That, of course, was a red rag to a bull. He immediately pushed up; leaning on one muscled forearm, he narrowed his eyes on her face. “What discussion? Your boldness in…” He paused.
Rising, she looked at him inquiringly. In seducing him? Would he say it?
His eyes narrowed even further, and his face set. “In coming to my room last night means we’ve leapt over all discussions. There’s no longer anything left to discuss.”
That was what he thought, arrogant nobleman that he was. But telling him that she wanted him to admit what he felt for her—more than anything else so that she would know he knew—wouldn’t get her what she wanted. But given what was at stake, she was willing to be patient. Heaven knew, she’d waited years—more than a decade—to get to this point. What were a few more months if that was what it took to gain everything she’d ever sought in a marriage?
She bent, scooped up her robe, and shook it out. “You’re just put out that I took the initiative and filched those particular reins from your grasp.” She shrugged on the robe. “As I see it, as matters stand, there’s no reason we need to rush into anything—we can safely leave all details until later.”
Tying the sash, she flashed him a calm smile, then headed for the door.
Sebastian shook his head. His wits were still not functioning. She was teasing him—wasn’t she?
But what the hell did she mean by leaving details until later? Details like a wedding?
He glared at her silk-clad back. Then he realized and called, “Wait.”
She swung around and arched a brow.
He kicked off the covers and got out of the bed. “I’ll escort you back to your room.” He reached for his clothes.
And was grateful that she waited without further comment. Distantly, he could hear the sounds of staff rattling coal scuttles downstairs, but none would have yet ventured upstairs to the bedchambers. Given the only others along their corridor were the newly married Featherstonehaughs, Antonia returning to her room unseen should be straightforward, but still…
Tucking in his shirt, he waved her back and cracked open the door. After confirming the corridor was deserted, he escorted her to her door, waited until she opened it and went in—and with a swift scan over her head, he confirmed there was no one else there.
Who he’d imagined might be waiting, he had no idea—and didn’t want to think too much about the impulse that had prompted him to check.
With a curt nod, he left her; he halted along the corridor and waited until he heard her door shut, then returned to his room.
He stood in the room’s center and stared at the bed while memories of the night poured through his head.
He grunted, then walked to where he’d left his coat, fished in his pocket, drew out his watch, and opened it.
It was just after five o’clock.
He closed the watch, slipped it back into the pocket, and set about stripping again.
Naked, he tumbled onto the bed. The scent of her—of the herbs in her soap and the elemental perfume of well-loved woman—wreathed through his brain.
He tugged up the covers, closed his eyes, and imagined she was still there, beside him.
After their activities of the night—because of those activities—he needed more sleep if he was to have any hope of coping with her and her machinations, let alone locating the damned gunpowder.
* * *
Safe inside her room, Antonia snuggled down in her bed. She might as well get another hour or two’s sleep while creating the impression she’d spent the night there.
Smiling exceedingly smugly, feeling thoroughly pleased with herself and her world, she closed her eyes.
Chapter 11
A horrendous scream rent the morning.
Sebastian sat bolt upright. A second, strangled scream reached him; he flung back the covers, leapt from the bed, and hauled on his trousers.
Shrugging on his shirt, he strode to the door, flung it open, and stalked into the corridor. The scream had faded to sobbing whimpers coming from not that far away—on that floor, in the gallery.
He strode rapidly in that direction, hearing voices in the Featherstonehaughs’ room as he passed. He turned under the archway and paused.
A maid stood backed against the gallery balustrade, her hands to her face, staring in abject horror through the open door to one of the main bedchambers. She was the source of the whimpers and, presumably, the scream.
A chill touched Sebastian’s nape.
He strode forward. Ignoring the maid, who, seeing him approaching, pointed into the room and gibbered, he walked to the open doorway. He halted on the threshold and looked into the room.
As he’d feared, it was Cecilia’s bedroom.
From where he stood, he could see only the end of the large bed.