"Actually," he said, "Many don't. My ancestors were a tempestuous lot. Most of the Earls and Countesses of Billington detested each other quite thoroughly."
"Goodness," Ellie said weakly. "How positively encouraging."
"And those that did not..." Charles paused for effect and grinned wolfishly. "Well, they were so passionately enamored of one another that separate rooms—and separate beds—were unthinkable."
"I don't suppose any of them found a happy medium?"
"Just my parents," he said with a shrug. "My mother had her watercolors, my father his hounds. And they always had a kind word for each other if they happened to cross paths. Which wasn't very often, of course."
"Of course," Ellie echoed.
"Obviously they saw each other at least once," he added. "My very existence is proof of that."
"Goodness, but look how faded the damask is," she said in an overloud voice as she reached forward to touch an ottoman.
Charles grinned at her obvious attempt to change the subject.
Ellie moved forward and peered through the open
doorway. Charles's room was decorated with far less fuss and opulence and was much more to her liking. "Your decor is very nice.' she said.
"I had it redone several years ago. I believe the last time the chamber had been refurbished was by my great-grandfather. He had abysmal taste."
She looked around her room and grimaced. "As did his wife."
Charles laughed. "You should feel free to redecorate in any manner you choose."
"Really?"
"Of course. Isn't that what wives are meant to do?"
"I wouldn't know. I've never been a wife."
"And I've never had one." He reached out and took her hand, his fingers stroking her sensitive palm. "I'm rather glad I do."
"You're glad you've managed to keep hold of your fortune," she retorted, feeling the need to keep a bit of distance between them.
He dropped her hand. "You're right."
Ellie was a bit surprised he'd admitted to it when he'd been working so hard to seduce her. Materialism and greed were generally not considered seductive topics.
"Of course I'm rather glad to have you, too," he continued, his voice rather jaunty.
Ellie didn't say anything, then finally blurted out, "This is terribly uncomfortable."
Charles froze. "What?" he asked cautiously.
"This. I barely know you. I don't—I just don't know how to act in your presence."
Charles had a very good idea how he'd like her to act, but it required that she remove all of her clothing, and somehow he didn't think that concept would appeal to her. "You didn't seem to have any difficulty being your rather blunt and entertaining self when we first met," he said. "I found it quite refreshing."
"Yes, but 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.