The Earl Claims His Wife by Cathy Maxwell Page A

someone close who is invested in whether a man succeeds or not.”
    She could have pointed out he’d had a wife all these years…but then decided that it had been said enough. In fact, she was finding it hard to stay angry at him. She was forced to overreact and behave in ways not becoming to herself.
    He smiled sleepily and curled back over. “I really could have killed myself in that tree,” he muttered, his eyes closing.
    “You didn’t have to climb it,” she reminded him.
    “Yes I did. I did it for you.”
    Gillian was quick to jump on his claim. “How did you do it for me?”
    He sighed. “I needed to prove to you how far I would go for you. Hadn’t done that before.”
    That was true .
    “And I had to have another kiss,” he said. “You are a good kisser. I hadn’t realized that.”
    “Does it make a difference if I can kiss or I can’t?” she asked, uncertain what to think.
    “In all the best ways,” he mumbled, drifting off to sleep.
    Gillian experienced a vague disappointment. Wright obviously had the ability to fall asleep at any time and in any place. Perhaps it was a skill he’d acquired in the military.
    Perhaps he didn’t find her as interesting as she found him.
    But to make an intriguing comment about her kissing and then nod off—? She didn’t know what to think.
    No, she did know, she reminded herself. She was in love with Andres Ramigio.
    “Andres. Andres Ramigio. I love Andres,” she repeated as she walked over to the washbasin. She poured more water into the basin, her gaze meeting her reflection in the mirror and then drifting past her reflected shoulder to where Wright slept peacefully in the bed.
    Gillian set down the water pitcher and raised a hand to her forehead. Dealing with Wright was giving her a headache. Her life had been simpler and happier without him.
    She would not think of him.
    She would not trust him.
    She would not give one quarter of an ounce of care and concern to him.
    Her resolve firmly in hand, Gillian splashed water on her face, dried it off, and returned to the chair.
    Crossing her arms, she resolved to stay there all night. It wouldn’t hurt her. She’d slept in more uncomfortable situations before. Many nights she’d sat up nursing one of her many, much younger siblings when her stepmother was unable to do so. She’d also taken care of Holburn’s crofters.
    No, a night sitting in a chair wouldn’t hurt her.
    She just wished Wright didn’t look so comfortable.
    It had been a long, challenging day. Her mind felt numb. Her bones began to ache with the desire to rest and her eyes were getting that itchy, red feeling.
    What had Wright suggested? That one of them sleep outside the covers while the other slept on top?
    Was that truly such a bad idea?
    In the end, she didn’t know that she ever made a decision. Instead, she woke to morning light coming through the windows where the curtains had been thrown back. The wardrobe had been moved back in place, a toasty fire burned in the grate, and her husband stood half naked at the washbasin shaving.
    He caught her eye in the looking glass. “Good morning,” he said. He looked remarkably handsome and in good spirits whereas she felt as if she’d been dragged under the coach for a mile.
    “’Morning.” She lifted the covers, ready to pull them over her head—when she realized that she was wearing nothing but her petticoats.
    And she didn’t remember climbing into bed or under the covers.
    Gillian sat bolt upright. Her dress was neatly hung over the chair she’d thought she’d fallen asleep in last night. Why, even her stockings were there. Someone had undressed her in the night.
    Thank the Lord, that person had stopped at her petticoats or she could have found herself completely naked.
    Her gaze went immediately to Wright.
    He stood by the washbasin watching her, one hand cleaning off his razor in the soapy water. “Should I surmise you are not happy with me?”

Chapter Eight
    Not happy? I’m