"Very nicely done, dear boy," James congratulated him. "Now can we quit this place?"

Anthony bowed low, coming up with a grin. "After you, old man."

Outside, James set the girl on her feet in front of him. She got her first good look at him then in the glow of the tavern lamp above the door, enough to make her hesitate a hairbreadth before she kicked him in the shin and bolted down the street. He swore violently and started after her, but stopped after a few feet, seeing that it was useless. She was already out of sight on the darkened street.

He turned back, swearing again when he saw that MacDonell had disappeared as well. "Now where the bloody hell did the Scot go?"

Anthony was too busy laughing to have heard him. "What's that?"

James smiled tightly. "The Scot. He's gone."

Anthony sobered, turning around. "Well, that's gratitude for you. I wanted to ask him why they both turned when they heard the name Cameron."

"To hell with that," James snapped. "How am I going to find her again when I don't know who she is?"

"Find her?" Anthony was chuckling once more. "Gad, you're a glutton for punishment, brother. What do you want with a wench who insists on damaging your person when you have another one counting the minutes until you return?"

"She intrigued me," James replied simply, then shrugged. "But I suppose you're right. The little barmaid will do just as well." Yet he glanced down the empty street again before they headed toward the waiting carriage.

Chapter Twenty-five

Roslynn stood by the window in the parlor, her cheek pressed to the cool glass, her hands gripping the blue tasseled drapes next to her. She had stood like that for the past thirty minutes, ever since she had left the dining room and an uncomfortable dinner with Jeremy and his cousin Derek, who had come by to take the youngster out for the evening.

At least Derek Malory's arrival had proved a diversion for a while. The marquis' heir was a handsome young man about her own age, with an unruly thatch of blond hair and eyes more hazel than green. He cut quite a dashing figure in his evening togs, and it took Roslynn only half a minute to discover he was fast following in his uncles' footsteps—another rake for a family that had too many already. But there was still a certain boyish quality about Derek Malory that made him seem harmless and quite charming.

He reacted to the news of his uncle's marriage just as Jeremy had, at first with disbelief, then delight. He was also the first to call her Aunt Roslynn, and not in jest, giving her quite a start for a moment. She really was an aunt now, to a whole brood of nephews and nieces. An instant family, thanks to her marriage to Anthony, and a warm and loving one, if Jeremy was to be believed.

But Jeremy and Derek were gone now, and Roslynn had gone back to her brooding, hardly even aware that she had stood in the same spot for the past half hour, gazing out at the passing traffic on Piccadilly.

On the one hand, she was worried sick. Something had happened to Anthony. He was hurt, unable to get word to her. That was the only reason the whole day had gone by and she had heard nothing from him. On the other hand, what had started as a slight irritation upon being abandoned, so to speak, had grown to a simmering anger as the hours dragged by, especially when Derek arrived and she couldn't explain Anthony's absence. He had simply gone about his business for the day without a by-your-leave, never mind that he had a wife now who might worry about him.

These conflicting feelings hadn't sat well together and had spoiled her appetite for the special dinner that she had held up for more than an hour, hoping Anthony would arrive in time. He hadn't, of course, and her anxiety was growing now, taking precedence over the anger, tying her belly up in knots.

Hell's teeth, where was he? This was only the second day of their marriage. Had he completely forgotten that fact? They should have spent the day together, getting to know each other better.

A carriage finally stopped in front of the house. Roslynn raced out of the room, waving Dobson away when he started for the door. She yanked it open herself before Anthony even reached it, and scanned his tall frame for injuries. There were none. He was all right. She wanted to hug him and clobber him at the same time. She stood there gripping her hands instead, to keep from giving in to either urge.

When Anthony spotted her, looking like a confection in a pale green gown with delicate white lace trim, his face lit up with a dazzling smile. "God, you're a sight for sore eyes, sweetheart. I can't tell you what a bloody rotten day I've had."

Roslynn didn't move so he could enter, but stood her ground in the center of the doorway. "Why dinna you tell me anyway?"

The brogue gave her away. He stepped back to get a better look at her and noted the mulish angle of jaw, the tightly compressed lips.

"Is something amiss, my dear?"

"Do you ken what time it is, mon?"

"Ah, so that's it." He chuckled. "Did you miss me, sweetheart?"

"Miss you?" she gasped. "Ye conceited toad! I dinna care if you go off for days at a time if that's your wont. But it's common courtesy, isna it, to be telling someone when they're no' to expect you home?"

"Yes, I suppose it is," he surprised her by agreeing. "And I'll be sure to remember that the next time I spend the day trying to track down your elusive cousin."

"Geordie? But—why?"

"Why else? To give him the good news. Or hadn't you realized that until he is made aware of your new status, he's still a danger to you?"

Roslynn could feel the blush starting, and it was a furious one. He was late on her behalf, and how did she meet him at the door? Like a shrew.

"I'm sorry, Anthony."

Her contrite, downcast look was irresistible. He pulled her close until her head rested on his shoulder.

"Silly girl," he teased her gently. "You've nothing to be sorry about. I rather like having someone worry about me. Youwereworried, weren't you? That's why all the fuss?"

She nodded, having heard him, but she wasn't that attuned to what he was saying. Her nose was twitching, assaulted by an offensive, sweet smell coming from his coat, almost like… perfume, cheap perfume at that. She leaned back, frowning, and caught sight of a thin yellow string on his shoulder—no, not a string, a blond hair. She picked it off and pulled, but it kept coming, until at least a twelve-inch length dangled from her fingers. She might have thought it was her own, even though it was so light in color, but it was brittle, not fine.

"I knew it!" she hissed, looking up at him with outraged fury in her eyes.

"Knew what? What's got into you now?"

"This!" She shoved the hair in his face. "It's no' mine, mon, and it certainly isna yours, is it now?"

Anthony scowled, swiping the hair from her fingers. "It's not what you think, Roslynn."

She stood back, crossing her arms over her chest. "Oh? I suppose it was some brazen wench who just happened to plop down on your lap uninvited, rubbing her cheap smell all over you before you could be stopping her?"

Good God, he groaned inwardly,did she have to hit it right on the nose? "As a matter of fact—-"

"Hell's teeth, you canna even make up your own tales!" she shrieked.

This was so ridiculous, it was laughable, but Anthony didn't dare laugh when her expression at the moment boded murder. Very calmly, he said, "Actually, it was a barmaid. And I wouldn't have been in a position to have found her tumbling into my lap if I wasn't in a tavern, one of many, mind you, looking for your cousin."

"Aye, put the blame on me for your unfaithfulness. That's typical of a mon's arrogance, isna it? But I'll be telling you what I'm to blame for, and that's believing you last night! I'll no' be makingthatmistake again!"

"Roslynn—"

She jumped back when he reached for her, and before he could stop her, she slammed the door in his face. Anthony swore foully, his temper finally unleashed, but with nothing to vent it on now.

He turned around, facing the empty street, gritting his teeth. At least James had gone on in the carriage to White's to kill a few hours before his rendezvous with self-same barmaid. He didn't think he could have borne having his brother be a witness to this absurdity and watching him laugh his head off as he reminded Anthony about marital bliss.

Bloody everlasting hell. Kicked out of his own house! A fine topping for a day that had gone from bad to worse. If thetonever got wind…

Anthony's head came up with a jolt. It washisbloody house. What the devil did she think she was doing, kicking him out of his own house?

He swung around and started to kick the door, he was so angry. He thought better of that at the last moment and tried the latch first. But finding it unlocked, he threw it open forcefully. The resounding bang was satisfying; however, it did nothing to appease his temper. Nor did the fact that he caught his wife by surprise, halfway up the stairs.

"Get back down here, Lady Malory. We haven't finished this discussion."

He was amazed that she obeyed him immediately, coming stiffly down the stairs. But when she reached him, it was to give him a look of contempt.

"If you'll no' go away, then I will," she said, and she actually walked toward the still-open door.

Anthony caught her wrist and spun her around.

"The devil you will! You aren't leaving this house, and neither am I. We're married, remember? Married people live together, last I heard."

"You canna make me stay here!"

"Can't I?"

He could, and it infuriated Roslynn more that she had given him that right.

She jerked her hand away from him, rubbing the wrist that would be bruised come morning. "Very well, but I'll be taking another room for myself, and if you've anything to say about that, you can save it for another time."

She turned back toward the stairs, only to be brought around again with a hand to her shoulder. "I prefer right now, my dear," he said darkly. "You're condemning me out of hand."

"You've brought the evidence home wi' you, mon. It speaks for itself.''

His eyes closed in exasperation for a moment. "Even if that were true, which it isn't, you're not allowing me to speak in my own defense. Unfair, by any means."

"Unfair?" she retorted, eyes frying him. "I'm only saving you the trouble, because no matter what you say, I'd no' believe it now."

Again she tried to turn away. Again he jerked her back. "Confound you, woman, I was looking for Cameron!"

"Maybe you were, but you made a wee detour too. So be it. I gave you leave."

He was ready to pull hairs at this point. "Then why are you raising bloody hell about it?"

"You lied to me! You tried to make me believe it'd be otherwise, and for that I'll no' forgive you!"

She turned away in a huff. His voice stopped her this time, deliberately taunting. "Go ahead, and I'll turn you over my knee."

"You wouldna dare!"

His eyes had narrowed to mere slits. "At the moment, sweetheart, I assure you it would be a pleasure.

Now, I'm going to tell you this only once. Whether you believe it or not, I frankly no longer care. The little wench who crawled all over me was just doing her job. She made the offer, I refused it. There was no more to it than that."

With icy control, Roslynn demanded haughtily, "Are you finished?"

After her repeated attempts to do so, it was Anthony who turned and walked away.

Chapter Twenty-six

Roslynn cried herself to sleep that night, the first time she had done so since she was a little girl. That Anthony didn't even try to disturb her in the new room she had moved to was a relief, and yet for some reason she cried the harder. She hated him, never wanted to see him again, but she was stuck with him.

If only she wasn't such a naive little fool. But she had let him convince her that they could have a normal marriage, and now she was paying for her gullibility, with resentment she couldn't seem to help feeling and with a bitterness that was wholly unfamiliar to her. For a few hours that morning she had been in heavenly bliss, which made coming back down to earth so much harder to bear. She wouldn't forgive him for that, for her lost chance at happiness.

Why couldn't he just leave things as they were? Why did he have to give her hope, then turn right around and dash it to bits?

Nettie, not having to be told what happened, since the whole household couldn't help but hear the loud

argument, had wisely kept her mouth shut while helping Roslynn change rooms. The next morning, she had cold compresses ready to apply to swollen eyes, again without comment, bless her. And Roslynn's eyes were rather puffy. Chalk up another point against the cur. He was ruining her appearance.

But Nettie's herbal solution erased all evidence of the miserable night her mistress had spent. Too bad she didn't have a magic tonic for what ailed Roslynn inside. Yet when she came downstairs in a sunny yellow dress to counteract her mood, it was virtually impossible to tell that she was still a boiling pot of emotions, none of them good, which was fortunate, since she walked unawares into a parlor full of Mal-orys, by the looks of them, minus her husband, thank God.

So it had started. Gad, at what a time, when she didn't know if she could bear the sight of Anthony today. And she had no idea what sort of mood he would be in when he came down. He could very well give their troubles away, but she wasn't going to.

She formed a welcoming smile. Just because she wasn't able to get on well with her husband didn't mean she had to be at odds with the rest of the family.