She twirled about in a fury and exited the room, slamming the door with a vehemence that the servants could not miss. When Danielle came to her, saying that dinner was being served, she refused to dine and asked for a tray. She ordered a bath be brought up but not to the master bedchamber, rather to the one that adjoined it, the one with the locking door. Fuming and incensed, she locked herself in with a cup of warmed Madeira and the steaming water. She settled back, swearing that her husband would find himself duly chastised when he thought to be so crude to her.
Yet that was not to be the case. She had barely adjusted her long hair and lain back, the steam delightfully easing the pain from her, when the locked connecting door shattered and banged open upon its sagging hinges. His eyes dark and furious, his features those of a stranger’s, Eric stood there. She gaped, then hastily closed her mouth in a fury of her own. “The lock meant that I did not wish you to enter!” she warned him heatedly.
“You married me, milady. I will enter where I wish.”
His strides brought him quickly to her. In panic she rose, wet and streaming, ready to fight him with all of the fire of the worry and fear within her. “Stop it, Eric, don’t you dare come near me, I am telling you—”
Her breath was swept from her as his arms came about her. He lifted her from the water, giving no thought to his fine brocade waistcoat and silk shirt. She struggled against him, wanting to hurt him, then suddenly wanting to escape him as she saw the light that her fight had brought to his eyes. “No!” she breathed, slamming hard upon his chest, yet he bore her down anyway, lying over her as he brought her atop the bed where she had thought to find her privacy. “I shall claw you to ribbons!” she warned him desperately.
“If you do so, Amanda, make sure it is with wifely passion, with cries of ecstasy upon your lips.”
“Oh!” she cried, and tried to slam her knee against him, but he shifted his weight, and the gaze he gave her then shot daggers into her heart. “You fool, you will get Damien hanged and yourself hanged and I will not let you do this to me!”
He held her head between his hands and looked angrily into her eyes. “Politics will not enter into the bedroom,” he told her firmly.
“I am a loyalist and you knew it when you married me, and you said that you’d not deny me my beliefs!”
“I do not deny you your beliefs, but I swear, lady, by all that is holy, you will not bring them to bed, and you will not slam doors or think to make a stricken, gelded fool of me because of them. Do you understand me?”
She thought for a moment, straining against him, her teeth gritted. Then she shouted out a vehement “No!”
His eyes darkened. She thought that he meant to strike her, his teeth were so tightly clenched. “Let me up!” she demanded in fear and fury.
“Madame, I will not!”
He dragged her hands up high over her head and held them easily despite her struggles and curses. His lips covered hers, trailed the valley between her breasts, then fondled the rouge crests, watching her eyes as he did so. She found that gaze upon her and knew that he read more within their depths than she wanted him to know. Suddenly, savagely, she twisted free from his hold, slamming her fists against his chest. She sought to roll free from him, but he threaded his fingers through her hair, dragging her back beneath him. His eyes sought hers again with war within them. He held her still, and his mouth captured hers. She thumped her fists against his shoulders, but he ignored the pain, demanding more and more with his lips and tongue. His hands stroked her sides and buttocks, and thighs, and his knee wedged them apart. He kissed her, and touched her, his kiss consuming, his touch ever more evocative. His lips parted from hers and she spoke his name, desperately trying to remember her argument. His kiss moved over her throat, to her collarbone, to her breast, and the passion of her fight became a flame of desire deep within her. Perhaps the need was even heightened by the torment of emotion. He did not disrobe, but adjusted his breeches and had her there with a startling fever and vengeance, and as he spent himself within her, she thought that she had passed over some strange line between what she had been before…and what she would be as his wife. Something indelible poured into her along with his seed that evening. She did not understand it. She whispered that she hated him even as her arms wound around him, she cried against him even as her body was wracked with the sweet shudders of ecstasy. The battle had receded between them, she thought. But it was far from over.
She felt his fingers upon her cheeks and only then did she realize that tears had escaped her. He was quickly up, guarded and hard, but anxious too. “Did I hurt you?”
She shook her head, trying not to meet his eyes.
“Amanda!”
“No! No, you did not hurt me.”
He rolled from her, his back to her, then stood, adjusting his clothing. “Come down to the meal. There will be no talk of arms, and I swear that I will keep my eye upon your cousin.”
“And smuggle arms yourself!” she whispered.
“What?”
“Nothing! Please, leave it be, nothing!”
“Come down then, and we shall close the subject.”
“I—I cannot!” she whispered. “My God, all of the house will have heard that door shatter.”
He reached for her hands, pulling her tight against him. His smile was suddenly wicked and taunting and challenging. “I did not suggest that you should slink down in shame, milady. Rather, my love, you should do so with laughter on your lips, your chin as high as ever, your glance one of the greatest disdain.”
She pulled away from him. “The meal will be quite cold, I am certain.”
“Dress, or I shall dress you myself.”
She swore, she called him every name that would come to her tongue, but when he moved toward her, she determined that she would choose her gown, and do as he suggested. He helped her with corset and with her hooks despite the stiffness of her back, and when she was duly clad, he insisted that she sit so that he could comb out her hair. His fingers lingered on her shoulders as her hair fell down upon them. In the mirror she saw his hands upon her flesh, bare for the gown lay low upon her bosom, and she saw how very dark and masculine and large they were, and yet felt how very tender their brush upon her could be. She shivered, meeting his eyes in the mirror, and he smiled, with what emotion she did not know. “Lady, none could deny your beauty, nor the boldness of your spirit. Come, take my hand. You do grace this ancient hall and will, I expect, continue to do so. Even if they do decide to hang me.”
She stood, shivers upon her heart, for even in the very depth of this battle, she knew then that she could not bear to see him hanged.
They started down the stairway together. Thom and Cassidy met them at the doors of the dining room. As they neared the pair, Eric suddenly laughed, as if he and Amanda shared some great joke, and he whispered against her ear. She turned to him, and a smile formed upon her lips, and she knew that the act had been very well executed. No one would wonder at the goings-on of the master and mistress, they were newlyweds, and prone to take their time.
