47.

"Did you ever stop to think that perhaps I might want to talk to someone who at least pretends to like me?" Cassy countered, her eyes clashing with Henry's. "Zack has never said or done anything out of the way, and when I talk to him, I don't have to watch every word I say!"

"That's because he doesn't care who is in your bed. I do," Henry grated furiously, glaring back at her over the rim of his brandy snifter.

The ride back from Theresa's ball had been just as quiet as the ride there and Henry had given Cassy no opportunity to evade him as he'd propelled her up the stairs and into his bed-chamber. Now, he stood watching her like a hungry predator, his eyes as green and narrowed and watchful as a panther's.

Shifting uneasily, Cassy edged toward the door connecting their bedchambers, well aware that he was watching her with a coolly lifted brow. "I don't suppose," she said when he remained across the room, "that it would do me any good to care whose bed you slept in?" She refused to all