“Very well. I forgive you for being a terrible lover and ruining my wedding night. But I shall not forgive you for lying to me, or for flaunting your mistress, or—”
“I beg your pardon?” It had taken Philip a moment before he could assure himself that yes, she really had said what he’d thought she said. His shoulders stiffened and he straightened slowly until he towered over her. “A terrible lover? You didn’t seem to think so three years ago. I distinctly recall how you cried out—”
“For God’s sake, Philip, I was a virgin. You hurt me.”
He paused, then shook his head. “No, after that. The second time.”
Charlotte snorted. “Oh, that’s right. I forgot the first lasted for only two minutes.”
Philip could feel his face turn red. He knew she was just trying to provoke him, and he knew he should take this as a good sign—after all, at least she was speaking to him instead of ignoring him as she could have done after he’d abducted her. But even with this knowledge, he still rose to the bait, pride demanding that he defend himself. “I tried to make it as short as possible for you, so you wouldn’t—”
“Yes, Your Grace.” A sly smirk crossed her lips, her eyelashes lowering as she glanced downward at his breeches. “I must agree with you there. It did seem rather short.”
It was in that instant that Philip realized he’d gone about this the wrong way. She didn’t need to be wooed or courted nearly as much as she warranted a good, healthy slap to the backside.
“You little hellion,” he growled, advancing toward her.
Charlotte’s eyes widened and her lips parted. She darted away when he was a mere hairbreadth from her.
She laughed as he stalked her around the room—circling the harp, a settee, the grand piano. And all the while she taunted him as she held up her hand, her index finger and thumb a mere two inches apart.
“I regret to say I had expected more of you, dear husband.” She extended her thumb and finger as far apart as they would go. “Yes, quite a lot more.”
“I will catch you.”
Charlotte frowned as she skirted a group of chairs. “Oh, dear. You’re trying to intimidate me again. I have to admit, that fierce scowl is far more threatening than your cock was the last time I saw it—”
“Charlotte!” He lunged.
She hopped to the side with a surprised squeal, and Philip clutched at the hem of her petticoats as he fell to the floor. He immediately rolled, yanking on her skirts in an effort to knock her off balance.
“I said I forgave you, Philip! We called a truce, remember?”
Her belated attempt at peacemaking would have been far more convincing if she hadn’t ended each sentence with a kick of her foot.
Philip cursed and tried to protect his head.
“No ... truce ...” he gasped, dodging the thrash of her skirts and another well-aimed kick.
She gathered her gown in her hands and jerked free of his hold. Philip came to his knees. They stared at one another, both breathing heavily.
“What now?” she panted. “Are you ready to be civilized once more?”
“Perhaps. Would you like to apologize?”
Charlotte tilted her head to the side. “For what? Telling the truth?”
He studied her for a long moment. She appeared utterly delectable, her cherry red lips pursed in a teasing pout, strands of her hair escaping from the safety of her pins, her gown sliding off one shoulder.
She was a woman accustomed to abandoning the strict rules of society for her own pleasure, someone who embraced her wild inclinations no matter the risk to her reputation or the censure of her peers.
Philip envied her ability to brush off the weight of everyone else’s expectations, to know the freedom of indulging her own wishes and desires.
To be uncivilized.
“No,” he answered, rising to his feet, “I am not near ready.” He surged forward again.
Skirts fisted in her hands, Charlotte neatly eluded him as she ran out of the music room and down the corridor.
“I beg your pardon?” It had taken Philip a moment before he could assure himself that yes, she really had said what he’d thought she said. His shoulders stiffened and he straightened slowly until he towered over her. “A terrible lover? You didn’t seem to think so three years ago. I distinctly recall how you cried out—”
“For God’s sake, Philip, I was a virgin. You hurt me.”
He paused, then shook his head. “No, after that. The second time.”
Charlotte snorted. “Oh, that’s right. I forgot the first lasted for only two minutes.”
Philip could feel his face turn red. He knew she was just trying to provoke him, and he knew he should take this as a good sign—after all, at least she was speaking to him instead of ignoring him as she could have done after he’d abducted her. But even with this knowledge, he still rose to the bait, pride demanding that he defend himself. “I tried to make it as short as possible for you, so you wouldn’t—”
“Yes, Your Grace.” A sly smirk crossed her lips, her eyelashes lowering as she glanced downward at his breeches. “I must agree with you there. It did seem rather short.”
It was in that instant that Philip realized he’d gone about this the wrong way. She didn’t need to be wooed or courted nearly as much as she warranted a good, healthy slap to the backside.
“You little hellion,” he growled, advancing toward her.
Charlotte’s eyes widened and her lips parted. She darted away when he was a mere hairbreadth from her.
She laughed as he stalked her around the room—circling the harp, a settee, the grand piano. And all the while she taunted him as she held up her hand, her index finger and thumb a mere two inches apart.
“I regret to say I had expected more of you, dear husband.” She extended her thumb and finger as far apart as they would go. “Yes, quite a lot more.”
“I will catch you.”
Charlotte frowned as she skirted a group of chairs. “Oh, dear. You’re trying to intimidate me again. I have to admit, that fierce scowl is far more threatening than your cock was the last time I saw it—”
“Charlotte!” He lunged.
She hopped to the side with a surprised squeal, and Philip clutched at the hem of her petticoats as he fell to the floor. He immediately rolled, yanking on her skirts in an effort to knock her off balance.
“I said I forgave you, Philip! We called a truce, remember?”
Her belated attempt at peacemaking would have been far more convincing if she hadn’t ended each sentence with a kick of her foot.
Philip cursed and tried to protect his head.
“No ... truce ...” he gasped, dodging the thrash of her skirts and another well-aimed kick.
She gathered her gown in her hands and jerked free of his hold. Philip came to his knees. They stared at one another, both breathing heavily.
“What now?” she panted. “Are you ready to be civilized once more?”
“Perhaps. Would you like to apologize?”
Charlotte tilted her head to the side. “For what? Telling the truth?”
He studied her for a long moment. She appeared utterly delectable, her cherry red lips pursed in a teasing pout, strands of her hair escaping from the safety of her pins, her gown sliding off one shoulder.
She was a woman accustomed to abandoning the strict rules of society for her own pleasure, someone who embraced her wild inclinations no matter the risk to her reputation or the censure of her peers.
Philip envied her ability to brush off the weight of everyone else’s expectations, to know the freedom of indulging her own wishes and desires.
To be uncivilized.
“No,” he answered, rising to his feet, “I am not near ready.” He surged forward again.
Skirts fisted in her hands, Charlotte neatly eluded him as she ran out of the music room and down the corridor.
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