Splat! The trousers clung to the wall for a moment, then slid slowly to the
floor. The shirt sailed over the bed in a perfect arc. Naked and
shivering on the carpet, Niall Flanagan handed over his socks.
"Now get into that tub and scrub all over." Sam Marston dropped the bar of soap into the water with unsubtle emphasis. "Or I'll do it for you." The boy scrambled to obey. His sister gathered up his clothes and began to hang them on the backs of chairs in front of the fire.
"You're still angry." Elliott Marston leaned against the doorjamb. It was a strategic vantage point, offering a full view of the room as well as safe retreat. Both were important to him at the moment.
That the night's excursion had been unproductive he'd known even as he made his way back through the garden to the lane. But the true depths of the failure only became apparent when he discovered that his reluctant lawyer and his excited young brother-in-law had been joined by a third person: his irate wife.
Who apparently was not speaking to him. With the exception of one scorching glare before they began to walk back to Belle's, Sam had not favored him with any recognition at all. And the temperature had been steadily dropping ever since.
"Niall, as soon as you're finished, I want you to dry yourself off and go to bed." Sam finished spreading out the wet clothing. "We'll take care of the tub in the morning."
"I want to -" Niall began. She turned to look at him. He stopped and hurriedly resumed scrubbing.
"We'll see you at breakfast, Niall." Sam spoke gently. "Not one minute before. Good night."
Marston stepped back quickly as she passed through the door. He pulled the door shut and followed her down the hall into their room. The covers were thrown back on the bed and a nightgown was on the floor, mute testimony to the rapidity with which its owner had dressed. Sam was sitting at the table, her head propped on her hand. The lamp cast shadows over her features.
He closed the door and hesitated, trying to gauge her mood. She didn't seem angry at the moment but it was possible that she'd simply moved to a higher state of rage. Perhaps a neutral comment would be best.
"I'm satisfied that Jasper Connaught doesn't know anything that can help us." He slipped into the other chair at the table. "He certainly couldn't give me any names. So our next step should be to - "
"Don't, Elliott." It came out in a tired, dispirited voice. She didn't even lift her head.
"Don't what?" He frowned, not liking her tone at all.
"Don't talk about 'us' and 'we' and 'our' unless you really mean it." She finally looked at him. "Do you know how I felt when I woke up and you weren't in bed? Not only not in bed but also not in the house?"
"I didn't want you to worry, darling." If it sounded lame to him, he could imagine how it seemed to her. "It could have been dangerous. I want you to be safe."
"I want you to be safe too. Or didn't that occur to you?" Her passive state was finally shattered. She rose to her feet and paced the carpet. "I think I've shown that I can keep my head in a tight spot. A couple of times it's even helped you out of trouble."
Marston grimaced as he thought of his visit to the bank and her escapade as a robber. Even now the incident had the power to curdle his gut with fear but he had to admit that she was right.
"You're right. I should have told you where I was going and what I planned to do. It won't happen again." He felt it was a heroic admission and waited for her reaction.
"You mean you should have taken me along." She looked over her shoulder at him from her position at the window.
"I meant no such thing." A man had to take a stand somewhere. He remembered distinctly that his marriage vows had said something about cherishing and protecting. Hers had mentioned obeying and honoring but he felt it would be a bad tactical move to bring up that subject.
She turned fully around and put her hands on her hips. Whatever she started to say was interrupted by a fusillade of gunfire in the street below. Behind her the glass shattered and sprayed the vicinity with needle- like shards. Sam had only time to scream once before she fell to the floor in a heap.
"Now get into that tub and scrub all over." Sam Marston dropped the bar of soap into the water with unsubtle emphasis. "Or I'll do it for you." The boy scrambled to obey. His sister gathered up his clothes and began to hang them on the backs of chairs in front of the fire.
"You're still angry." Elliott Marston leaned against the doorjamb. It was a strategic vantage point, offering a full view of the room as well as safe retreat. Both were important to him at the moment.
That the night's excursion had been unproductive he'd known even as he made his way back through the garden to the lane. But the true depths of the failure only became apparent when he discovered that his reluctant lawyer and his excited young brother-in-law had been joined by a third person: his irate wife.
Who apparently was not speaking to him. With the exception of one scorching glare before they began to walk back to Belle's, Sam had not favored him with any recognition at all. And the temperature had been steadily dropping ever since.
"Niall, as soon as you're finished, I want you to dry yourself off and go to bed." Sam finished spreading out the wet clothing. "We'll take care of the tub in the morning."
"I want to -" Niall began. She turned to look at him. He stopped and hurriedly resumed scrubbing.
"We'll see you at breakfast, Niall." Sam spoke gently. "Not one minute before. Good night."
Marston stepped back quickly as she passed through the door. He pulled the door shut and followed her down the hall into their room. The covers were thrown back on the bed and a nightgown was on the floor, mute testimony to the rapidity with which its owner had dressed. Sam was sitting at the table, her head propped on her hand. The lamp cast shadows over her features.
He closed the door and hesitated, trying to gauge her mood. She didn't seem angry at the moment but it was possible that she'd simply moved to a higher state of rage. Perhaps a neutral comment would be best.
"I'm satisfied that Jasper Connaught doesn't know anything that can help us." He slipped into the other chair at the table. "He certainly couldn't give me any names. So our next step should be to - "
"Don't, Elliott." It came out in a tired, dispirited voice. She didn't even lift her head.
"Don't what?" He frowned, not liking her tone at all.
"Don't talk about 'us' and 'we' and 'our' unless you really mean it." She finally looked at him. "Do you know how I felt when I woke up and you weren't in bed? Not only not in bed but also not in the house?"
"I didn't want you to worry, darling." If it sounded lame to him, he could imagine how it seemed to her. "It could have been dangerous. I want you to be safe."
"I want you to be safe too. Or didn't that occur to you?" Her passive state was finally shattered. She rose to her feet and paced the carpet. "I think I've shown that I can keep my head in a tight spot. A couple of times it's even helped you out of trouble."
Marston grimaced as he thought of his visit to the bank and her escapade as a robber. Even now the incident had the power to curdle his gut with fear but he had to admit that she was right.
"You're right. I should have told you where I was going and what I planned to do. It won't happen again." He felt it was a heroic admission and waited for her reaction.
"You mean you should have taken me along." She looked over her shoulder at him from her position at the window.
"I meant no such thing." A man had to take a stand somewhere. He remembered distinctly that his marriage vows had said something about cherishing and protecting. Hers had mentioned obeying and honoring but he felt it would be a bad tactical move to bring up that subject.
She turned fully around and put her hands on her hips. Whatever she started to say was interrupted by a fusillade of gunfire in the street below. Behind her the glass shattered and sprayed the vicinity with needle- like shards. Sam had only time to scream once before she fell to the floor in a heap.