Heart's Debt (Lost Lords Book 5) by Cheryl Holt Page B

delivered, and I minded very much. I confiscated them. How would you suppose?”
    Her glare deepened, her vexation humorous to witness. Even if the authorities showed up to question him, he had all the correct legal documents. There could be no reversing what had occurred, and Damian was simply waiting for Miles to appear.
    She studied him again, fumed, studied him some more. Finally she whirled away and walked into her bedchamber. “Fine then. Be an ass. See if I care.”
    “I don’t care, Miss Fogarty. You should understand that about me. I don’t care about anything.”
    “Bully for you, Mr. Drummond. I’m sure it’s an enjoyable way to stagger through life.”
    She continued to the dressing room while he meandered around in her bedchamber, snooping in her wardrobe and peeking in drawers. He was trying to find any small tidbit that would tell him more about her. She had suitable clothes, but nothing fashionable or extravagant. And no personal items. Nary a one.
    All the while, he could hear her moving about. She’d slammed the door, but the latch hadn’t caught so it was slightly ajar. He was graced with glimpses of her strutting back and forth. If he’d been any sort of gentleman, he’d have told her what was happening. But he wasn’t a gentleman and never had been.
    She’d shed her robe and was attired in chemise and petticoat. He was wondering how she’d lace her corset, but when she grabbed it, it was the type of functional garment that laced in the front such as a servant would wear with no assistance required from a maid.
    His curiosity soared.
    “Why is your room so far from the rest of the family?”
    “The reason is none of your business, Mr. Drummond.”
    There was a lengthy silence as she tugged on her gown, as she struggled with the buttons, then she yanked the door open.
    “You’re still here,” she said. “Why are you?”
    “You haven’t explained why you’re so far from everyone else. Did you choose these quarters or were you forced over to them like an ill-behaved child?”
    “I am here, Mr. Drummond, because I like my privacy. That seems to be a difficult concept for you to grasp.”
    “No, it isn’t. I’m simply not listening to you. In fact, I never listen to women. You should remember that about me.”
    “You can leave me alone whenever you’re ready.”
    “I’m not ready. Not just yet.”
    She whipped away and went to the dressing room again, and he sidled over and loitered, observing as she stood at the mirror. She twisted her hair into an untidy chignon and haphazardly jabbed in combs that were poorly placed and made her resemble a harried shopkeeper.
    “Why don’t you call for your maid to help you?” he asked.
    “I don’t have a maid.”
    “Why not?”
    “I’m an adult, and I can take care of myself. I don’t need to pester the servants. They have more important tasks to perform.”
    “Well, you ought to pester them. Your hair is a mess. You can’t appear down at the party like that.”
    She scowled over her shoulder and batted her lashes. “If you keep complimenting me, I’ll get a big head.”
    “You’re the strangest female I’ve ever met.”
    “Why? Because I tend myself without bothering others?”
    “No. Because you’re not concerned about how you look.”
    “I’m concerned,” she testily said, “but I’m in too much of a hurry to fuss over my condition. And I especially won’t fuss over it when you’re standing there glowering at me.”
    “Do you always bluster forward in such a slapdash way?”
    “Yes, always.”
    She was jabbing and jabbing with a comb, but it wouldn’t catch. He couldn’t bear to watch her, and while he wasn’t the most romantic of men, he’d tarried in many women’s bedchambers. He knew how to push in a comb and make it stay.
    He marched over and grabbed it. “Give me that.”
    “Why?”
    “I’m going to pin up your hair—as you’re obviously incapable of accomplishing it on your own.”
    She turned