Page 102 of The Truth About Lord Stoneville
Then a knock came at the door. With alarm in her face, she touched a finger to his lips. He caught it between his teeth, swirling his tongue over the tip, watching with avid interest as her eyes darkened to molten sapphire.
When the knock came again, he choked back a curse and rolled off of her.
“What is it?” she called out.
“Is Freddy in there with you, Maria? I thought I heard voices.”
Recognizing Pinter’s raspy tones, Oliver scowled.
“No, he’s not here.” She sat up, but Oliver pulled herback down and threw one leg over hers to hold her in place as he trailed kisses along her collarbone.
“Well, he wasn’t at the pie shop,” Pinter said through the door. “The innkeeper said he’d been here, but went off again. He didn’t know where.”
Oliver emitted a soft growl of frustration against her shoulder, and she bit her lip, clearly stifling a laugh.
“He probably went in search of more food,” she called out. “Check any other cookshops and inns. I’m sure he hasn’t gone far.”
“Perhaps you should come with me to look—”
“I can’t,” she cut in. “I . . . I’m not feeling well.”
“Should I fetch the innkeeper’s wife?” he queried, his voice a mixture of concern and suspicion.
“No!” she cried. “I’m not dressed.”
“Now that’s an understatement,” Oliver whispered against her ear.
“Just . . . go look for Freddy while I rest,” she called to Pinter. “I’m sure I’ll be feeling much better by the time you find him.”
“I canpromiseyou’ll be feeling better, sweetheart,” Oliver murmured, nipping her ear for good measure.
She gave him a chastening glance even as she fought a smile.
“All right,” Pinter said. “But I should like to leave here by noon at the latest. We need to consult a lawyer about building a case against Hyatt before he has time to build one against you.”
Maria’s smile vanished.
What the devil?
“I’m sure I’ll be fine by then,” she called to the door. “Just find Freddy.”
Only when his footsteps moved down the stairs did Oliver feel free to speak. “What is Pinter talking about? What case against you?”
“It’s nothing,” she said and began to kiss his chest.
But he could tell she was merely trying to distract him. She was in trouble. That was unacceptable. And a husband’s first duty was to get his wife out of trouble. “It damned well isn’t nothing if Pinter is itching to talk to you about it. Tell me what has happened.”
“I’d rather not.”
He pinned her beneath him with a warning glance. “I told you what you wanted to know about me. Now it’s your turn.”
She worried her lower lip with her teeth. “You must promise not to do anything about it.”
“I’m not promising that, angel. You know better.”
“Then I’m not telling you,” she said with a familiar set of her jaw.
“Then I’ll have to ask Pinter to tell me, won’t I?” He pushed himself off her and threw his legs over the edge of the bed.
