His mind must be playing tricks on him, he decided, or else it was the liquor—though in actual fact he hadn’t imbibed that much, certainly not enough to get him so foxed he would be seeing things. Studying her, he watched as she stretched out against the sheets, her long hair spilling over the pillows as he’d earlier fantasized. His eyes narrowed, wondering why she’d changed her mind. He’d never known Mallory to be untruthful, yet he wondered if she had been dissembling when she’d said she hadn’t had another nightmare. Was she scared and in want of company, but knew he was in too dreadful a mood to comfort her right now? Had she been dreaming of Hargreaves again, yet hesitated to mention it for fear of upsetting him further? Well, if that was the case, she could get out of his bed right now and return to hers. She was sadly mistaken if she thought he would act like some damned eunuch and lie there next to her without claiming his husbandly rights.
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