Night of Pleasure by Delilah Marvelle Page B

about this.” He continued down the corridor. “The best way to get rid of a bad habit is to get rid of whatever is causing the habit. You will therefore hand over whatever cheroots you have after you finish this one. I’ll take the whole casing or whatever you have in your reticule.”
    Oh, now that was going too far. “Forgive me, but everything in my reticule belongs to me, Banfield. Not you.”
    He glanced back at her, his smoldering brown eyes intently holding her gaze. “I am about to be your husband. I therefore have the right to confiscate whatever I want. Especially if I feel it’s in your best interest.”
    The way he said it made her feel as if he was about to do far more than take away her cheroots. “Why not take the shoes from my feet while you’re at it?”
    “Your shoes aren’t the problem, Clementine.” Putting his hands into his pockets, he casually resumed walking. “Whilst I’m permitting you to indulge in smoking this once, out of common courtesy, you need to understand that people here in London will judge you for it and it’s my duty to protect your good name. I only hope you aren’t too attached to the idea of smoking.”
    She was. She tried to quit smoking many times, as she knew it wasn’t something respectable women did, but had quickly discovered it wasn’t all that simple. She loved it too much. Much like her father loved his cognac too much. Her own weakness made her more forgiving of his. “I smoke every day. I genuinely enjoy it.”
    “And I genuinely enjoy drinking brandy, but I can also function without it.”
    A gasp escaped her. “How dare you insinuate I also drink?” She wasn’t her father.
    He lifted a brow. “As my mother says, a well-bred lady should always strive for perfection. And begging your pardon, but smoking does not define perfection.”
    “Begging your pardon, but if perfection defined me, I’d be a nun living in Madrid.”
    He swung toward her, the heat of his massive body startling her into leaning back. “Don’t disrespect my opinion. I’m giving you a privilege few get. Because no one ever gets the chance to smoke in this house. No one. Not even my guests.”
    “Then why even have a cigar room?” she drawled, angling toward him to prove she wasn’t in the least bit intimidated. She accidentally bumped him with her arm and winced. “Sorry.”
    He glanced at the arm she had bumped and edged closer. “I didn’t build the cigar room into the house. My grandfather did.” He straightened, his brown eyes playfully sparking. “Our first argument. How utterly charming. How quaint.”
    Her throat tightened. “We aren’t arguing.”
    He quirked a brow. “You mean you’re arguing with me about arguing?”
    She pinched her lips. He thought he was so clever.
    He slowly grinned, the edges of his eyes crinkling. “Do I get a kiss for being clever? Or are you going to make this poor man wait until his wedding night?”
    Something told her he wasn’t going to take her ending their engagement well.

Derek closed the door leading into the domed cigar room to ensure no smoke escaped into the corridor lest the footmen come running thinking there was a fire. After all, no one had lit a cigar in the house since 1823. Letting out an exasperated breath, he turned to Clementine. He couldn’t believe she had covered her entire mouth with both hands when he tried to kiss her. He had checked his breath. It wasn’t that. Hell, he’d strategically eaten a piece of candy and given her one for a reason.
    Their wedding night was going to be rough. For both of them.
    He eyed her.
    She had already set aside her beaded reticule and lit her cheroot as if showcasing her every right. Depositing the extinguished match into the ash pan on the marble side table, she glanced around the Turkish-styled blue and gold room. The fullness of her chartreuse morning gown that emphasized generous hips that had nothing to do with her corset, followed her sweeping movements.
    She