No, she would live. She would not pick a quarrel. She smiled at him as he seated himself before his plate and returned her attention to the invitations, trying to decide which event would harken the new Lady Camden into Society.
As she was flipping through the invitations, her gaze landed on a familiar name. She must have made a small sound as she came upon the elegant cream-colored envelope.
“What is it?” Max looked up.
She looked up. “Struan Mackenzie is hosting a soiree.” Possibly interested, she set the envelope to the side. “It’s in a fortnight—”
“You cannot go.”
Her gaze shot up to his face. “Pardon me?”
“You will not go. Obviously.”
“Why not?”
“Because.”
“Because . . .” She let the word hover out there, arching an eyebrow. “Because you simply don’t wish me to go?”
“Is that not reason enough?”
“I’m sorry, but no. It’s not. We agreed on separate lives. Is that not what we’ve been doing since I moved in here?”
“Yes, but in this, I cannot budge.” He set his fork down on his plate with a clatter. “Pick another invitation. Attend another party,” he commanded with all the authority of a father addressing a defiant child.
She rose, tossing her napkin down on the table. Heat crawled over her face, reaching the tips of her ears. “Oh, I am going.”
It suddenly occurred to her that they were quarreling again. Had she actually missed this? She must be a lunatic to have missed this.
His expression darkened, his eyes going from that gray-blue to deep cobalt. It reminded her of the way he had looked before he kissed her that first time. He’d been so angry at her then, too. A shiver rolled down her spine that she quickly told herself was not anticipation.
He arched one dark brow at her in warning. “I’m your husband and in this matter I am telling you no.”
“You don’t get to play husband with me.” She jabbed a finger in the air toward him. “This was a mistake, remember? Separate lives, remember? You gave me my freedom and that means I can chose which parties I wish to attend.”
Turning, satisfied she had the last word, she strode from the room, her half-eaten breakfast forgotten. Her hands opened and closed at her sides. Oh, the gall! She was fuming. He could not ignore her when he wished and then impose his will on her when the mood struck him. It wasn’t to be borne.
She fled to her bedchamber, determined to venture out for a walk or ride in the park. Perhaps she would call on Rosalie. She only knew that she needed to get out of this house. She immediately started twisting left and right, trying to reach the back of her dress so she might undress and change.
Cecily looked up from where she was putting away garments in her armoire. Her friend took one look at her face and tsked. “What’s amiss?”
“That wretch!” She managed to get one button free. Grunting, she continued on to the next.
Cecily approached, hands stretched out to offer assistance. “Allow me.”
She continued to writhe, furious and determined to undress herself, for some reason. “He thinks he can bend me to his will . . .”
“Uh-hm.” Cecily nodded sympathetically and then froze, her gaze widening as it settled on something beyond her shoulder.
With a sinking sensation, Aurelia turned, her hand pressing to her roiling stomach.