His Unexpected Bride by Jo Ann Ferguson Page A

matters than the luggage, followed. When she reached the end of the hall, she was surprised that no window offered a view of the Square. Instead, a simple table almost invisible beneath the wild profusion of leaves sat between two doors facing each other across the hall.
    Opening the door to the left, Cameron motioned for her to enter. The light from the hallway was swallowed by the golden shadows of the walnut furniture arranged elegantly in front of an unlit hearth. Around the furniture and in front of the tall window and edging each wall between the two closed doors were more pots with plants. A few were blooming, but the dim light consumed the color. When he drew her through the door, her slippers nearly disappeared into the royal blue carpet. She paid no attention as she stared up at the painting hanging above the mantel. It was of an orchard with a grand manor house in the distance. Beneath one tree, a lad sat, reading a book that appeared to have pictures of apples, although it might have been meant to show he had picked the fruit from that tree. The lad had hair as dark as Cameron’s, and she wondered if it was a portrait of him as a child.
    He allowed her no time to admire the grand frescoes and the art parading along the walls of what she realized was a sitting room. He drew her through one of the other doors. She faltered, for, set in a shadowed alcove, was a magnificent bed. Curtains that gleamed like cloth-of-gold were draped around it, but could not hide the carving that climbed all the way up the testers and even along the façade of the wooden canopy. Stag, foxes, and rabbits ran before hunters who were giving chase on foot and on horseback. Over their heads swooped a trio of birds. Hawks, she realized.
    The bed was more than twice as wide as hers at home—at her father’s house. Trying to act nonchalant, instead of revealing how she could far too easily imagine sleeping in such a grand bed with the man who was now her husband, she looked out into the other room and saw Jenette had the third door, the one closest to the front of the house, open. From what she could see, it led to a dressing room. Odd that it would be on the far side of the sitting room, but it was built against the front wall of the house, so that might explain its location. There were so many puzzles in this room, but the greatest one was Cameron Hawksmoor.
    Untying her bonnet, she took it off. Setting it on the table beside the window that was as tall as the one in the sitting room gave her something to do with her hands instead of kneading them together as she had been doing since they entered the room.
    â€œI trust you will be quite comfortable here, Tess.” Cameron pointed to a bellpull next to the bed. “That will ring in the kitchen, so you may let Mrs. Sheridan, the cook, know when you want a breakfast tray brought to you.”
    â€œThere is no breakfast-parlor in the house?” Oh, how grateful she was to speak of everyday matters, even though they were standing in this splendid chamber.
    â€œThere was one, but what use have I had for one when I have been living here by myself? It has been simpler for me to enjoy my coffee and the daily newspaper in the privacy of my rooms.”
    â€œI will make every effort not to intrude upon your habits, Cameron.”
    â€œYou may do as you wish.” He walked back out into the sitting room, pausing to cup the leaf of one plant. He glanced at her and hastily dropped it. “It matters little, for I expect I shall soon be able to obtain legal assistance to end our marriage. Until then, you are to stay here and make yourself quite at home.”
    â€œStaying here with you might not be wise.”
    â€œWhy not? Do you have someplace else to go?”
    â€œA guest’s chamber would be more appropriate.”
    He smiled tautly. “Ah, now I see your concern. You need not worry about your husband demanding his espousal rights in yon bed, Tess. This is