But there was no forgetting Rowena.

Moira evidently was thinking the same thing, for she rolled up on her elbow, her expression serious. “If we’re to present the façade of a married couple to Ross, then this sort of thing is a good idea.”

He laughed. “You’re right.” With a playful kiss on her nose, he rose to fetch one of the cloths on the washstand. He cleaned himself, then wet a clean cloth for her.

She thanked him while he went to pick up his clothes. “This cravat is ruined. Buffon will be devastated.”

“I’m fairly certain my chemise will never be wearable again.”

“Then we’re even. My cravat for your chemise.”

“So long as it’s not your coat. I know how you prize them.” She tossed the cloth to the washstand, then sat up and pulled the sheet over her.

“They are specially made and very expensive.” His eyes glinted with humor. “But if I had to make a choice between this and my best coats, the coats would lose.”

“I’m glad to know I’m thought so highly of.” Moira pushed her hair over her shoulder. “I would give up at least two chemises for this.”

He chuckled and began to dress. “We always were good together in bed.”

“Yes, we match well on that level.” She pulled her knees up and clasped her arms about them, the sheet smooth over her skin.

He watched her every move, his gaze still heated.

Why, he’s thinking about coming back to bed. She scooted to one side, surprised at the way her body, which still hummed with pleasure, readied at the thought.

A regretful look crossed his face as he picked up his trousers and pulled them on. “I wish I could spend the morning in bed, but the servants will bring your bath soon. I also have a few horses to sell before we leave.”

“Oh?”

“I returned Aniston’s men, but I kept his horses.” Robert’s smile glinted. “I hope he needs them badly.” He pulled on his boots and then his coat.

She watched as he tossed the ruined cravat into a corner, then crossed to the wardrobe and removed his portmanteau to find another. His hair was mussed, his shirt open and loose, yet he still retained his air of fashion.

It is the way he carries himself, as if he doesn’t give a damn what anyone thinks. There is no more powerful force than true unconcern.

He found a cravat and centered it about his neck, and then tied it with a few expert twists, securing it in place with a sapphire pin that matched his eyes. He tucked in his shirt, smoothed his waistcoat, and then ran his fingers through his dark hair.

She was a bit disgruntled that he could go from disheveled to perfection in such little time. It would take her several hours just to dry her hair.

He picked up his hat and opened the door. “I will return once I’ve seen to the sale of the horses. There’s a farmer nearby who the innkeeper believes is looking for some good stock, so I shouldn’t be long.”