Courting an Angel by Patricia; Grasso

without turning around. “What did the marquess say when you told him I’d see him in the mornin’?”
    “He said, ‘the hell she will.’”
    Rob whirled around at the sound of his voice, shocked that he dared to enter her bedroom uninvited. She clutched the silken bed robe rightly against her bosom, which only served to enhance the pleasing roundness of her breasts.
    “What d’ye do here?” Rob demanded in an angry whisper.
    “Avoidin’ me willna be easy, angel,” Gordon told her. “I’ve come to escort ye to supper.”
    “Leave this chamber before someone sees ye.”
    “What do I care aboot that?”
    “I care,” Rob said. “’Tis improper for a gentleman to visit a lady’s bedchamber.”
    Gordon gifted her with a lopsided grin, folded his arms across his chest, and silently refused to budge. “Is it also improper for a husband to visit his wife’s chamber?”
    “Ye swore to Uncle Richard —”
    “And ye also promised several thin’s yerself,” he reminded her. “Ye are na makin’ this easy, lass.”
    “I never promised to make thin’s easy,” Rob shot back. She dropped her gaze and groaned in dismay as his choice of clothing registered in her mind.
    The Marquess of Inverary had donned traditional Highland garb, the black and the green Campbell plaid. The great kilt’s folds fastened around his waist with a black leather belt; the long length of material hanging from the belt had been gathered and secured at his shoulder with an enormous gold broach encrusted with emeralds. Beneath the kilt he wore a white silk shirt.
    “Yer wearin’ a —”
    “Skirt?” Gordon supplied, sauntering toward her with arrogant grace, “’Tis what yer wee cousins said.”
    Instinctively, Rob clutched her bed robe tighter and wished she hadn’t undressed down to her chemise. Her flimsy silk robe seemed no protection at all against his masculine presence and made her feel vulnerable.
    “Yer wearin’ that to embarrass me,” she said in an accusing voice. “Or was yer purpose a not-so-subtle reminder of our shared heritage?”
    “Dinna get yer back up, kitten. Yer married to me, not my clothes.”
    “Dinna condescend to me,” Rob warned him, standing her ground in spite of his disturbing nearness. “Or this kitten’s fur will surely be flyin’.”
    “I’m tryin’ real hard to be agreeable, lass,” Gordon said, holding his hands up in a conciliatory gesture. “Yer company for the evenin’ is what I desire. I’ve come to escort ye to supper and willna be leavin’ this chamber without ye.”
    “Verra well,” she acquiesced. “Wait outside while I dress.”
    “I dinna relish seein’ ye in rags again,” Gordon said, already crossing the chamber to her dressing room. “I’ll choose yer gown.”
    Though his outrageous arrogance irritated her, Rob remained silent and seized the opportunity to inspect her star ruby. The stone appeared as placid as ever. Didn’t the marquess present a danger to her? The damned ruby wasn’t doing what it should. Could Aunt Keely have been mistaken?
    “Are ye checkin’ yer titties again?”
    Rob snapped her head up. Her cheeks flamed with embarrassment, but her emerald eyes glinted with barely suppressed anger.
    “Wear this,” the marquess ordered, offering her a green silk gown.
    “So I’ll match the green in yer plaid?”
    “No, angel. The emerald accentuates yer beautiful eyes.”
    His words flustered her, and the fight left her as quickly as it had come. “I’ll be down in a few minutes,” Rob said, lowering her gaze.
    “I’ll wait.”
    Rob lifted her gaze to his. “Then step outside while I change.”
    Gordon raised his brows at her and teased, “What’s a little bared flesh between husband and wife? Besides, if I stepped into the corridor, ye’d lock me out and hide in here for the evenin’.”
    “Ye dinna trust me?” Rob asked.
    “Yer behavior hardly inspires that feelin’ in me,” Gordon answered. “I promise I willna peek at