Page 80 of In the Prince's Bed
“You know I wouldn’t care about something like that.”
“But your mother would. I didn’t think she’d be impressed to hear I was living at the Stephens Hotel.”
He took a step toward Katherine, but she stepped back quickly, still wary. “Do you care so much what Mama thinks of you?”
“You want her approval for our marriage, don’t you?”
“You know very well she’ll approve.” Her eyebrow cocked up. “She’s terribly pleased that you’re an earl.”
“Butyou’renot. You’d prefer Sir Sydney, the poet,” he said acidly, unable to squelch his jealousy.
“I’d prefer a man I can trust. I’m not entirely sure that’s you.”
Unfortunately, Katherine was too intelligent to be fooled by his flimsy excuses, so rational argument was futile. Only one tactic worked on her.
He headed purposefully for her. “You do trust me.” His gaze flicked down to her brooch. “Or you wouldn’t wear my gift. You trusted me to ride at you with a sword and not hurt you. You trusted me not to deflower you at Astley’s—”
“That was different,” she said, backing away. “You weren’t waltzing in from two days out of town without explaining or apologizing—”
“I’m apologizing now,” he said as he stalked her.
“Trying to kiss me is not apologizing.”
“It could be.” He reached for her.
She slapped his hand with her reticule, which was surprisingly heavy for such a flimsy-looking thing.
“Ow! What was that for?”
“For thinking you can get around me with kisses.” She put some distance between them. “Now stay back. I want to know why you’re here so late and why you couldn’t send a message.”
He rubbed his stinging hand in annoyance. “Because by the time I realized it would take me longer than expected to deal with things, it was too late to send a message.”
“What things?” she persisted.
“Estate matters—I told you.”
“Be specific, Alec. What estate matters?”
He scowled at her. “If you think I’ll be the sort of husband who reports to his wife every time he sneezes, think again.”
“You won’t be any sort of husband at all if you don’t give me some answers.”
He sucked in a lungful of orange-scented air. Blast her. She was too curious by half. And he was on very shaky ground. “I had to return to my estate to ensure the delivery of some plows and tillers we need for the spring planting. There, are you happy?”
“Why couldn’t your steward do it?”
“Because I fired my father’s thieving steward, and neither my tenants nor the local merchants know the new one well enough yet to trust him.” He cocked his head. “Forgive me for not explaining all this earlier, but I didn’t realize estate management is your hobby.”
Crossing her arms over her chest, she ignored his sarcasm. “ ‘To ensure the delivery’ took you two days?”
He gritted his teeth. “When the merchant refuses to honor his son’s word, it does. He wouldn’t deliver, so I had to make other arrangements, and that meant a stop in Hertfordshire at a friend’s estate.”
He was congratulating himself for telling her everything without lying when she said, “What other arrangements?”
“I’m in no mood to discuss all the workings of my estate,” he growled as he headed for her again. “After two days of dealing with stubborn merchants, suspicious tenants, and a worried steward, I’m in the mood for only one thing—reminding my intended which man she agreed to marry. Something she seems to have conveniently forgotten.”
Her eyes went wide as she started backing away again. “I didn’t forget. I-I was working up to telling him…”
