She saw straightaway that she didn’t fool him. He tilted one sardonic brow, and his reply was a sarcastic drawl. "You shock me, my lady."
"No, I don’t," she said, too tired to have this argument. "I’m going upstairs. I’ll see you in the morning."
"Really?" he said with a hint of bafflement. "That’s where you mean to leave things?"
"That’s where I mean to leave you," she said curtly, marching toward the door. "Good evening, Hamish."
When she paused and look back, he was still watching her. She’d wondered if her refusal might anger him, but his expression was enigmatic.
"My offer remains open, should you change your mind," he said, as though he asked her if she’d like a biscuit with her tea.
The scoundrel! Emily growled deep in her throat and stormed out, slamming the door behind her.
Chapter 10
Hamish set down the half-empty brandy decanter and stood t
o make his way to bed. Damn it, he was still stirred up from all that blasted touching when he’d taken down Emily’s hair. So stirred up that he only now realized that he had no idea where his room was.
When he’d lodged with the Baylors, the scholars had slept in the attic. It was a big room divided into cubicles, with a staircase up to the roof, in case anyone wanted to do some extra stargazing. He couldn’t imagine Emily would put her new husband there, no matter how much she disliked his presence.
It was late, well after midnight. He should have gone upstairs before this to change out of his wedding clothes. But after getting a curtailed taste of the pleasures his wife meant to deny him, he’d been too grumpy to leave the library.
A taste? Not even that. He’d had lovers before, and he knew the sweet tug of carnal hunger. But nothing had rivaled those sensual moments, when he’d taken down that wealth of sable hair and buried his hands in its lustrous thickness.
He’d soon wanted more. Emily had been so soft, lying against him, he couldn’t imagine she’d resist. But resist she had. As a result, he suffered an agonizing case of blue balls. Since then, he’d picked at his dinner and drunk too much. But nothing he did shifted the alluring scent of Emily’s skin from his nostrils.
He sighed, bleakly aware that his troubles were just beginning, and rang for Edward who had stayed up to look after him. He didn’t expect to sleep a wink, but it was time he retired and let the household do the same.
The young man appeared at the door. "My lord?"
"It’s Mr. Douglas," he said.
Edward frowned. "Mr. Roberts says you’re a lord up in Scotland."
"A laird. There’s a difference."
"So does that mean my lady is Mrs. Douglas?"
Not in any real sense of the word, plague take her. And there was no bloody sign of that changing before the dawn of doomsday. "No, she’s Lady Glen Lyon."
"But…"
A grunt of reluctant amusement escaped Hamish. "It all makes no sense, I know, but I’d appreciate it if you don’t ‘my lord’ me."
Edward nodded, although it was clear he remained confused. On the other hand, he was paid a generous wage to take orders without question. "As you wish, my…Mr. Douglas."
"Well done, lad. You’ll get into your stride in no time. Now I’d like you to show me where I’m sleeping."
"Very good, sir."
Feeling like his head was stuffed with lead, Hamish followed Edward upstairs and along a lamplit corridor until they stopped in front of a closed door. "Sir John sleeps in there. And you’re here." Edward opened the door across the hall. "Shall I stay and help you undress, sir?"
"No, thank you. I’ll manage." The way he was feeling now, he was likely to collapse fully clothed on his bed.
Edward lit him a candle and waited outside while Hamish entered the shadowy dressing room. Once he was alone, he flung off his clothes and stood at the washstand to splash himself with warm water.
He looked around for his nightshirt but couldn’t find it. None of his kit seemed to be in here. The shelves surrounding him were half empty and what was stored here seemed to be sheets and pillowcases.