He had followed her, still wearing that dark expression, his lips compressed into an uncompromising line. No doubt he’d just heard her vent her spleen to Cecily.
“You will not go,” he repeated, indifferent to the fact that they had an audience.
Cecily whispered beside her, “Aurelia?”
“Leave us, please, Cecily.”
There was a long moment of silence before Cecily strode past her, closing the chamber door behind her.
It wasn’t until she was gone that Aurelia considered that closed door. This was the first time they were alone in a room—in a bedchamber, no less—since they were married. Her heart pounded, her pulse a loud beat in her ears, even as she reminded herself that theirs was not a marriage of physical intimacy. It didn’t matter what had transpired between them in the past. They had agreed on that condition.
Besides. She was so angry . . . desire should be the last thing on her mind when it came to him. “You can’t command me—”
“In this, I can. Mackenzie has designs on you—”
“Had,” she inserted. “Not ‘has.’ That is in the past. His interest was in marriage. I’m married now. Sham that it is.”
His eyes widened. “Oh, it’s real enough. Real enough that I shall not be made a fool, Aurelia.”
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I won’t suffer being made a cuckold.”
She sucked in a sharp breath. Was he implying that he thought she would betray her vows? He was not one to cast stones. He who spent every night away from this house. From her. God only knew what time he returned home to his own bed every night. “How many women have you dallied with since we took vows?”
“We are not discussing me.”
His jaw clenched. His silence was all the answer she needed. An answer that shouldn’t have hurt, but it did.
“No. We never discuss you. Well, rest assured, I’m nothing like you. I won’t betray my vows . . . but even if I did, why would you care? We’re both free, as I recall. That was our agreement.”
“I will not be made a laughingstock.”
She laughed then. She could not help it . . . even as his expression burned red. “Oh. You disappoint me, Camden. You’re so very typical. For days you care naught for me . . . but now that you imagine some other man has an interest in me you find it necessary to suddenly take notice of me again.”
He closed the distance between them until he was looking down at her, his chest practically touching her own. “Make no mistake, Aurelia, I have never not noticed you.”
She started to step back, but stopped herself. Cecily’s accusation rang in her ears. She was not a coward. She would stand her ground and not let him bully her. No matter how her skin shivered and her instincts warned her to flee.
“I will go to Mr. Mackenzie’s dinner party . . .” It dawned on her that she didn’t care one way or another about Struan Mackenzie’s party. This had become about something much bigger. A fight she could not back down from now. “You may always attend with me, of course. Your name was on the invitation.”
“The last thing I want to do is attend Mackenzie’s party and smile at the bastard as he flirts with my wife.”
A flush spread through her that wasn’t entirely rooted in displeasure. He behaved almost jealously. She shook her head once, dismissing that notion. There was little logic in that. He had not touched her since their wedding day—and then only a chaste press of his lips to hers. That wasn’t the behavior of a man who wanted her for himself.