Page 45 of A Deal With a Notorious Devil
A thump from upstairs that fairly shook the walls. “Phoeeeebeeee!”
Charity issued a tolerant sigh. “If one must be married, one might as well avail oneself of the pleasures to be found within one’s marriage,” she said. “And despite all evidence to the contrary”—this, with a pointed glare toward the ceiling, where suspicious thumping sounds continued to rain down upon them—“heisquite competent. Well, except in certain matters.” She lifted her wrist, displaying the diamond bracelet. “I requested sapphires. He knows I’ve got no fondness for diamonds. Bland, colorless stones they are.”
Phoebe gave a little wince. “Oh, you mustn’t hold him responsible for that,” she said. “I made a mistake with them. I assumed he’d purchased them for you, but—but he said he’d meant them for me.”
“Truly?” Charity’s brows rose in interest. “A gift, unprompted? How lucky you are. In my experience, men provide much better for mistresses than for wives.” Conspiratorially she leaned closer. “Would you mind terribly if I were to hold onto it for a few hours more? Naturally, I am happy to return it—but I could leverage a sapphire necklace from it with the liberal application of guilt over a withdrawn gift. He’s promised a bracelet already, and I do so love sapphires.”
A bubble of laughter rose in Phoebe’s throat. “Be my guest,” she invited. “It would serve him right for being so intolerable a patient.”
“Yes, well, he does excel in being that,” Charity sighed. “I suppose I’d best go up and give him my well wishes for a swift recovery. But I do thank you, for the tea and the conversation. I didn’t expect you would be quite so pleasant to me.”
“It was my pleasure,” Phoebe said. And it had been, truly. “I’d be happy to host you for tea again, if you’re willing.”
“That would be lovely,” Charity said, and she reached out to touch Phoebe’s hand. “A little advice, if I might be so forward. He can be a difficult man. Pigheaded, stubborn, prone to sulks if he finds himself thwarted in his aims. But his bark is worse than his bite.” She rose from her chair, smoothing out the blue silk of her skirt. “In fact, under the right circumstances, you’ll find his bite is pleasant indeed.”
∞∞∞
Chris tossed the bracelet in Phoebe’s direction hardly a second after she had entered his room, and she fumbled to catch it. “There,” he said. “I’ll have you know it cost me the promise of a sapphire necklace to gain the return of it. I’ve half a mind to take the price of it from your allowance.”
Phoebe lifted her brows in disbelief. “You don’t give me an allowance,” she said.
“I don’t? How am I meant to deduct the cost of the necklace from it, then? Sapphires do notcome cheaply.” With an imperious gesture of his hand, he said, “Tell Brooks to write to my solicitor on my behalf and instruct him to provide you with asuitable allowance, so that I may retract it until the necklace is paid for.”
“I will do no such thing,” Phoebe said. “Besides, it is only your own fault.”
“It is not!” With some effort, he levered himself up on an elbow, stifling a grimace. “Yougave it to her. I merely reclaimed it.”
“Well, how was I to know it was meant for me?” Phoebe asked. “I made a perfectly reasonable assumption given the circumstances. You made the promise; the consequences of it are yours alone to bear.”
“Mouthy wench,” Chris grumbled, and sank back upon the pillow. “Sit,” he ordered, with a flippant gesture at the chair that remained positioned near the bed, which she supposed Charity had most recently occupied. “It’s painful, having to peer up at you. If you’re going to argue, do me the courtesy of doing it while seated. Besides, I need someone to change my bandage.”
“Then you ought to have called someone to help,” she chided as she settled onto the chair. The bracelet was cool within the cup of her hand. She wondered how difficult it had been for Charity to pry the promise of a sapphire necklace from him.
“I did,” he said. “Did you not hear me shouting?”
“Notme. Haddington, or—or Brooks, perhaps.”
“Haddington’s hands are somewhat less than gentle,” he said. “I suppose he’s too accustomed to keeping clothing in order. Thought he’d press and fold me like a shirt when he was done last evening.”
“Brooks, then,” she said, tucking the bracelet into her pocket.
“Brooks is Brooks,” he said irritably. “He’d do it, but I’m not in a mood to hear him natter on about the inconvenience of it all. You’ve patched me up before,” he added. “And look. My knuckles have healed without so much as a scar to show for it.” He presented his hand for her inspection as if she should behonored by the praise he had bestowed upon her, for his judgment of her competency for such a task.
“Yes, well, you’ve got enough of them already, I suppose,” she said.
“And you’d have reason to know. What with the way you had your hands all over me evening last.”
“Oooh!” Cheeks stinging with mortified heat, Phoebe popped up from the chair and fisted her hands upon her hips. “Change your own damned bandage you—you—”
“Wait,” he called, the hum of a laugh in his voice. “You can’t just leave. I can’t even reach the bell pull on my own. Could takeagesto get anyone else in.”
“I’ll be kind enough to pull it for you,” she fumed as she turned for the door.
“Phoebe,” he said plaintively. “You can’t leave me alone. I’m ill.”
Her hand curled around the cord. “You’re not ill,” she said. “You’ve been shot. The surgeon was confident that you’ll recover.”
“I’m weak as a kitten,” he insisted. “And I think I’ve got a fever.”
