Married For Real. Lindsay Armstrong

      CHAPTER THREE

      THEY had a custom, she and Cloris, that on Saturday mornings, Cloris brought her tea and toast in bed, and on Sunday mornings she did the same for Cloris. Not that Arizona took the opportunity to rise late often on Saturdays, but Cloris very much enjoyed being cosseted on a Sunday morning and having the opportunity to read the Sunday papers that were delivered early in peace.

      But on this Saturday when Cloris came with her tea, Arizona woke from a deep sleep after spending most of the night tossing and turning, felt dreadful and unwisely mentioned this to Cloris while she was still half asleep then said that she wouldn’t be down early if Cloris could hold the fort.

      The result of this was that ten minutes later there was a knock on her door. She called out wearily to come in, expecting one of the children, but it was Declan Holmes who did.

      She was lying back against the pillows with her knees drawn up and her cup of tea in her hands resting on them, and for a moment she stared at him, stunned. He wore jeans, a khaki shirt with patch pockets and short brown riding boots, he was shaved, his thick dark hair was still damp from the shower and he looked alert but inscrutable.

      ‘What are you doing here?’ she got out at last as their gazes clashed.

      ‘Morning, Arizona,’ he replied, his blue gaze drifting from her unbrushed hair looped behind her ears to her pink cotton nightshirt with a teddy bear’s picnic on the front, then moving briefly around the lovely room. ‘What’s wrong with you?’ he added.

      Her lips parted and she frowned. ‘Nothing’s wrong with me and I don’t know why you feel you have the right to—’

      ‘Then why is Cloris convinced you’re sickening for something?’ he broke in.

      Arizona closed her eyes. ‘I didn’t tell her I was feeling sick!’

      ‘She said you said you were feeling dreadful and that it was quite unlike you to want to stay in bed and she’s wondering whether she should ring the doctor.’

      Arizona muttered something inaudible then took a deep breath and gazed bitterly at Declan Holmes. ‘I don’t know how I put up with her sometimes.’

      His lips twisted in a faint smile. ‘She has your best interests at heart.’

      ‘I know that. I...’ She tailed off frustratedly.

      ‘So you didn’t tell her you were feeling dreadful and wanted to stay in bed?’

      ‘Yes...no... I mean, yes, I did, but not because—look, I’m fine,’ she said coldly, ‘and I don’t appreciate your being here like this, so—’

      ‘Then if it’s not your health—’ he overrode her coolly ‘—you’ve been working yourself into a state about this self-imposed trap you’re walking into. Is that it, Arizona?’ he drawled, his eyes curiously mocking. ‘May I give you some advice?’

      She opened her mouth, closed it then said wearily, ‘I don’t suppose I can stop you. Just don’t expect me to act on it, Declan.’

      He paused, glanced out of the window and said as if changing topics, ‘It’s a beautiful morning, Arizona. The rain has gone, the ground is steaming gently in clear bright sunshine and smelling delicious. Two horses are saddled, moreover, as eager to have a good gallop before breakfast as I am, and you would be, too—if you weren’t lying in bed feeling sorry for yourself and building traps,’ he said softly and significantly.

      Arizona put her cup down, tossed aside the bedclothes and sprang up. ‘Go away!’ she commanded. ‘I will not be treated like this.’

      He looked her up and down, and his gaze lingered on the long expanse of slim legs her nightshirt exposed. ‘Like a child?’ he suggested gently, his eyes coming back to hers. ‘Then why don’t you stop behaving like one? Do you always wear teddy bears to bed?’ he added quizzically and went on thoughtfully. ‘I would have imagined you in something sexier, to go with your lovely bedroom.’