now we're married, and you want to—"
"Seduce you?" he finished for her.
She blushed. "Must you say it out loud?"
"It is hardly a secret, Ellie."
"I know, but—"
He touched her chin. "What happened to the fire-breathing woman who tended my ankle, bruised my ribs, and never once let me get die last word?"
"She wasn't married to you," Ellie retorted. "She didn't belong to you in the eyes of God and England."
"And in your eyes?"
"I belong to myself."
"I'd prefer to think that we belong to each other," he mused. "Or with each other."
Ellie thought that was rather a nice way of putting it, but she still said, "It doesn't change the fact that legally, you can do anything you want with me."
"But I have promised that I won't. Not without your permission." When she didn't say anything, he added, "I would think that that would give you leave to relax a bit in my presence. To act more like yourself."
Ellie considered this. His words made sense, but they didn't allow for the fact that her heart raced at triple speed every time he reached out to touch her chin or smooth her hair. She could manage to ignore her attraction to him when they were talking—conversations with him were so enjoyable that she felt as if she were chatting with an old friend. But every so often they would fall silent, and then she'd catch him looking at her like a hungry cat, and her insides would quiver, and—
She shook her head. Thinking about all of this was not helping her in the least.
"Is something wrong?" Charles inquired.
"No!" she said, more forcefully than she'd intended. "No," she said again, this time with a bit more grace. "But I do need to unpack, and I'm very tired, and I'm sure you're very tired."
"Your point being?"
She took his arm and nudged him through the connecting door into his own room. "Just that it has been a most tiring day, and I'm certain we both need some rest. Good night."
"Good—" Charles let out a curse under his breath. The minx had shut the door right in his face.
And he hadn't even had a chance to kiss her. Somewhere somebody was laughing about this.
Charles looked down at his hand and curled it into a fist, thinking that he'd feel a lot better if he could find that "somebody" and plant him a facer.
* * *
Ellie awoke early the next morning, as was her habit, donned her finest dress—which she had a suspicion was still a touch too shabby for the Countess of Billington—and set off to explore her new home.
Charles had said she might redecorate. Ellie was thrilled at the thought. She loved nothing better than to have projects to plan and tasks to accomplish. She didn't want to redo the entire house; she rather liked the idea that this old building reflected the tastes of generations of Wycombes. Still, it would be nice to have a few rooms that represented the taste of this generation of Wycombes.
Eleanor Wycombe. She mouthed her new name a few times and decided that she could get used to it. It was the Countess of Billington part that might take some time.
She reached the bottom floor and made her way to the great hall, then poked into various rooms. She stumbled into the library, letting out a loud sigh of approval. Books lined the walls from floor to ceiling, their leather spines glistening in the early morning light. She could live until she was ninety and not finish reading all of these books.
She peered more closely at some of the titles. The first she came across was called Christian Hellfire, the Devil, Earth, and Flesh. Ellie smiled, deciding that her husband must not have been responsible for the purchase of that particular book.
She saw an open door in the west wall of the library, and she moved forward to explore. Poking her head in, she realized that she must have discovered Charles's study. It was neat and tidy, with the exception of his desk, which was covered with just enough clutter to show that he used the room frequently.
Feeling as if she were somehow intruding, Ellie backed out of
"Seduce you?" he finished for her.
She blushed. "Must you say it out loud?"
"It is hardly a secret, Ellie."
"I know, but—"
He touched her chin. "What happened to the fire-breathing woman who tended my ankle, bruised my ribs, and never once let me get die last word?"
"She wasn't married to you," Ellie retorted. "She didn't belong to you in the eyes of God and England."
"And in your eyes?"
"I belong to myself."
"I'd prefer to think that we belong to each other," he mused. "Or with each other."
Ellie thought that was rather a nice way of putting it, but she still said, "It doesn't change the fact that legally, you can do anything you want with me."
"But I have promised that I won't. Not without your permission." When she didn't say anything, he added, "I would think that that would give you leave to relax a bit in my presence. To act more like yourself."
Ellie considered this. His words made sense, but they didn't allow for the fact that her heart raced at triple speed every time he reached out to touch her chin or smooth her hair. She could manage to ignore her attraction to him when they were talking—conversations with him were so enjoyable that she felt as if she were chatting with an old friend. But every so often they would fall silent, and then she'd catch him looking at her like a hungry cat, and her insides would quiver, and—
She shook her head. Thinking about all of this was not helping her in the least.
"Is something wrong?" Charles inquired.
"No!" she said, more forcefully than she'd intended. "No," she said again, this time with a bit more grace. "But I do need to unpack, and I'm very tired, and I'm sure you're very tired."
"Your point being?"
She took his arm and nudged him through the connecting door into his own room. "Just that it has been a most tiring day, and I'm certain we both need some rest. Good night."
"Good—" Charles let out a curse under his breath. The minx had shut the door right in his face.
And he hadn't even had a chance to kiss her. Somewhere somebody was laughing about this.
Charles looked down at his hand and curled it into a fist, thinking that he'd feel a lot better if he could find that "somebody" and plant him a facer.
* * *
Ellie awoke early the next morning, as was her habit, donned her finest dress—which she had a suspicion was still a touch too shabby for the Countess of Billington—and set off to explore her new home.
Charles had said she might redecorate. Ellie was thrilled at the thought. She loved nothing better than to have projects to plan and tasks to accomplish. She didn't want to redo the entire house; she rather liked the idea that this old building reflected the tastes of generations of Wycombes. Still, it would be nice to have a few rooms that represented the taste of this generation of Wycombes.
Eleanor Wycombe. She mouthed her new name a few times and decided that she could get used to it. It was the Countess of Billington part that might take some time.
She reached the bottom floor and made her way to the great hall, then poked into various rooms. She stumbled into the library, letting out a loud sigh of approval. Books lined the walls from floor to ceiling, their leather spines glistening in the early morning light. She could live until she was ninety and not finish reading all of these books.
She peered more closely at some of the titles. The first she came across was called Christian Hellfire, the Devil, Earth, and Flesh. Ellie smiled, deciding that her husband must not have been responsible for the purchase of that particular book.
She saw an open door in the west wall of the library, and she moved forward to explore. Poking her head in, she realized that she must have discovered Charles's study. It was neat and tidy, with the exception of his desk, which was covered with just enough clutter to show that he used the room frequently.
Feeling as if she were somehow intruding, Ellie backed out of
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