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If she’d had any inkling of the multifold humiliations involved in marriage, she would have happily jilted him and chosen to be an old maid.

“And you couldn’t read the parish book,” Dominic said, working it out in his head. “Can you read your own name?”

“No. I cannot read anything. That includes signatures.”

Thick silence descended between them again.

Chapter 24

Dominic had had every intention of seducing his wife—until he saw Torie’s white, weary face. He might be a bastard in the eyes of most of the cultivated, refined guests who clustered at their wedding breakfast like pigs at a trough, but he tried not to be cruel.

Though he couldn’t stop himself from desiring her.

Torie’s nightgown would have tempted an octogenarian bridegroom. The entire bodice was made of pure lace, flirting with pale nipples that he craved to touch.

They sat silently for five minutes before she drowsily told him to close his door on the way out. When she fell asleep, he drew her gently toward him until her head rested on his shoulder.

She was less formidable with her eyes closed. In fact, she looked sweet and delicate, although when awake, she was far from fragile. He liked that. She wasn’t afraid of him. In fact, she was stubbornly fighting for dominance in their marriage. He couldn’t allow it, but he respected it.

It even occurred to him that he’d never had a better-matched opponent. Her scathing looks felt as if they searched the bottom of his soul—and found it lacking. Perhaps they could be partners, though he’d never imagined such a marriage.

A few minutes later, he guided her head to the pillow. His blood was literally sparking in his veins, imploring him to wake her with a kiss.

He should leave.

They hadn’t had an honest conversation—or rather, an honest conversation in which he didn’t lose his temper—but there was time for that tomorrow. Hell, they had a lifetime together. The thought eased the tightness in his chest that had come on the moment she snapped at him about Vauxhall and remained, even after she promised in front of God and man to become his wife.

He couldn’t get over the fact that he had humiliated her more than her father had. He had sworn always to protect her, and then irrationally, carelessly, injured her.

Taking a deep breath, he stood up, tossing his robe to the side, and slipped under the sheet beside her.

He couldn’t sleep, so he lay awake and picked through the problems keeping them apart. There was Gianna and the question of mistresses. Other wives barred their husbands from the bedchamber after a child or two, but why should that apply to Torie? Nothing he knew of “ladies” as a species seemed to apply to her. Her dislike of his “cold, self-absorbed, and serious” personality was more difficult to overcome.

Then there was his temper. Her temper.

His mouth eased into one of the smiles she prized as he thought about their arguments. Conflicts in the House of Lords left him feeling enervated and full of bile. He would go to White’s, his club, and then leave directly because he couldn’t bear to be in the room with his peers. At least, not those with whom he disagreed.

Arguments with Torie just made him want to get closer to her. When color rose in her cheeks, he wanted to lick her stubborn lips, steal the air she was using to shout at him. He had fantasies about tupping her in every one of the places they argued: his study, her studio, the dining table . . . hell, even the theater box. If he caught her hand and drew her to the very back, they could slip behind the velvet curtain.

In the last weeks, it hadn’t mattered how often he took himself in hand to quell his lust. He was never satisfied. It had become something of a routine: argue with his fiancée, return home, hurtle into the water closet, lean against the wall with a groan escaping his lips . . . finish.

Only to visualize her lips and find an erection bobbing against his belly again.

At last he picked up her left hand, the one that wasn’t tucked under her cheek, kissed her palm, and curled her fingers over the kiss.

Dominic woke hours later to find shocked blue eyes staring at him. Thankfully he had turned on his side in his sleep, which hid his morning erection.

Behind Torie, morning sunlight was pouring in, tinting her rumpled curls the milky color of opals. Somewhere close by, a swallow was fretfully singing like a child playing with a pianoforte.

He pushed himself up on his elbow. He considered kissing his wife good morning, but decided he’d better wait.

“Dom!” Torie hissed. “This is taking verisimilitude too far!”

He thought for a moment about the fact that her vocabulary was better than most of his acquaintances’. “Do you remember every word you hear?”

“No.” She sat up. “I can’t ring the bell for my maid while you’re here. In my bed.” She poked him. “You’d best be gone now. I need tea.”

“So do I,” Dominic said, leaning over to pull the rope hanging by his side of the bed. “Married people have tea in bed together.”