Anthony sanded the missive. It was abrupt and very commanding. He was certain she’d hate it. She didn’t have the nose of a Roman emperor for nothing.

He rang for the footman, pleased with himself. He was baiting her, teasing her for amusement’s sake alone. It was childish in a way, he supposed. But it was also the most fun he’d had in a long, long time.

A discreet knock on the door heralded the footman. Anthony gave the man the missive and sent him off to the nursery. Then, satisfied, he settled back in his chair and waited. Dalmapple decided to take the opportunity to redirect his attention to the affairs of the estate, but Anthony waved him out, telling him that he’d meet with him on the morrow.

As Dalmapple left, sniffing as if in a huff, Anthony imagined Anna’s hair curling over her bared shoulders, caressing the line of her naked breasts and the flat plane of her stomach. The image heated him instantly and he had to shift in his chair to accommodate his reaction. He did indeed want Thraxton in his bed. Unclothed and ready for some sport. An hour or two should do it, he decided charitably. Maybe three.

Anthony glanced at the window where the rain lashed against the pane. It would have been pleasant to have awakened with Thraxton in his bed this morning, where their passion would have brightened an otherwise dreary day. Did she wear a gown to bed? He would bet his last penny she did—a long, overly frilled and heavily ribboned monstrosity of a gown, no doubt. One that hid her figure thoroughly.

Perhaps he would buy her something scandalously filmy. The thought took root and he sat musing over the merits of pale pink silk and gossamer white lace until a polite knock on the door interrupted his musings. The footman returned, a crisply folded missive on his tray. Anthony tried to still his disappointment that the intemperate Miss Thraxton had not stormed into his library, her passions in an uproar.

He took the note from the footman and gestured for the man to wait.

Greyley,

While I was charmed to receive such a politely worded invitation, I feel I must decline. I have many duties to see to today and you, my lord, are not one of them.

Sincerely,
Thraxton

Anthony leaned back in his chair and propped his feet on his desk. Perhaps he’d been wrong—maybe he should use softer, gentler language, like Brand would use. Anthony snorted. Anna would scoff at such nonsense. No, a woman like Thraxton responded to direct handling and nothing else, like a wild horse that needed taming.

After a moment, he removed his feet from the desk, took pen in hand, and began to write.

Thraxton,

Not only do you owe me your life, but you are also in my employ. Meet me in the billiards room at ten or I will come and get you.

Yours,
Greyley

Anthony sanded the missive, then handed it to the waiting footman. Arms crossed behind his head, Anthony sat back in his chair and waited, whistling a refrain from a colorful song he suddenly remembered from his youth.