What if he failed, proving his father right?
And, if he must pension Anderson, how was he going to find a steward he trusted on such short notice?
He continued to ponder the questions while dining with his wife.
Cassie brought the beast with her, of course. “Because Mercy was still unused to his surrounds.” She promised, on entering the dining hall, the pup would sit calmly in his basket.
Mercy had other ideas.
More than once, Harbury plucked the squirming thing from his lap. On the other hand, the pup had been cleaned, fed, and properly combed. Harbury had no choice but to admit Mercy’s allure.
He was soft. He absolutely reveled in affection. And he had the habit of staring up at Harbury as if he’d never seen anything so fascinating. Harbury moved his hand through Mercy’s fluffy fur, tracing a line from the pup’s tiny head down to his tail.
Hard to ignore such devotion.
Harbury grimaced as he took his port. If only his wife held him in equal esteem.
Later in the evening, Harbury found himself, once again, in his bedchamber. He’d donned a banyan over his nightshirt, and stood, barefooted and curling his toes into the carpet, in front of Cassandra’s door.
His desire for his wife had drawn him there, but a distinct scratching noise stopped him.
“For shame, Mercy!” Cassandra’s voice bled through the cracks. “You shouldn’t scratch good wood! You don’t want to get banished tothe stables, do you? Because”—she lowered her voice—“if he hears of this latest travesty, he’d send you there in a thrice.”
Harbury snorted softly. Yes,hewould.
At present, however, his reasons would have little to do with door scratching and more to do with a desire to be alone with his wife.
Alone and intimate.
“If you want to ingratiate yourself,” she instructed, “and clearly, youdo…youmustbe on your very best behavior. Webothdo.”
Only one of those things was true. He wouldn’t mind in the least if his wife decided to be naughty. Naughty, of course, in highly specific ways.
He smothered a groan and rested his forehead against the door.
“So sweet,” she murmured. “So very sweet.”
What the devil would he have to do to make her croon at him with such tenderness?
“Mustyou be contrary, too?” he heard her ask.
If Cassandra opened the door, he wouldn’t be contrary at all. Like Mercy, he might do a little squirming and yipping, but he would beverycontent to simply snuggle at her breast.
“Very well, since you cannot be still, I will put you down.”
Mercy resumed scratching in short order. Cassandra made a sound of frustration.
“Oh, so it’shimyou want? Ungrateful little thing.Iwas the one who extracted you from the briar patch. He doesn’t like you at all.”
Unfair.
When she’d found Mercy, the dog had been utterly disgusting, but his appearance had since improved. But for the ridiculous bow someone had tied around Mercy’s neck which, in Harbury’s opinion, proved a grave insult to the dog’s dignity, the pup was quite cute.
Not nearly as compelling as Cassandra, but—
A thud against the wood reverberated against his forehead. His breath caught as he listened for the latch’s click.
But no, the sound had not been a knock…or other request for entry but something softer. Something like her back hitting the door.
