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“What are you doing, my lord?” Aimee enquired in tones of outrage as he flung open the door and started up the stairs. “I have not finished my supper!”

He gave a short mirthless laugh, though why he should feel invigorated by her defiance he had no notion. He did though; his blood was positively coursing through his veins and pounding in his ears. He hadn’t known he could feel like this anywhere other than the battlefield, he marveled as he sprinted up the steps to her bedchamber. “Well, if you have any appetite left you when I’m finished with you, you can return to the table and eat your fill. How’s that for a bargain?”

On the threshold of her bedchamber, he paused a moment in surprise, for on her bed lay his banner cut into ribbons. Nay, he realized incredulously, it was not his banner but her dress. The one she had worn that day in his honor. She had slashed the damned thing to pieces! He slammed the door shut behind them and shot the bolt across before setting her on her feet.

Aimee glared back at him, her chest heaving as her flashing eyes dared him to demand an explanation for the dishonor to his colors. “Take off your dress,” he heard himself rumble. “Unless you want that one in pieces too,” he added dryly, reaching for his belt.

“I will not,” Aimee flung at him, her chin in the air. “I can simply raise my skirts for what you intend. I told you, I mean to attend the palace this night.”

He stared at her a moment, then shrugged. “Your choice, but you won’t be fit to be seen after I’ve finished with you,” he growled, and Aimee’s eyes widened when she saw him cast the belt onto a nearby chair, shortly followed by his tunic.

“What are you – ?” she broke off. “Oh.” Her cheeks flamed. “I thought you meant to beat me!”

He shot a heated look at her. “Did you?” he asked without much interest. “If you don’t take it off, I’ll rip it off you,” he said stalking toward her now. “Last warning, Aimee.”

“Wait!” she blurted as he seized her about the waist and flung her onto the bed, right on top of his mutilated colors. She bounced, but before she’d managed to struggle upright, he was on top of her and dragging her skirts up to her waist.

“Let’s try it your way,” he said affably. “And afterward, if you can stand, I’ll even let you stagger to the palace.” He dragged her undergarments down. “With my seed trickling down your thighs,” he said, running a fingertip down one inner leg by way of illustration. Aimee gasped at his shocking words. “Ticklish, wife?” he asked, cocking his head to one side. She stared up at him, open-mouthed.

“Speechless?” he asked. “An admirable quality in a wife.” He had no idea why he was still talking. If he didn’t know any better, he would almost think he was teasing her.

I no longer love you. That was what she had said.

The answer he should have made had been an obvious one. I neither desired nor asked for your love. He knew the exact tone he should have employed too. A scornful one. A curl of his lip, a cold look in his eye, and any budding affection she harbored for him would have promptly withered and perished in the bud. It was a miracle such tender shoots had put forth in the first place.

Then he should have exited the room, the city, and her life for at least a twelvemonth. Let her see just how insignificant a place in his life she occupied. Aimee had enough pride to have met him thereafter with only the coolest formality. But he simply couldn’t do it. Not for the life of him could he have dealt the death blow to her silly, girlish fancies. Somewhere, a small part of him wondered why the hells not, but he pushed that to one side for now. He would worry about that later.

For now, he had more pleasurable things uppermost on his mind. Perhaps you could have celebrated your win further with Lady de Crecy, she had sniped at him with her color high. She had been jealous. Over him. He did not know why, but that realization made his chest burn. Out of nowhere, the thought occurred to him that he should have given her the damned tourney crown.

He let her feel his full weight bearing down on her, just for a minute. “I will never raise a hand to you, Aimee,” he said in a serious tone, and her eyes flew to meet his. “But every time you flout me, I will drag you upstairs and thoroughly demonstrate my ascendency. Do you understand?”

She considered this a moment breathlessly. “What if it’s not at home?” she asked in a strangled voice.

He suppressed a crazy impulse to laugh at her retort. “I would not recommend defying me outside our home,” he replied, catching her two wrists in one hand and pinning them above her head as he slid a muscular thigh between her own. Our home? What was he even talking about?

“But if I did?” The fact she was even persisting in this made him feel ridiculously heated.

His hot gaze ensnared her own as he slowly and deliberately lowered his head so their faces were very close together. “Well then, I guess I’d have to improvise,” he said huskily and felt her soft thighs squeeze around his own. She was holding her breath again, and her eyes were huge. Seeing the direction of her gaze, he realized it was a kiss she was wanting.

Strange to say, the thought was no longer a displeasing one to him. “If I kiss you, you have to keep breathing this time,” he said. “Through your nose.” Aimee sucked in a breath, and realizing he was about to get a piece of her mind, he closed the distance between them and pressed his lips to hers. For a minute, he thought she was resisting, then he remembered this was how she had kissed him last time. Her lips closed and fiercely mashed against his own. He barely remembered how to kiss himself, but closing his eyes, he dredged the distant memory to the surface and let his own turn soft and coaxing against hers.

It was a strange sensation to be exchanging sweet kisses like this, lying on top of a shredded dress. He felt more inflamed with lust than he could remember ever feeling, even back in the dim days before his grievous injuries. Somehow, though, the throb in his chest made him feel conscious of every hitched breath between them as he nibbled on her bottom lip and tipped her jaw to angle her mouth to his satisfaction. It overruled even the insistent throb of his cock which did not know what the hells he was playing at.

He had hurt her. His mind reeled at the realization. He had hurt her when he had given that ridiculous garland to another woman. The tourney queen was an empty convention, nothing more. He had barely given the matter a second thought. She had not been in the stands when he had glanced that way. De Crecy’s wife had, and he had wanted to score off de Crecy. That was how he always did it, so it stuck in his competitor’s craw. He never meant it as a compliment, but always as a blow.

He hadn’t meant the blow to fall on Aimee though. He wanted to make it better. The thought almost staggered him. The fact that he even wielded any power to hurt her feelings was frankly ludicrous. He dragged the tip of his tongue over the seam of her lips and groaned when she did not take the hint. He lifted his lips away. “Let me in,” he murmured.

“What?” Aimee’s eyelids fluttered open. She had shut her eyes too. His gaze roamed over her dazed expression, the dark hair spilling out of its tidy arrangement. This wasn’t going to cut it, he decided suddenly, her still being half-dressed in this yellow gown. He wanted her naked against the remains of the particolored gown, caught up in the ribbons of the slashed fabric. He caught his breath at the picture it conjured up in his mind’s eye.

“I want you naked,” he said roughly, voicing his thoughts aloud.

“Oh,” she said, struggling to oblige. He helped her up and started immediately loosening the laces at her back and sleeves. As soon as there was room enough, he maneuvered the gown up and over her head, dropping it over the edge of the bed.

When she lay back down, he immediately crowded back around her, seeking her mouth with his, showing her what he wanted. The moan she gave around his tongue reassured him she was fully on board. Thank the gods.

He sank one hand into the hair at the nape of her head, tipping her head back for his consuming kiss. The other reached for her hand and pushed it over her head. Once there, he reached for the blue and yellow ribbons of one shredded sleeve and wrapped them about her wrist, entangling her there.

When she showed no sign of alarm, he reached for her other hand and did the same, securing it over her head. Aimee watched him with a faint pucker between her brows as he reached behind her and drew scraps of yellow and blue silk across her bared breasts.