Silverbridge by Joan Wolf

food.
    She went to the window to see if the catering truck was still there. It was, but the caterers were packing up to leave.
    Damn. Tracy had crawled into bed in her clothes, and she looked with disgust at her wrinkled turtleneck and jeans. She turned from the window to see if her clothes from London had arrived.
    Someone had placed a large leather suitcase and a smaller matching tote bag along the wall next to the door. A green garment bag was draped over a chair. Tracy heaved a sigh of relief and went to pull out some warm clothes. She had been delightfully toasty under the down comforter, but the air in the bedroom was decidedly colder than she was accustomed to.
    She wanted to take a shower before she dressed, and went into the plain, functional bathroom she was to share with Meg. The old white tub was long and narrow and, to Tracy’s relief, a striped shower curtain indicated the presence of a shower.
    The bathroom was freezing. Tracy started the shower and stripped off her clothes, praying that the water would be hot. It was. She climbed through the shower curtain, borrowed Meg’s soap and shampoo, and was out again in five minutes. She had no wish to linger and find that she had run out of hot water before she had washed the suds out of her hair.
    Shivering even more than before, she hurried into her underwear and a pair of wool slacks and a lavender cashmere sweater set, the kind of clothes she would wear to a gathering of friends in Connecticut. She couldn’t find a hair dryer in the bathroom, which, except for a few shelves holding towels, was utterly devoid of storage space, so she dried her hair as best she could with a towel. Then she set off for the morning room, hoping to find Jon.
    The person she encountered was Lord Silverbridge. He was sitting in a large, comfortable-looking wing chair with Ebony on his lap and a folded newspaper propped up on the chair’s arm so it was out of the little cat’s way. He looked up as Tracy came in.
    “Good evening,” he said. “Meggie said that you were sleeping. I hope you got a good rest.”
    His words were courteous, but his tone was indifferent. He was wearing a pair of horn-rimmed glasses that, outrageously, made him look even more handsome than usual.
    He could have been the twin of the man she had seen in the drawing room.
    “Yes, thank you, my lord,” she replied expression lessly.
    “You must forgive my not getting up, but Ebony dislikes being disturbed.”
    Tracy narrowed her eyes. You arrogant bastard, you’re the one who dislikes being disturbed. “Where are Meg and Jon?” she asked.
    “They still appear to be shooting down in the garden. I haven’t seen either of them since I got in.”
    Tracy looked at the paper he was holding. “Is that an evening edition?”
    “It is indeed,” he replied. “And there is a picture of you prominently displayed.”
    Tracy cursed.
    “You look quite fetching in your pajamas,” Lord Silverbridge went on. He turned the paper around and held it out to her. “Here, would you like to see?”
    She took the paper from him silently and regarded the picture that Jason Counes had taken at the fire. He had caught her smiling at Jon.
    “Damn,” she said. “Now the gossip will start that I’m having an affair with Jon.”
    “Are you?” he asked blandly. Then, as she glared at him, he held up his hand. “I’m sorry. I know all too well how the press can distort things.”
    There was a bitter note in his voice, and Tracy remembered Jon’s story about Silverbridge’s relationship with a model. Then her stomach gurgled, and she said, “I missed dinner, and the catering truck is leaving. Is there any way I could get some food? Are there any area restaurants that deliver?”
    “No.” He took off his glasses and rested them on top of a table. Very gently he shooed the little cat off his lap. She leaped to the floor with a protesting squawk, gave Tracy an indignant glare, and began to clean her paws.
    “I’ll take