HE’D COME TO HER. ANASTASIA HADN’T HAD TO GO out and be “seen” in places that Christopher might frequent, hoping to run into him. It wasn’t going to take weeks, as she’d suspected it would. He’d come to her, and the very next day after her official “launching.”

She shouldn’t read anything into it, other than that Elizabeth’s prior rumor-spreading had paid off, yet Anastasia couldn’t help doing so. He was here, and so soon. And she discounted that he was staring green daggers at her. She had expected him to seriously disapprove of what she’d done, considering how he felt about commoners and nobles mixing socially, let alone more permanently.

She was doing a bit more than that, she was pretending to be something she wasn’t, not her idea, but she certainly hadn’t balked at it. It would be in line with Christopher’s rigid beliefs to denounce her for it. But he didn’t, at least not immediately. He spoke with Victoria. Now he was speaking with William. And all the while she was kept in suspense, waiting to see what he would do.

It was impossible to continue to carry on conversations with her admirers when her heart was slamming in anticipation, when her every thought was centered on the large, handsome man across the room, rather than on what was being said to her. If she’d said one word since he walked into the room, she’d certainly never recall it.

She was about to excuse herself and approach Christopher, unable to wait a moment longer when her future happiness was at stake here. But she didn’t have to. He began walking directly to her, and his expression had only changed slightly. It was decidedly determined, implacable, and somewhat menacing, a combination that didn’t bode too well for Anastasia’s hopes.

She held her breath. It wasn’t hard to tell that her attention was utterly transfixed, which had the men around her all glancing toward Christopher as well.

She anticipated an embarrassing scene at that point. What she didn’t expect was a very calm, “You’ll have to excuse Anastasia, gentlemen. I have a matter to discuss with her that requires privacy.”

That, of course, was not met with agreeably, considering the men around her had been almost fighting to retain her attention. It was Adam Sheffield who pretty much summed up, or tried to sum up, their general reaction with, “Now see here, Malory, you can’t just—”

Christopher cut that off curtly. “Can’t I? Beg to differ, dear boy. A husband has rather pertinent rights, some of which even come in quite handy.”

“Husband?”

That was twice more repeated in the shocked silence Christopher left behind him. He didn’t stay to elaborate, had no intention of explaining himself. He simply took Anastasia’s hand and led her out of the parlor.