Chapter Sixteen

Hair Stylist

Part One

Roxton stumbled into the bedroom, peeling off his dress shirt and boots.  He was exhausted, the bed calling to him with urgency.  Marguerite was curled up on her side, breathing softly.  He gently crawled in beside her, draping an arm around her slender waist and resting his chin lightly on top of her head.  In moments he was asleep.

Marguerite cracked an eye open and uttered, "John?  You awake?"  She nudged him, rolling over onto her other side to be face to face with her husband.  "John," she hissed, running a hand seductively over his chest.  Satisfied that he was dead-to-the-world, she grinned mischievously and climbed off the bed.

Boy, in the morning was he going to be sorry he ever tangled with the Black-Widow-spy-Marguerite-Roxton.

Part Two

Roxton groaned and wished he could shoot every single bird in the jungle.  Grumbling, he hoisted himself out of bed, shocked to find that Marguerite was all ready gone.  He dressed quickly and bounded cheerfully into the kitchen where Veronica and Marguerite were giggling as they prepared breakfast.  He strolled over to wife and wrapped his arms around her, pecking the side of her creamy neck.  "Good morning, darling."

Marguerite froze, her eyes wide.  She slowly turned around in his embrace and stared up at him.  "Good morning, John," she answered sweetly.  "We're making toast and eggs.  I hope you're hungry."

"I am," he murmured huskily, capturing her mouth with his for a quick, but lustful kiss.  "I hope there'll be desert."

Marguerite swatted him with the spoon she had been using for the eggs.  "Lord Roxton, you scoundrel," she playfully scolded.

Veronica rolled her eyes, smiling herself.  "Roxton, why don't you round up the other two?  It's almost ready."

Roxton nodded at the younger woman then tore off towards Challenger's lab.  "Come, old man, the women have cooked a fine meal."

Challenger set down his latest contraption.  "All right, just let me – good God, man, what have you done?"  He shook his head, fumbling for words.  "I mean, not that it doesn't look smashing, it's just that…well…uh…"

Roxton wrinkled his eyebrows.  "What are you talking about?"

"You hair.  I just never thought…I mean…"

Roxton tentatively reached up to touch his precious hair.  "MARGUERITE!"

He raced up the stairs barking, "How could you do this?  You are the spawn of Satan you are!  I've never met a woman more devious or infuriating as you, Marguerite Krux!  You have no limit to your evil depths!"

By now he was storming towards his wife, but Marguerite backed away from him, using the table as a barrier between them.  "You've done some cruel things yourself, Lord John Roxton!  Need I remind you of the tea!  The dye in my lotion!  Or, even further back: the mud in the shower!"

"We buried that hatchet, Marguerite!  Along with you removing all the buttons from all my shirts!"  He marched around the table, but she kept eluding him.  "But I thought you dying my clothes was taking a step to far – luckily the dye came out!  But this…this…is a leap over the fence!"

Veronica glanced between the two.  "Marguerite, you told me he wanted his hair – "

"She what!"  Roxton tossed his anger at Veronica.  "Are you saying she told you to do this!"

"No, it's just this morning she said that last night you let her do it.  It's what you wanted."

"Why the hell would I want this!"  He glared back at his wife, his eyes dangerously dark.  "I'm through," he seethed; his deep, quiet tone more frightening than his yelling.  "You've made your point, Miss Krux.  You win whatever sick game you've been playing.  I'm out of here."  He calmly walked away.

Marguerite rushed after him.  "John!  Wait!  I'm sorry!"  She caught up to him in their room where he was packing his satchel.  "John?  John, what are you doing?"

He ignored her, stepping around her to gather up his weapons.

"John, please, it was only a joke.  A stupid, childish prank.  We've always pulled little stunts."

"Little?" He whirled on her.  "You call this little!  You shaved all my hair off!"

"I know and I'm sorry!  It'll grow back!"

"That's not the point, Marguerite," he sighed bitterly.  "And until you realize that, this marriage won't work."

"I do realize it!  I do!  Come on, John, don't do this.  I'm not the only one who's been acting childish lately.  You drugged my tea.  You put orange dye in my lotion."

"No, Marguerite, I didn't."

And then he was gone.

NOTES:  I know I know…this story is turning sour.  I'll patch it up in the next chapter.  I swear!

End Chapter Sixteen

Zeusfluff:  I had a relapse, but I'm beginning to feel better now.  Thank you for caring.

LoveMR:  Bet you never thought she'd shave his hair off!  EEK!  I LOVE HIS HAIR!

A. Windsor:  Lord Roxton is devious…and Marguerite's just as bad!

Keys3303:  Marguerite didn't just get even; she got even!

Fab:  I wouldn't have it any other way: they belong together!

ChosenOne3:  I didn't mean for Veronica to come off bitchy.  She's just concerned.  But hey, everyone reads into things differently.  Yet, I do think you're right about them needing a woman-to-woman chat.

MissMeganJane:  Surprise!  I think this chapter will really throw people in for the loop.  HIS POOR HAIR!