"Why would you want to? You don't love me."
He pondered that for a moment, and then said. "Don't know. But I do."
"You love me?" she asked disbelievingly.
"No, but I want you to need me."
Ellie tried to ignore the way her heart sank a little when he replied in the negative. "Why?" she asked again.
He shrugged. "I don't know. I just want you to. Now get into bed."
"I certainly will not!"
"D'you think I don't remember what we were doing out in the meadow?"
Her cheeks turned pink, but Ellie honestly wasn't sure if it was from embarrassment or fury.
Charles sat up and leered at her. "I'm eager to finish what we started, wife."
"Not when you're three sheets to the wind!" she retorted, stepping back so that she wouldn't be within arm's reach. "You're liable to forget what you're about."
He gasped, clearly gravely insulted. "I would neber—that is to say, never forget what I am about. I am an excellent lover, my lady. Superb."
"Is that what all your mistresses have told you?" she could not resist asking.
"Yes. No!" He muttered, "This isn't the sort of thing one wants to talk about with one's wife."
"Exactly. Which is why I'm going to take my leave."
"Oh, no you're not!" With speed that no one who'd imbibed a bottle of brandy should have possessed, he hopped off the bed, dashed across the room, and grabbed her around the waist. By the time Ellie caught her breath she was lying on the bed, and Charles was lying on top of her.
"Hello, wife," he said, looking very much like a wolf.
"A tipsy wolf," she muttered, trying not to cough on the fumes.
He cocked an eyebrow. "You did say I could kiss you."
"When?" she asked suspiciously.
"On the stairs. I pestered and pestered and pestered and you finally said, 'Yes! Fine!' "
Ellie let out an irritated breath. It figured that his memory would still be in perfect working order.
He grinned triumphantly. "The nice thing about you, Ellie, is that you are fundamentally incapable of going back on your word."
She wasn't about to tell him to go ahead and kiss her, nor could she refute his statement—which was, after all, something of a compliment—so she didn't say anything.
That plan backfired, however, for his next words were, "Terribly sporting of you not to start blabbering on, dear wife. Makes it hard to find your mouth."
Then he was kissing her, and Ellie discovered that brandy tasted an awful lot better than it smelled. So much better, in fact, that when he moved to kiss her neck, she surprised herself and grabbed his head to drag his mouth back to hers.
This gave him cause to chuckle, and he kissed her again, this time more deeply. After what seemed like an eternity of this sensual torture, he lifted his head a couple of inches, rested his nose against hers, and said her name.
It was a moment before she was able to say, "Yes?"
"I'm not nearly as foxed as you think I am."
"You're not?"
Slowly, he shook his head.
"But—but you were stumbling. Hiccupping. Burping!"
He smiled at her in amazement. "But I'm not any longer."
"Oh." Ellie's lips parted as she tried to digest this news and decide what it meant. She thought it might mean that they were going to consummate their marriage that evening—that hour, in all probability. But she was feeling strangely befuddled, and to be honest rather hot, and her brain simply wasn't running at optimum speed.
He stared at her for several moments more, then lowered himself back down to kiss her again. His lips touched everything but her mouth—traveling to her cheeks, her eyes, her ears. His hands were in her hair, streaming it out over the pillows. And then they were running down the length of her body, smoothing over the curve of her hips, caressing the length of her legs, leaving trails of fire wherever they touched.
Ellie felt as if there were two women inhabiting her body. Part of her wanted to lay there and let him work his magic on her, to accept his lovemaking like a rare gift. But part of her yearned to be an active participant, and she wondered what he would do if she touched him back, if she lifted her head and rained soft kisses on his neck.
In the end, she couldn't keep her feelings inside. She had always been a doer, and it wasn't in her nature to be passive, even if the activity in question was her own seduction. Her arms wrapped around him and squeezed him tight, and her fingers became passionate claws, and—
"Aaaaargh!" Charles's bloodcurdling scream ripped through the air and quite effectively dampened her ardor.
Ellie let out a surprised yelp and squirmed beneath him, trying to bring her hands down to her sides, and—
"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh!" As screams went, this one was worse.
"What on earth?" she finally demanded, wiggling to the side as he rolled off of her, his face a pinched mask of pain.
"You're going to kill me," he said in a dull monotone. "I will be dead before the year is out."
"What the devil are you talking about?"
He sat up and looked at his arm, which had begun to bleed again.
"Did I do that?"
He nodded. "That was the second scream."
"And the first?"
"A bruise on my back."
"I didn't know your back was bruised."
"Neither did I," he said dryly.
Ellie felt extremely inappropriate laughter welling up within her, and she bit her lip. "I'm terribly sorry."
He only shook his head. "Someday I'm going to consummate this damned marriage."