briefly at lunch and coldly declined her request for a moment of his time. Diantha congratulated herself on not giving in to such an unreasonable man and sailed off to the morning room to attend to the correspondence she had neglected for that day’s riding lesson.
The appearance of a footman two hours later, bearing a telegram on a salver, sent all worries of whether she and Kieran would ever make up out of her head. She accepted the envelope and nodded to dismiss him.
Once alone, Diantha tore it open with shaky fingers and read the contents. Her face went numb as the blood drained from it. Wishing she was the type of female who kept a vinaigrette by her side, she read the message again.
After she patted the sheen of cold sweat off her forehead and took several deep breaths, she aroseand made her way on rubbery knees to Kieran’s office in the opposite wing. Grasping the telegram, she knocked on the door.
“I am very sorry for interrupting you, Kieran, but I must speak with you. At once.”
“Come in.” Kieran stood as she entered, then seated himself behind an ornate desk. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with narrow ledgers of varying colors. The smell of leather mingled with that of musty paper despite the multipaned window propped open behind him.
