You hoped it would keep me from noticing your tongue dancing with mine.” He paused, undoubtedly to increase the dramatic effect of the statement. “My question is, why do you still have pieces of Lord Cameron’s wardrobe?”
“There were a few things left behind when we departed London.” She shrugged. “I’ve been back for only a fortnight, after all.”
“It’s just that the last time I saw you with one of Cameron’s shirts, you were ripping it to shreds. With a knife, as I recall.”
“I was a bit angry then. I’ve had two years to consider things since that day.”
“Ah. And now that you’ve witnessed the results, was shooting me as pleasant as you imagined it would be?”
Oh, that was enough of that . Diane stopped, turning on her heel to face the absurdly tall marquis. “What you should have considered is that I have no tolerance for men who attempt to ruin my life.” She lowered her gaze to the bandage around his upper arm. Red slowly stained the middle of it. She’d done that. And it troubled her that injuring him bothered her. “I will, however, apologize for shooting you,” she forced out. “I confess that you … disturb me more than I’d anticipated.”
Astute gray eyes met and held hers. “Likewise,” he finally said, and motioned for her to continue forward.
Little as she liked having him behind her, the sooner they could find him appropriate clothing, the sooner she could have a moment or two on her own to think. The way he lived his life, this most likely wasn’t even the first time he’d been shot. It was, however, her first time shooting someone.
“Are you going to open The Tantalus with a grand party, or simply invite prospective members to stop by?”
“None of your business.”
Silence. “I’m not suggesting anything,” he finally commented. “I’m only asking a question.”
“Very well. A party. And don’t give me your opinion of that.”
“Wouldn’t think of it.”
“Good.” She turned into the small bedchamber where most of Frederick’s remaining things seemed to have accumulated since her return to London. “The jackets are in there,” she said, gesturing at a half-open wardrobe. “A shirt or two as well, I think, though the quality isn’t as fine as yours.”
Favoring his left arm, Oliver began shuffling through drawers. After a moment he lifted out a lime-and-olive-colored jacket and held it by the collar with his fingertips. “Truly?” he asked.
Memory flashed through her, images of her thin, stern-faced husband remarking that when Prinny wore something it immediately became fashion and that fashion bespoke confidence and competence. And then him returning after a night in his fashionable attire a hundred pounds lighter in the pockets and forbidding her to speak of either.
“Diane?”
She shook herself, turning away from the brown-haired devil and his lifted eyebrow. “Just choose something and get back to your classroom.”
With a noncommittal grunt he returned to digging. “If anyone sees me in this I’ll be ruined,” he finally said, and she faced him again.
The brown of the jacket was a fairly close, if less rich-looking, match to the one he’d worn to visit The Tantalus. The problem was the way his own shirtsleeves—sleeve—ended at his wrist while the jacket’s extended somewhat short of that. And he couldn’t have buttoned the thing if his life depended on it. “You two were of a height. I thought it would fit.”
With a grimace he shrugged out of it again. “He didn’t have much meat on his bones, did he?”
Diane frowned. “No.”
“Well, I suppose I’ll have to be attired more casually. I can only hope your prospective employees don’t all throw themselves at me and leave you without assistance.” Looking down, he began unbuttoning his waistcoat.
“What are you doing?”
“Putting on a fresh shirt,” he said, hanging his tan-colored waistcoat over one of the wardrobe’s doors and then pulling his
“There were a few things left behind when we departed London.” She shrugged. “I’ve been back for only a fortnight, after all.”
“It’s just that the last time I saw you with one of Cameron’s shirts, you were ripping it to shreds. With a knife, as I recall.”
“I was a bit angry then. I’ve had two years to consider things since that day.”
“Ah. And now that you’ve witnessed the results, was shooting me as pleasant as you imagined it would be?”
Oh, that was enough of that . Diane stopped, turning on her heel to face the absurdly tall marquis. “What you should have considered is that I have no tolerance for men who attempt to ruin my life.” She lowered her gaze to the bandage around his upper arm. Red slowly stained the middle of it. She’d done that. And it troubled her that injuring him bothered her. “I will, however, apologize for shooting you,” she forced out. “I confess that you … disturb me more than I’d anticipated.”
Astute gray eyes met and held hers. “Likewise,” he finally said, and motioned for her to continue forward.
Little as she liked having him behind her, the sooner they could find him appropriate clothing, the sooner she could have a moment or two on her own to think. The way he lived his life, this most likely wasn’t even the first time he’d been shot. It was, however, her first time shooting someone.
“Are you going to open The Tantalus with a grand party, or simply invite prospective members to stop by?”
“None of your business.”
Silence. “I’m not suggesting anything,” he finally commented. “I’m only asking a question.”
“Very well. A party. And don’t give me your opinion of that.”
“Wouldn’t think of it.”
“Good.” She turned into the small bedchamber where most of Frederick’s remaining things seemed to have accumulated since her return to London. “The jackets are in there,” she said, gesturing at a half-open wardrobe. “A shirt or two as well, I think, though the quality isn’t as fine as yours.”
Favoring his left arm, Oliver began shuffling through drawers. After a moment he lifted out a lime-and-olive-colored jacket and held it by the collar with his fingertips. “Truly?” he asked.
Memory flashed through her, images of her thin, stern-faced husband remarking that when Prinny wore something it immediately became fashion and that fashion bespoke confidence and competence. And then him returning after a night in his fashionable attire a hundred pounds lighter in the pockets and forbidding her to speak of either.
“Diane?”
She shook herself, turning away from the brown-haired devil and his lifted eyebrow. “Just choose something and get back to your classroom.”
With a noncommittal grunt he returned to digging. “If anyone sees me in this I’ll be ruined,” he finally said, and she faced him again.
The brown of the jacket was a fairly close, if less rich-looking, match to the one he’d worn to visit The Tantalus. The problem was the way his own shirtsleeves—sleeve—ended at his wrist while the jacket’s extended somewhat short of that. And he couldn’t have buttoned the thing if his life depended on it. “You two were of a height. I thought it would fit.”
With a grimace he shrugged out of it again. “He didn’t have much meat on his bones, did he?”
Diane frowned. “No.”
“Well, I suppose I’ll have to be attired more casually. I can only hope your prospective employees don’t all throw themselves at me and leave you without assistance.” Looking down, he began unbuttoning his waistcoat.
“What are you doing?”
“Putting on a fresh shirt,” he said, hanging his tan-colored waistcoat over one of the wardrobe’s doors and then pulling his
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