“Don’t act like a spoiled child, and I won’t have to.”
At his calm superiority, her irritation boiled over. “If I’m acting like achild, then it’s because you’ve assigned me to that role!”
“What the devil does that mean?”
“It means, Marcus, that when you go gallivanting off to your meetings or your club, you leave me here, alone in the house, with nothing to do,” she said acidly.
“First of all, I’m not gallivanting—I’m attending to business interests.” His jaw clenched. “Secondly, there’s plenty for you to do.”
“Such as?”
His brows lowered, his impatience now palpable. “Run the household. Receive callers. Go to the bloody dressmaker, I don’t know. Whatever it is ladies do.”
“For your information, it takes one hour of my day to meet with the housekeeper and the butler to ensure that the house is running smoothly. And I’vebeenshopping.” Her temper taking over, she stormed over to her three enormous wardrobes, flinging their doors open one by one, exposing guts of satin, silk, and chiffon. “I can’t fit anything more in there.”
“So buy another wardrobe,” he growled.
“Excellent. So deduct an additional hour spent on Bond Street, which leaves,”—she tapped a finger against her chin—“ten hoursa day to contend with. I repeat, what am I to do with myself?”
“Devil and damn, woman, what has gotten into you?” Marcus planted his hands on his lean hips, finally looking angry. “You’d think you didn’t have the first inkling of how to be a lady.”
She didn’t—but she couldn’t tell him that. The knot of frustration in her chest tightened.
“I’m doing mybest.”For you, you ungrateful nodcock.
“If you’d care to do better,” he said in icy tones, “I’m sure Mama would be perfectly happy to introduce you to new acquaintances and—”
“I don’t want your mother’s help, I wantyou, you bacon-brained lummox!” she exploded. Provoked beyond words, she paced before the gaping cabinets, in her agitation barely holding onto her polished accent. “I don’t want to make acquaintances who gossip behind my back. Who say you married beneath you and wait for me to make a mistake—any mistake—so they can pounce on it and tear me to shreds over tea and sandwiches. Who all secretly agree that I stole you from Perfect Miss Pilkington, who would have made you a much better marchioness and who still casts blooming calf eyes at you—”
Strong arms caught her at the waist, cutting off her tirade. She struggled furiously, but it was of no use. He held her against his unyielding frame.
“Penny. Look at me.”
Chest heaving, she glared up at him… and despite her tumult, the warmth in his steel blue eyes sent a quiver through her belly. A melting sensation that went all the way down her spine. All at once, she was acutely aware of his hard muscle surrounding her, his scent and heat.
“I don’t want Miss Pilkington. I want you,” he said.
Suddenly, Penny realized how she sounded—like a jealous harpy. She felt small, stupid.
“I know that,” she muttered to his chest.
“The reason I’ve been out so much is because I wanted to give you space to settle into your new life. To make our home how you wish without tripping over your husband at every step. In leaving you to your own devices, my intention was to be considerate.”
Her gaze shot up.
His smile was rueful. “By the by, you’re not the only one who thinks I’ve got bacon for brains. My man of business has grown quite exasperated with me.”
“Why?”
“Because, my love, I can’t concentrate on a word he says. All I seem to think about is you.”
“Truly?” she breathed.
“Truly.” His gaze went from warm to positively heated. His large hands roamed possessively over her back before cupping her bottom and pulling her flush against him.
Desire poured over her like sun-warmed honey as she felt the turgid proof of his words. His erection was huge, prodding unabashedly against the softness of her belly. Her sex fluttered and dampened. In a blink, anger morphed into wanting.
She looped her arms around his neck, gave him a saucy flutter of her eyelashes. “And what exactly do you think about when you think about me, Lord Blackwood?”
