Page 73 of If the Slipper Fits
“Nearly.” She abandoned her efforts to dry her hair and ran on tiptoes toward the armoire where she’d hung a morning dress meant for tomorrow.
Eschewing a chemise in the interest of time, she yanked the gown off its hanger and tugged it over her head, wrestling it over still-clammy skin. She tightened the ribbon at her bodice with clumsy, half-frozen fingers.
She faced him. “You can open your eyes now.”
He stirred, eyelids slowly lifting. He uncrossed, then recrossed his ankles, cocking his head to study her.
“Go sit near the hearth where it’s warm, Gloriana.” With that, he unfolded himself from the chair.
She padded to the wingback armchair, the wooden planks warming under her bare feet as she neared the grate. She sank into the chair. The cushions were deliciously toasty and their heat flowed through the folds of her gown, cocooning her with warmth. She groaned.
In the act of dragging the cart, Caden stumbled, cursing under his breath.
“Everything all right?” she asked.
“Fine,” he muttered, situating the table in front of her.
He removed the cover from her dish, filled a goblet of wine and handed it to her, then strode back to the window. He grasped the wooden chair he’d vacated with one hand, returned to place it opposite hers with the table between them, and resumed his seat.
He picked up his fork, pausing before continuing his meal. He frowned at her untouched dish. “You need to eat something, Anna.”
Her heartbeat thumped painfully in her chest as hope blossomed inside her. “Why are you being so nice to me?”
He scooped up a bite, lips twitching as he chewed. He dabbed his napkin at his lips. “When it’s so obviously not in my nature, you mean? You were expecting me to look after my own needs and to hell with yours? Not to worry. You’re in fine company with that opinion.”
“Don’t.”
He smiled in sardonic amusement, his eyes glinting glacial blue. “Beg pardon?”
“Please don’t turn my words into something ugly. I meant why are you being so nice to me whenI don’t deserve it?”
He gazed at her for an interminable minute, an unreadable expression on his beautiful face. “I’m not being overly-kind. I’m doing what any man in my position would do.”
She disagreed, but before she could argue the point, he went on.
“You stopped your tale with finding yourself penniless. What happened next?”
She had her answer. The bath, the food, all his small niceties, owed to nothing more than his inherent chivalry. He no longer had any special feeling for her, if he ever had.
Little fool. As her father often said, “If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.”
He cocked his head. “I don’t follow.”
She’d spoken her thoughts aloud again. She must be more exhausted than she realized. “It’s just an expression.”
Her answer seemed to baffle him.
She went on before he could ask again. “Things went from bad to worse. Not only were we penniless, we were drowning in debt, in imminent jeopardy of losing the house, all our belongings, and likely bound for the workhouse to pay off father’s debts—or worse.”
Their eyes met. For a split second, she thought she saw a flicker of compassion in his eyes, rather than the infernal detached curiosity.
“Angelique came up with a plan—to save us, she said. She said the simplest solution was for me to marry. When I pointed out I hadn’t any suitors, she brought the Baron to meet me. Before I knew it, a contract was drawn-up and signed, and we both moved into his” Her face crumpled in distaste—“home in London. She insisted the living situation would enable he and I to become better acquainted.”
His jaw tightened in evident disapproval. “I see. And did it?”
Anna stirred her stew, recalling the dark, and dingy ramshackle of a mansion that she soon realized was more of a prison than an abode.
She shook her head. “Oddly, the man was not in residence—at first.”
