Page 71 of Surrender Your Grace
Strong arms closed around her legs. “I have you,” Andrew growled from below as he plucked her off the ladder.
Not entirely convinced, her fingers tangled in his hair like an invasive vine.
“Let go, woman, before you snatch me bald.”
“I was looking for instructional material,” she said, hiccupping again. Then her world turned upside down as he tossed her over his shoulder like a sack of turnips.
“Looks like you found mischief instead,” he muttered, delivering a firm swat to her upturned backside. “I’m taking my wife to her room. Duncan, see that Maggie gets safely to hers. I’ll deal with her in the morning.”
Brandy still clouded her thoughts as he carried her out, but not enough to miss the patent boots of the footmen standing at attention in the hall.
Mortified, she buried he face in his coat. “Andrew, this is beyond humiliating. Please put me down. I can walk.”
“I think not. You forfeited that privilege the moment you climbed a ladder drunk, puffing my cigars and draining my best brandy.”
He reached her rooms, kicked the door shut behind them, and dropped her unceremoniously onto the bed. Struggling upright, she brushed her hair from her eyes and looked up at her irate husband.
“Imagine my shock, standing there with a guest, listening to my wife lament her fruitless search for a sex manual in my private study. What do you have to say for yourself, Cecilia?”
Uh-oh. Full name. That always meant trouble.
“It was only Lord Rothbury! And we locked the door!”
“Did you think I wouldn’t have a key? What if it hadn’t been Duncan? What if it had been a peer—or Scorpion Stanley himself?”
She blinked at him in confusion.
“The prime minister,” he supplied. “My message said I’d return tonight—and that we were receiving important guests.”
Her breath caught. A chill crept through her brandy-warmed body. “I received no such message,” she whispered.
Though, truthfully, she might’ve ignored it. They’d laughed through the knocking—twice. Foolishly. Now the price was painfully clear.
“I wasn’t expecting you today. Not in this weather.”
“That doesn’t excuse your behavior.”
The thought of the prime minister finding her mid-cigar, halfway up a ladder, foxed from brandy, made her stomach lurch. Shame sobered her instantly. “You’re right. I don’t know what came over me. I’m sorry.”
“If you aren’t yet, you will be.”
Her head snapped up. “I beg your pardon?”
Andrew exhaled sharply, his jaw tense. “We’ll discuss it later—when you’re not soused. Right now, I have guests to receive. You won’t be playing hostess in your current state. You’re confined to your room to reflect on your choices.”
Turning, he strode toward the door.
“You can’t just banish me like a child,” she protested, trailing after him. Her foot caught the bench leg near her vanity. Pain shot up her shin. She cursed under her breath, then looked up—only to find him staring, arms folded, eyes incredulous.
“It’s funny you should say that. I have never felt more like a parent than I do right now.” He let that sink in. “I’m pressed for time, so expect to feel the full brunt of my displeasure later tonight. Until then, you will remain here.”
She nodded, and her short-lived rebellion ended. “I never meant to embarrass you, Andrew.”
“You’re fortunate that it was only Duncan. Had it been anyone else, you’d be over my knee feeling the extent of my embarrassment and displeasure.” He walked back to her, cupped her face gently, and kissed her brow. “Your apology is accepted,” he murmured. “But we both know remorse isn’t the same as change.”
A tear slid down her cheek. She swiped it away, angry with herself. He thought of her as a child. How could he want her when he saw her that way?
“I’ll have a tray sent up,” he said. “And hold on to those tears. You may need them before the night is over.”
