The Sherbrooke Bride - Catherine Coulter [117]
Alexandra scrupulously refolded the letter, placing it back into the pile, giving no visual hint it had been moved. Douglas came unexpectedly into the room just as she finished. She flushed to the top of her forehead and quickly pushed away from the desk.
“Good day, my lord,” she said and gave him an airy wave.
He was frowning; he blocked her escape. “What are you doing in here, Alexandra?”
She sent her chin upward. “Isn’t this my house as well? Are there some rooms that I’m not allowed to visit? If that is so, it is only fair that you tell me where I am not to go and I will, naturally, obey you.”
Douglas looked toward his desk, his frown still in place. “Your efforts to distract me have never worked. And, you have never obeyed me. Now, what is on my desk that was of such interest to you?”
As he took a step forward, she tried to duck around him. He caught her wrist in his hand. She felt his thumb gently caress the soft flesh and knew that if he continued, she would be on her back on the floor, or perhaps the sofa, and she would enjoy herself most thoroughly.
It was as if Douglas realized the same thing. He dropped her wrist. “Don’t move,” he said, “or I will see to it that you pay for your interest in my affairs.” She wondered if he knew what he would do were she to duck out of the room. She decided the threat wasn’t specific enough and was out of the room in an instant.
Douglas let her go. He’d find her quickly enough; he went to his desk and thumbed through the papers. When he found the note from Lord Avery, he cursed. Damn Finkle, why did he have to be so fastidious? Well, she knew very little more now than she had before. Still, he was worried. Georges Cadoudal wasn’t predictable. From experience, Douglas knew that once Georges got a particular idea in his brain, he couldn’t be budged from it. It was both an asset and a terrible drawback. Like now.
Douglas cursed. What to do?
His course of action was decided that very evening. He took Alexandra to a small soirée at the home of Lord and Lady Marchpane, a delightful older couple who were very fond of Douglas for he’d looked after their grandson in the army. They greeted him and Alexandra warmly.
As for Alexandra, she was wary, though Douglas had said naught to her of retribution or punishment. He’d appeared rather preoccupied, even when she’d presented herself in a new gown whose neckline wasn’t all that high. He’d merely nodded at her and that had been that. She watched him from the corner of her eye. She would have preferred to have remained at the town house, with him. Perhaps she should apologize for her nosiness. She touched her fingertips to his sleeve. He looked down at her, saying nothing, his face expressionless.
“I’m sorry, Douglas.”
“For what specifically?”
“For prying, but you made me so angry, not telling me what is happening. I am your wife, you know. I can be of assistance to you if you would but allow me.”
His look was, if nothing, more remote. “I accept your apology though it is sparse as a gorse heath. As for the other, I cannot help but be aware that you are my wife. You are with me every blessed moment. I doubt I could relieve myself without you demanding where it is I went to and what it is I did. Ah, here is Teddy Summerton. He dances well. I will give you over to him. No, don’t argue with me. You will do as I bid you. Do you understand me?”
“I understand,” she said.
And she dutifully danced the next country dance with Teddy Summerton, a very nice young gentleman with a pallid complexion and large ears who appeared to worship her husband. When the dance was over, Douglas was nowhere to be seen.
Alexandra wondered if he were once again with that French hussy. She wandered slowly around the perimeter of the ballroom; some of the people recognized her and nodded. She nodded back, smiling. Where was Douglas?