Page 25 of Pride: The Rogue
“There is no such thing as ‘too patient’,” Livian pointed out.
“Are you making light of me?” A smile coated his question, but the pinpricks of rage glinting from his eyes warned Livian she danced in dangerous territory.
From the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of the fireplace shovel and poker.
“I’m speaking the truth, Mr. Latimer,” she somehow found the courage to say, inching carefully away. “Patience is a virtue.”
“As is charity, but you don’t seem to give two shites on Sunday about that.”
That blistering accusation stopped her slow flight. Livian frowned. “Just what isthatsupposed to mean?”
“I didn’t expect it would be clear to you. Let me spell it out, sweetheart,” he said bluntly. “I went about to retrieve the young servant your husband sent to wait for your carriage outside, and while I was off fetching the foul-mouthed lad, you availed yourself of my rooms.”
Livian opened her mouth and closed it, several times.
Confused, by all the incorrect statements tossed at her, she shook her head. Then it finally hit her reason. “Thisis why you’ve been so angry and rude because you believe I stole your rooms?”
He chuckled, and unlike his scathing, empty, mirth of before, this laugh contained genuine amusement. “Darlin’, you haven’t even begun to feel my wrath.”
“Oh,” Livian said weakly.
She managed to find her voice. “I’d like to assure you, you accuse the wrong person of taking your rooms, Mr. Latimer. I—”Don’t have a husband.
Livian stopped herself quick. She couldn’t very well go mentioning the fabricated Mr. Lovelace.
Livian cleared her throat. “I forgive your misunderstanding, so if you’ll—”
“There’s no misunderstanding,” he cut her off. “My belongings were removed and I was slid out to make room for Mr. Felchin’s esteemed guest—a fine noble lady.”
A fine noble lady? Confused, Livian did a glance about.
Mr. Latimer stared pointedly at her.
Me! He’s referring to me.
“I’m not—”A Lady.
Again, she couldn’t bring herself to say that, either. She knew firsthand from her mother’s history men barely respected ladies and did not respect,at all, women outside that station—women such as Livian.
“You’re ‘not’…?” he prodded. “Believing any of this?”
Mr. Latimer reached inside his pocket.
A scream filled Livian’s throat.
He brandished a small, rusted key.
Livian’s cry for help died on her lips.
Instead of Mr. Latimer marchingtowardher, he headed for the exit and drew the door open. “Lock it,” he said, not looking back.
Livian didn’t need to be told twice. The minute he stepped outside, she’d already begun her flight over. By the time shereached the entryway, however, her nighttime marauder did Livian the favor of closing that panel between them.
With unsteady fingers, she bolted herself inside.
Click.
Closing her eyes, Livian sagged against the door.
