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Instead she looked at his shadowed face. “You’re going to bully me.”

“You’ll bully me right back,” he said instantly.

“Did you return home to fetch that ring or were you carrying it this morning?”

“I had it this morning. I thought of coming to you immediately, but my pantaloons would have split, climbing the wall, and I was afraid your aunt might order a groom to shoot me as an intruder. So I went home and glowered at my mother until she threatened to retire to the country.”

Stella ran her fingers down Silvester’s cheeks to his chin, realizing he wasn’t wearing a cravat. His neck was muscled and strong. “Did you wear the scarab this morning for good luck?”

“My mother insisted. Before you get around to telling me that my mother dictated my choice of wife, it didn’t make a damn bit of difference to me that she likes you so much.”

Stella crooked a knee, which pulled tight the frail linen of her nightgown so she could feel exactly what was pulsing against her thigh.

He let out a muffled groan.

Inside, she was exhilarated—and terrified. How would she survive the moment in the future when her husband looked across the ballroom and saw a woman who was as delicate and gossamer as Yasmin? One who would put that expression on his face, that adoring expression?

Her heart felt as if it might crack at the thought.

“My aunt spent a good deal of the afternoon celebrating your extraordinary restraint in the face of my imprudence.”

“Imprudence?” He cupped her face, angling it so he could kiss her deeply.

Imprudently.

“You did a reasonable job of playing a Holy Willy tormented by the memory of walking a lady up a staircase,” Stella said, when she was able to talk again.

He dipped his head so that his forehead met hers. Then he said in a husky voice, “I am gifted at playing a role, Stella. It hardly matters to me which it is. I’ve never bothered with self-righteousness, but if you want me to transform into a prissy duke, I can do so.”

“Hmmm.” She tilted her head to capture his lips again. She was marrying a chameleon, but as long as she could see his eyes, she would know what he was thinking. The pirate shone out of them, no matter what stories people liked to weave about His Grace’s genial manners.

Everyone likes him, her aunt had said.

Silvester’s elbows were braced at either side of her head, that big body of his stretched over her, practically forcing her to arch against him because . . .

Because she had to.

“Don’t,” Silvester said, the word dark as midnight.

Stella arched again, and wiggled against him for good measure.

A groan broke from his throat. “You’re never going to obey me, are you?”

“Absolutely not. You could have chosen a docile woman, but you didn’t,” Stella said, feeling irrationally cheered by the thought. “I’m going to beat you in chess for the rest of our lives.”

“I’ve beat you a few times,” he muttered.

He nipped her ear. Stella’s hands tightened on his thick upper arms, as if he might try to get away from her.

“Once,” she whispered. “You beat me once.”

He bit her ear again, making her tremble. “Do you like this?”

“We can’t do this, Silvester,” she whispered. “I couldn’t face my aunt if I let you seduce me.”

His head reared back, and he frowned. “Speaking of your aunt . . .”

“Something terrible happened to her, I think,” Stella said, telling him something she’d never mentioned to another soul. “Not my uncle. He truly cares only for gourds.”