He did not respond to her; he did not need to. The streets were lit with gas lamps and the moon itself was giving off a majestic glow. He started slowly along the path, seeking her eyes. She did not move. He came to the steps, and still she did not move, and then he stood before her, and he smelled the lush sweet scent of her hair and of her flesh. And he felt the racing tenor of her heart, saw the pulse thump erratically against her throat, and he wanted to sweep her into his arms and up the stairway right then. But then he forced himself to wonder if she trembled with pleasure at his return, or if she trembled with some secret fear or excitement due to some new espionage. Her beautiful eyes were so very wide, so anxious, almost as if she loved him, welcomed him.…
He allowed his eyes to travel over her and touch her, though he forced his itching fingers to remain still. “You are here,” he said simply.
She stepped back, her shoulders squared, her eyes suddenly as hard as diamonds. “You commanded that I come, my lord. You commanded that I retire to Cameron Hall, and so I did. Then you commanded that I come back here, and so I have.”
He caught her chin, lifting it, and his lip curled into a slow, cynical smile. “I commanded you to tell me what you did running about in the middle of the night too, and you defied me in every way imaginable.”
She snatched her chin from his grip, attempting to turn about. “If you have ordered me here simply to argue—”
“I have not, madame,” he said sharply, catching her arm, spinning her back about so that she faced him again. Her breasts rose provocatively with her agitation. A silken skein of hair fell like a burning cascade over her shoulder, loosened by the force of his touch. He clamped down hard upon his teeth, grateful that his breeches were tight, hating the fever that rushed through him, the desire that seemed to override both common sense and pride every time he touched her.
“Listen to me, my love!” he commanded her heatedly, coming closer against her, feeling the startling warmth of her body touch and inflame his. “There will be no argument. You’re my wife. You will not disappear by night again, or by day, for that matter. There are men out there who might gladly hang you—”
“And there are men out there who might gladly hang you!” she retorted, her eyes flashing. She tugged her arm away from him. “Must we squabble in the very street?” she demanded in a tense whisper.
He laughed, startled by her hauteur. “No! By all means, let’s do go in. I’d much rather squabble in our own bedchamber!”
A bright flush covered her cheeks but she did not reply to that, and he wondered if she hadn’t missed him in some small way. She opened the door, entering before him. She headed for the parlor, but he caught hold of her hand, pulling her back. Her eyes came wide upon his as he indicated the stairway. “I said that I’d rather squabble within my own bedchamber. That way, madame.”
She clenched her teeth. Her eyes snapped beautifully and he did not think that he could stand much more. She was going to defy him and deny him, he thought, but then she spun about in a regal fury and began to take the stairs swiftly. She burst into the bedroom. The door started to slam on him as he arrived behind her, but he caught it with his hand before it could do so and followed her in, then closing the door tightly behind him, and leaning against it. She stared at him for a moment, then spun around again to sit at her dressing table, removing the pins from her disheveled hair, brushing it with a high level of energy.
There was a sudden rapping upon the door. Eric turned impatiently and opened it. Mathilda stood there anxiously. “Oh! Lord Cameron! I hadn’t realized that you had come home. I heard the commotion and I was worried about my lady—”
“Ah, Mathilda! Thank you for your concern, but as you see, it is unnecessary. I am home and all is well.”
“And glad to see you, I am, my lord—”
“Thank you, Mathilda.” He quickly steered her around, away from the door. “Perhaps we’ll dine later.”
“Oh!” Mathilda flushed crimson, realizing that her master wanted to be alone with his wife. “Oh, of course!”
Eric closed the door once again to discover Amanda staring at him with a flush nearly as bright as Mathilda’s and the fire of battle naked in her eyes. “How could you be so crude!” she accused him.
“Crude? Lover, I have not yet begun.”
She spun back to her mirror, and her brush tore through her hair. “Spoken like a true patriot!” she hissed.
Swift steps brought him behind her. She leapt to her feet, spinning about to face him. “Don’t you dare come home like a strutting cock!” she warned him, her eyes ablaze with fury and passion. “I am tired of being ordered about and dragged here and there at your whim. Don’t you dare touch me!”
“Dare touch you!” he exclaimed, his fingers gripping tightly into the back of the chair she had so recently vacated. “Madame, I shall do far more than dare to touch you. And if you keep up with your present attitude toward my return, I shall be sorely tempted to deal with you as I did when you were a child.”
Her eyes widened and he could almost see her temper soar as she remembered that time when they had first met, when Eric had dragged her over his knee in the midst of the fox hunt. He took a step toward her and she seized her brush from her dressing table, hurtling it toward him. Eric ducked just in time.
Amanda knew she had gone too far when she saw the dark cast to his expression as his eyes met hers again. She hadn’t meant this, this awful fight, it was just that she was always afraid, it seemed. And he goaded her so.
What she had wanted was him, but she had gone too far now to admit that. She straightened her shoulders. She needed time. “Eric, let’s leave this be. I’ve things to do, we can cool down, we can talk later—”
“I don’t want to talk, Amanda,” he snapped.
“You’re being crude again!” she charged him.
“And I don’t want to cool down.”
“Don’t you take another step toward me.”
He did, and she looked quickly for a second object to throw. She found a book set upon the chair by the fire and hurled it so quickly that she found her mark, catching him right in the temple.
He swore furiously. Even as she cried out, he had grasped her wrist. “No, Eric, no!” she gasped, but he was not to be waylaid. Within seconds he was in the chair, and she was strung over his lap, and his palm was descending deftly upon her posterior. Outraged, she cried out. Desperately she freed herself from his hold, falling to the floor at his feet and staring at him with wrath nearly choking away her words.
