He belatedly realized his misstatement. He almost heard her mute satisfaction with his poor choice of words, and hurried on the attack. “But no one here pays the least attention to me,” he said. “Since I did not have the same wet nurse as anyone present, or the same nursery maid, nor shared in any of those interminable convoluted escapades your family never tires of repeating, they had no interest in anything I had to say.”
His voice, she noted with interest, was growing loud. That was something she hadn’t heard before. It pleased her. “I don’t believe you tried, my lord,” she said with haughty disdain. “You didn’t even speak with Laughton and he is the most congenial chap. Nor can you accuse him of rehashing old tales. He couldn’t. He’s only been married to my sister for a year.”
“He collects beetles,” Jonathan said with weary patience. “He earnestly collects them. There is not much else I can bring to a conversation that might interest him.”
“I do not believe you tried,” she said again.
“I see,” he said. “And you know because you were at my side every moment? How very odd that I didn’t see you there. Dear me, can I be growing shortsighted?” he asked with a curling lip. “But how is that possible? I clearly saw you across the room, giggling with your sisters and friends; I saw you dandling every infant in the county on your knee at one time or another during the interminable evening, I saw you swapping those same shared tales with your brothers and cousins. I did not see you with your husband, though. In fact, if one were a visitor here, one would be hard-pressed to realize you were married. I remind you that I never left your side when we were at Fanshawe Manor.”
She was still, because she was stung. What he said was true, and the realization hurt. She had neglected him. She opened her lips to murmur an apology. But he sensed his victory, and spoke too soon.
“A very jolly Christmas this is turning out to be for me,” he said loftily. “I might as well have stayed at home by myself with a good book, and shared a toast to the season with the butler. He, at least, knows who his master is.”
“His master!” she cried, pouncing on the word.
He realized his error, and winced.
“Well, I take leave to tell you that you are not my master,” she raged. “You are my husband, and I also tell you that I have never so regretted it!” She rose from the bed, and stepped down to the floor. “Nor will I sleep next to either my master or my husband tonight! After all, a master does not wish his servant in his bed and I do not believe a husband who deems himself my master deserves me at his side!”
Once again he realized her predicament before she did, and watched with interest.
She understood a second later, and stood irresolute. If she left the room, her family would be scandalized. They’d want to know the reason for any discord. They’d take sides and the quarrel would become everyone’s entertainment, and the bane of her existence however it turned out. She knew this house like the back of her hand and yet knew she could not step out the door. And this bedchamber did not have a dressing room.
It did, however, have a chaise in the corner, against the wall. She stormed over to a chest under the window, flung it open, pulled out a blanket, flung herself on the chaise, and dragged the blanket over herself.
The room was still.
She heard a sigh, and saw his outline as he rose from bed. He walked over to her. She froze, and held her breath. She doubted he meant to do her an injury. But what would she do if he dared embrace her? Could she return his kisses? No, she thought with a kind of thrilled panic, she didn’t think she could. So, what should she do?
He leaned over her and her breath caught in her chest. He reached down, picked her up, and carried her to the bed in a few swift strides. He deposited her there and in one swift movement stripped the blanket from her, causing her to roll right out of it. Then, as she lay tumbled, watching him in newborn fear and vast surprise, he marched back to the chaise, lay down, and covered himself with the blanket he had taken.
“Good night,” he said, and turned his back to her.
He’d won, she realized. Being a gentleman had utterly trumped her. That rankled. But that wasn’t what kept her up half the night. What did, was the slow dawning realization that he’d had a point.
He stayed awake awhile, feeling very ill-used. But he knew he’d won, and also that whatever else his wife was, she was fair-minded. And so he finally fell asleep with a smile on his lips, wondering what the devil she’d do in the morning. His bride might not be reasonable, he thought as he drifted off, but by God, she was interesting! He hadn’t felt so alive in years.