“I expect you to honor them.”
“And if I do not?”
His eyes darkened. “Then we will have a problem.”
Eleanor tilted her head. “Those are very few rules for a man so fond of control.”
“They are sufficient.”
“And aside from those?”
“You are free to live as you please.”
She studied him. “You mean I may do anything so long as it does not inconvenience you.”
A corner of his mouth lifted. “That is one way to put it.”
“I imagine you are not accustomed to being questioned.”
“I am not accustomed to being challenged by my wife on our wedding day.”
She met his gaze steadily. “Get accustomed.”
Something flashed in his eyes. Surprise, perhaps. Or approval. Or something else entirely.
“You are enjoying this,” she accused quietly.
“I am assessing,” he replied.
They stood too close now. Eleanor became aware of the heat of him, the way his presence crowded the air. Her breath was painfully shallow.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Her gaze dropped, traitorous, to his mouth.
James noticed.
His breath changed. Just slightly.
Eleanor’s heart hammered. She wondered – briefly, foolishly – if he would kiss her. If this was the moment when marriage would become something else entirely.
He leaned closer.
Her pulse roared in her ears.
Then he stepped back.
“Your rooms are prepared,” he said coolly. “You will wish to rest.”
Frustration flared, sharp and unwelcome.
“Yes,” she said, her voice steady despite the storm beneath it. “Of course.”
He turned toward the door.
“Your Grace,” she said, stopping him.
He paused, looking back.
