voice, “I was told it was stolen and I should deliver it to the rightful owner.”
“Who is that? Who is this ‘rightful owner’?”
She shrugged, pretending indifference though she wondered the same. She’d accepted without question the story told to her simply because it had been easier not to ask questions.
William raked a hand through his wet hair, slicking it away from his face, his dark blue gaze locked upon her. Many men would look foolish with their hair plastered back, but the severe style worked for William, emphasizing the strong angles of his face.
He wasn’t conventionally handsome like Colchester, who seemed soft compared to William. Bold lines drew William’s jaw and brow, while his dark blue gaze, shadowed by a sensual sweep of lashes, was piercing and unflinching. He appeared exactly as he was—strong, determined, and indomitable. At one time, she’d loved to lie at his side in bed and trace his profile with the tip of her finger. Now he barely tolerated her presence.
“You’re lying.” His words were firm, spoken without question.
“I am not. I was told the artifact belonged to someone else.”
“I don’t think you believed that any more than I do.”
“I believed it,” she retorted. “I still do.”
His gaze narrowed and he watched her for a long moment before he shook his head. “No. You’re lying. You didn’t believe it when you heard it, and you don’t believe it now.”
Marcail dropped her gaze to where her feet peeped out from beneath her skirts, one booted and one not as her heart tripped uncertainly. He can’t tell if I’m lying or not. He must be bluffing, too .
Well, she knew how to deal with a bluffer. She raised her chin and met his gaze with calm certainty. “It doesn’t matter what I think or don’t think; the artifact is gone.”
He looked around the room. “Where is it?”
She forced herself to laugh. “Still the same stubborn William.”
“Still the same deceitful Marcail,” he retorted, his gaze landing upon her trunk. He crossed to it and tried the lid. “It’s locked?”
She shrugged.
His mouth tightened. “Fine. I’ll open it in my own way.” He lifted a foot and kicked the trunk.
She winced, biting back a protest.
He kicked again and again. Finally, the back hinges gave way and the trunk fell over on its side.
“That was a waste. Your artifact is not in there.”
William reached down and upended the trunk. A rainbow of silk gowns and shoes tumbled onto the floor, twined about a handful of the finest lawn chemises.
She had to fight the urge to jump up and collect her belongings, but she couldn’t do so without revealing the portmanteau. She was forced to settle for a tight, “You’re going to pay for those.”
“I already have.” He stirred the clothes with one foot, his wet boot marring the silks.
“Oh, for the love of—William! Get your muddy boots out of my clothes! You’re ruining them!”
He bent down and picked up an especially sheer lawn chemise. “Very nice. I suppose Colchester bought this for you.”
“No, I bought it for myself. The gaslights are very hot in the theater and a lighter chemise is much cooler.”
He threw it back on the floor and picked up a long silk night rail. He held it aloft, his blue eyes locked with hers. “Since when did you start wearing a night rail to bed?”
Her cheeks burned. “A gentleman wouldn’t speak of the delicate details of a past relationship.”
“And a lady wouldn’t have such details in her past,” he retorted.
She supposed she deserved that. He was right, anyway. She didn’t used to wear a night rail to bed, but after she’d left him all those years ago, she’d been achingly lonely, especially at night. Wearing a night rail had made her feel less exposed and vulnerable. She shrugged. “A lot has changed since then.”
He dropped the night rail beside the chemise. “I’m sure it has.” He glanced around. “Did you bring any other luggage?”
“No,
“Who is that? Who is this ‘rightful owner’?”
She shrugged, pretending indifference though she wondered the same. She’d accepted without question the story told to her simply because it had been easier not to ask questions.
William raked a hand through his wet hair, slicking it away from his face, his dark blue gaze locked upon her. Many men would look foolish with their hair plastered back, but the severe style worked for William, emphasizing the strong angles of his face.
He wasn’t conventionally handsome like Colchester, who seemed soft compared to William. Bold lines drew William’s jaw and brow, while his dark blue gaze, shadowed by a sensual sweep of lashes, was piercing and unflinching. He appeared exactly as he was—strong, determined, and indomitable. At one time, she’d loved to lie at his side in bed and trace his profile with the tip of her finger. Now he barely tolerated her presence.
“You’re lying.” His words were firm, spoken without question.
“I am not. I was told the artifact belonged to someone else.”
“I don’t think you believed that any more than I do.”
“I believed it,” she retorted. “I still do.”
His gaze narrowed and he watched her for a long moment before he shook his head. “No. You’re lying. You didn’t believe it when you heard it, and you don’t believe it now.”
Marcail dropped her gaze to where her feet peeped out from beneath her skirts, one booted and one not as her heart tripped uncertainly. He can’t tell if I’m lying or not. He must be bluffing, too .
Well, she knew how to deal with a bluffer. She raised her chin and met his gaze with calm certainty. “It doesn’t matter what I think or don’t think; the artifact is gone.”
He looked around the room. “Where is it?”
She forced herself to laugh. “Still the same stubborn William.”
“Still the same deceitful Marcail,” he retorted, his gaze landing upon her trunk. He crossed to it and tried the lid. “It’s locked?”
She shrugged.
His mouth tightened. “Fine. I’ll open it in my own way.” He lifted a foot and kicked the trunk.
She winced, biting back a protest.
He kicked again and again. Finally, the back hinges gave way and the trunk fell over on its side.
“That was a waste. Your artifact is not in there.”
William reached down and upended the trunk. A rainbow of silk gowns and shoes tumbled onto the floor, twined about a handful of the finest lawn chemises.
She had to fight the urge to jump up and collect her belongings, but she couldn’t do so without revealing the portmanteau. She was forced to settle for a tight, “You’re going to pay for those.”
“I already have.” He stirred the clothes with one foot, his wet boot marring the silks.
“Oh, for the love of—William! Get your muddy boots out of my clothes! You’re ruining them!”
He bent down and picked up an especially sheer lawn chemise. “Very nice. I suppose Colchester bought this for you.”
“No, I bought it for myself. The gaslights are very hot in the theater and a lighter chemise is much cooler.”
He threw it back on the floor and picked up a long silk night rail. He held it aloft, his blue eyes locked with hers. “Since when did you start wearing a night rail to bed?”
Her cheeks burned. “A gentleman wouldn’t speak of the delicate details of a past relationship.”
“And a lady wouldn’t have such details in her past,” he retorted.
She supposed she deserved that. He was right, anyway. She didn’t used to wear a night rail to bed, but after she’d left him all those years ago, she’d been achingly lonely, especially at night. Wearing a night rail had made her feel less exposed and vulnerable. She shrugged. “A lot has changed since then.”
He dropped the night rail beside the chemise. “I’m sure it has.” He glanced around. “Did you bring any other luggage?”
“No,
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