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“I felt trapped, and I never behave my best in that situation.” He cleared his throat. “I shall try, but we both have tempers.”

“We do, don’t we? Do you know what I think of this, viscount?”

He shook his head.

“I think the conditions of my ultimatum have been met.”

Dominic couldn’t suppress his smile. “I thought you didn’t offer an ultimatum?”

“Well, it might have been something in that genre. The Kelbourne dimples have made an appearance,” Torie said with dramatic emphasis. “Have I told you how much I like your smile?”

He shook his head.

“So . . . smiling husband.”

“Yes?”

“Shall we consummate this marriage?”

Chapter 25

Torie sank backwards as Dominic rolled over, one thick leg pinning down both of hers. Neither her nightgown nor the sheet caught between them disguised the hard thrust of his arousal against her thigh.

She was about to begin asking questions—which was how she usually found her way through new situations—but he bent his head to kiss her. No questions presented themselves, not in the middle of ravishing kisses. What was there to question when her body was shuddering with desire?

He pulled the sheet away and tossed it to the bottom of the bed. His hands slid up her leg, and Torie stilled in sudden anxiety. Only her maid had seen her unclothed. Morning light was pouring into the room.

“Aren’t we supposed to do this in the dark, at night?” she asked, her voice cracking. “Under the covers?”

Dominic shook his head. “There’s no should about it. I would like to make love to you at every time of day.” His dimples appeared. “We should test every hour of day and night to determine which is your favorite.”

Torie gulped. “At the moment, this room is very bright.” She pushed her nightgown past her knees. Her body was besieged by feelings she had no words for. Her breasts felt heavy, and her nipples felt oddly tight. She wasn’t stupid enough to ignore the craving sensation, but she was trembling half from desire and half from fear.

“I don’t like being a virgin,” she said crossly.

Dom threw back his head, and there were those dimples again, because he was laughing, actually laughing. Torie found the sound intoxicating, likely because he was so sober most of the time. She found herself leaning toward him, tracing the generous outlines of his bottom lip with her finger.

“Why don’t you laugh more often?”

His dimples vanished. “Men don’t,” he said simply.

“You seem to me to have far too many ideas about what men can and can’t do,” she said, allowing him to suck the tip of her finger into his warm mouth.

“I promised you a body made for sportive tricks,” he growled in her ear. “A male one.”

Torie took her finger out of his mouth and then slipped it in her own, hollowing her cheeks. “You taste delicious,” she murmured, pouting.

“Hell,” he groaned, his eyes blazing with intensity. He swung off the bed, stood up, and stripped off his robe, moving back to the bed naked.

Dom’s chest muscles brought back the moment when he first stripped off his shirt. But a furrow of silky hair pointed down, and there weren’t any breeches blocking Torie’s view this time. Seeing his thighs in breeches wasn’t at all the same as when he was kneeling on the bed in front of her, letting her look her fill.

She looked down again, felt her eyes widen.

He was . . . big.

Not that she knew much about sizes, but there wasn’t a lady in the ton who hadn’t experienced an idiot in silk pantaloons accidentally brushing her hip and cackling because he apparently thought she’d be overcome by desire, by—

By what she realized now had been impoverished versions of her husband’s hard flesh. It was smooth and looked almost painfully rigid. She cleared her throat. Dom was grinning at her again. Not boastful, the way those foolish boys were, but openly.