His eyes traced the delicate curve of her neck and her full, parted lips as she breathed. Her hair tumbled around her shoulders in waves that begged to be touched.
No. He’d left to avoid exactly those kinds of thoughts.
“She needs another blanket,” he said, desperate for a distraction.
Her eyes narrowed. “She’s perfectly warm.”
“The room is cold.”
“The room is fine.” She adjusted the baby carefully. “Unlike you, I actually know what I’m doing.”
“You’ve been at this for three days.”
“Which is three days more than you.”
“I’ve been managing estate business.”
“Of course you have.” The words dripped with sarcasm. “Heaven forbid you involve yourself in something as mundane as caring for an infant.”
They were circling each other with words; their voices lowered to furious whispers. Even in her exhausted state, her eyes blazed with a fire that did uncomfortable things to his composure.
“We need a wet nurse,” she said finally. “A proper one. Someone who knows about babies and can help with the nights.”
“Agreed. And we’ll want a nursemaid as well.” Owen’s tone remained businesslike. “Most households like ours employ both. The wet nurse for feeding, a nursemaid for everything else as she grows older. I’ll arrange interviews tomorrow.”
“I want to meet them. All of them. No more drunks.”
“Fine.”
“Good.”
“Good.”
They glared at each other again.
Owen’s gaze dropped to where her robe had loosened slightly at the collar. He raised his eyes back up.
“Get some rest,” he said stiffly.
“How thoughtful of you to suggest it.”
He left before he could do something foolish, but her scent followed him into the hallway.
Honey, he thought at first.
But there was something else too, something warm and feminine that made his head spin.
He stood there longer than necessary listening to her soft murmurs.
Several days later, Owen went down for breakfast at the usual hour. Peters had everything arranged exactly as he preferred. The morning papers were perfectly pressed. His coffee was precisely at the right temperature.
The only thing missing was his wife.
“Has Her Grace come down?” he asked when the butler appeared with fresh toast.
“No, Your Grace. She requested a tray be sent to her rooms.”
Owen’s jaw tightened. “And yesterday? Did she take any meals in the dining room?”
