Melissa had ever seen, graced, unless she was mistaken, by a coverlet of mink. “The choice is yours, my love.”
Melissa knew that he was offering fidelity in exchange for the rights she’d vowed to deny him, and she blushed hotly. “You know what we agreed!”
“You were willing enough this afternoon,” Quinn reminded her lightly.
Melissa’s imagination, ever active, was supplying her with ideas of what it might be like to lie naked on that fur coverlet and allow Quinn free access to her body, and a wave of heat washed through her, leaving her weak. She no longer feltbold enough to follow through, however. She needed time, and a much surer knowledge of Mr. Rafferty’s character. “I’ve changed my mind since then,” she said lamely.
“That’s a pity,” Quinn replied, and his hot, brazen brown eyes moved over her. After an inspection that was sweet agony for Melissa he seemed to lose interest, turning away to set his empty snifter down on a small table beside the settee. “I have things to do, Mrs. Rafferty. Feel free to use the bathtub.”
With that—he didn’t even look at her again—Quinn left the room, closing the doors neatly behind him.
Melissa was confused and furious, but she was also exhausted. Assuming that, since Quinn had abandoned her here, he was conceding the master chamber for her private use, she decided to take him up on his generous offer concerning the bathtub.
Just to be on the safe side, however, she rummaged through the desk until she found a key, and then she locked the outer doors.
The bathtub, made of the finest black marble and practically big enough to swim in, impressed even Melissa, who was something of an enthusiast when it came to such sweet luxuries.
She spent nearly an hour in the tub and came out feeling languid and sleepy. She was wrapped in a towel, her hair hanging down in squeaky-clean tendrils, when a crisp knock sounded at one of the doors.
“Who—who is it?” Melissa called out, trembling a little. It was chilly in the room.
“It’s Mrs. Wright,” the housekeeper replied brightly. “I’ve brought your dinner.”
It had been hours since Melissa had eaten, and she was hungry. After only a moment’s hesitation she turned the key in the lock and then dashed back into the bathroom to hide her state of undress.
She heard a serving cart rattling cheerfully in the suite, and her stomach rumbled in anticipation.
“Are you all right, Mrs. Rafferty?” the housekeeper called out. She sounded sincere in her concern.
“I’m fine,” Melissa replied, feeling silly. “It’s just that I haven’t a wrapper.”
Moments later Mrs. Wright handed a ruffled robe of pink taffeta around the door of the bathroom. “There you are, dear,” she said.
When Melissa ventured out, clad in the beautiful robe, Mrs. Wright had finished setting out her dinner on a table near the window and had gone to light a fire on the hearth.
“Thank you for lending me your robe,” Melissa said, trying to walk at a moderate pace as she approached her supper. In truth, it was all she could do not to hurl herself on top of it.
Mrs. Wright chuckled happily. “You’re most welcome, ma’am, but that isn’t my wrapper.”
Melissa sank into a chair and delved hungrily into the roast beef dinner that had been brought for her. “Mrs. Wright, I’ve had a long, hard day. Please don’t tell me that my husband likes to wear pink taffeta and ruffles of an evening.”
The old woman chortled again. “No, ma’am, he doesn’t. He’s not that sort.”
Melissa decided to drop the subject. While the other possibilities weren’t as alarming as the one she’d raised, they weren’t comforting to think about. An image of Gillian wearing that very robe did arise in her mind, but she chased it away immediately. “This is a wonderful dinner.”
Mrs. Wright nodded cordially in Melissa’s direction. A fire was popping on the hearth, casting warmth and a cozy copper glow into the room.
Melissa knew that he was offering fidelity in exchange for the rights she’d vowed to deny him, and she blushed hotly. “You know what we agreed!”
“You were willing enough this afternoon,” Quinn reminded her lightly.
Melissa’s imagination, ever active, was supplying her with ideas of what it might be like to lie naked on that fur coverlet and allow Quinn free access to her body, and a wave of heat washed through her, leaving her weak. She no longer feltbold enough to follow through, however. She needed time, and a much surer knowledge of Mr. Rafferty’s character. “I’ve changed my mind since then,” she said lamely.
“That’s a pity,” Quinn replied, and his hot, brazen brown eyes moved over her. After an inspection that was sweet agony for Melissa he seemed to lose interest, turning away to set his empty snifter down on a small table beside the settee. “I have things to do, Mrs. Rafferty. Feel free to use the bathtub.”
With that—he didn’t even look at her again—Quinn left the room, closing the doors neatly behind him.
Melissa was confused and furious, but she was also exhausted. Assuming that, since Quinn had abandoned her here, he was conceding the master chamber for her private use, she decided to take him up on his generous offer concerning the bathtub.
Just to be on the safe side, however, she rummaged through the desk until she found a key, and then she locked the outer doors.
The bathtub, made of the finest black marble and practically big enough to swim in, impressed even Melissa, who was something of an enthusiast when it came to such sweet luxuries.
She spent nearly an hour in the tub and came out feeling languid and sleepy. She was wrapped in a towel, her hair hanging down in squeaky-clean tendrils, when a crisp knock sounded at one of the doors.
“Who—who is it?” Melissa called out, trembling a little. It was chilly in the room.
“It’s Mrs. Wright,” the housekeeper replied brightly. “I’ve brought your dinner.”
It had been hours since Melissa had eaten, and she was hungry. After only a moment’s hesitation she turned the key in the lock and then dashed back into the bathroom to hide her state of undress.
She heard a serving cart rattling cheerfully in the suite, and her stomach rumbled in anticipation.
“Are you all right, Mrs. Rafferty?” the housekeeper called out. She sounded sincere in her concern.
“I’m fine,” Melissa replied, feeling silly. “It’s just that I haven’t a wrapper.”
Moments later Mrs. Wright handed a ruffled robe of pink taffeta around the door of the bathroom. “There you are, dear,” she said.
When Melissa ventured out, clad in the beautiful robe, Mrs. Wright had finished setting out her dinner on a table near the window and had gone to light a fire on the hearth.
“Thank you for lending me your robe,” Melissa said, trying to walk at a moderate pace as she approached her supper. In truth, it was all she could do not to hurl herself on top of it.
Mrs. Wright chuckled happily. “You’re most welcome, ma’am, but that isn’t my wrapper.”
Melissa sank into a chair and delved hungrily into the roast beef dinner that had been brought for her. “Mrs. Wright, I’ve had a long, hard day. Please don’t tell me that my husband likes to wear pink taffeta and ruffles of an evening.”
The old woman chortled again. “No, ma’am, he doesn’t. He’s not that sort.”
Melissa decided to drop the subject. While the other possibilities weren’t as alarming as the one she’d raised, they weren’t comforting to think about. An image of Gillian wearing that very robe did arise in her mind, but she chased it away immediately. “This is a wonderful dinner.”
Mrs. Wright nodded cordially in Melissa’s direction. A fire was popping on the hearth, casting warmth and a cozy copper glow into the room.
Similar Books
