Jamming both of his hands in his hair, he spun away from her. “You’re going to drive me insane, aren't you? I will deal with my sister separately.”
“Of course,” she said, her voice dripping ice. Much better. “Will there be anything else, my lord?”
He glared at her over his shoulder. “No.” He stalked for the door and opened it.
She blinked, shocked despite herself. He was dismissing her. Calling on all her pride, she squared her shoulders and strode from the room.
***
That had not gone well, Sterling decided. Not well at all. Though he couldn’t say at precisely which point in the conversation he’d erred.
So, he’d been harsh. He’d needed to impress upon her the seriousness of the matter. Of course, he’d been worried. He had every right. Every damned right in the world. Everything he’d said had been true.
He paced, stopped before the credenza, unearthed the bottle of cognac his grandfather had kept there for especially chilly nights. He was contemplating the merits of pouring himself a glass when he sensed someone’s presence.
Relief swept through him. Annabelle had returned. To apologize, no doubt. He tucked the bottle back into the cabinet and turned, fixing a pleasant expression on his face—and found Caroline in the doorway, arms crossed over her chest and a veryunpleasant expression fixed onherface.
He dropped his placid veneer. “Yes?” he demanded, curtly.
“What was that about?”
“What waswhatabout?”
“What on earth led you to talk to Annabelle in such a…brusque manner?” Caroline sputtered, spreading her arms wide.
Sterling considered telling her to mind her own business. But perhaps if he explained the situation, she would help smooth things with Annabelle. He meandered toward her, hands clasped behind him. “The two of you had no business wandering about in the dark, without protection.”
“In thedark? The sun still shone in the sky when we walked in the front door to find you scowling like an ogre. Andprotection?” She snorted in evident disgust. “Since when do we need that here, in this sleepy village?”
“Since a woman was killed and dumped in the channel.”
She blinked. After a moment’s consideration, her expression softened. “You were worried.”
“Obviously.”
“Not quite. You seemed more a snarling dictator than a worried spouse.”
He huffed out a derisive laugh. “Annabelle has been held at gunpoint. Her maid was murdered. Someone trapped her in the kilns. Need I go on?”
She gave him a long look—one that was part amusement, part pity. He did not care for her look at all.
“Well, then? How did you leave things with Annabelle?"
“I told her she wasn’t to—” He broke off, slashing a dismissive hand through the air. “That’s not important. What I want to know is, where did you go? Cogsworth said you meant to return before I got back.”
Something else was bothering him, he realized. Cogsworth himself had seemed reticent to inform him of their absence. Most vexing.
“I see,” Caroline murmured. “You upset her.”
“I did no such thing. The two of you made an unwise decision. I merely pointed that out.” And she had not answered his question.
“Dearest,” she began in a measured tone, “I am accustomed to being lectured by you, the all-knowing, all-wise big brother. I learned long ago from whence such condescension truly springs—”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You don’t mean to talk down to me, or Harrison, or Father, for that matter. You simply do not want anything to happen to us under your watch, as it did to your friend.”
Dillon.He stared at her, feeling poleaxed.
