humor, sulky or not, he raised the bottle to his mouth and drained half of it.
Caroline proceeded to deal with her frustration in the time-honored female answer to impediments and rage- dessert… in this case, a charlotte russe with pistachios, one of her favorites; a meringue with berry sauce; and two chocolate confections that would go a long way toward improving her mood. Picking up her own bottle of champagne from the bowl on the table, she took her restoratives to a chair as far away from Simon as the room allowed.
At her deft uncorking of the champagne bottle, her husband’s brows drew together in a scowl. “Where did you learn to do that?” he asked, a surly note to his voice. In his experience, only females in the demimonde who waited on their client’s every wish developed such skills.
“I believe you taught me.” Her smile was treacle sweet. Having been on the fringes of the demimonde during her exile in Europe, she knew what was causing Simon’s scowl. “It’s been very useful on numerous occasions.”
Tuck you,“ he said, not at all agreeably.
And her sweet tone turned even more cloying. “There’s no need to immediately bestir yourself, darling. We have a lifetime ahead of us to indulge in that activity. Although, with luck, you’ll soon find interests elsewhere.”
“You, however, won’t.” Each word was implacable.
“We’ll see.”
He looked at her from under the dark fringe of his lashes. “No, we won’t.”
“Do you think you can watch me every minute?” she purred, enjoying her piquant moment of retaliation.
“Someone on my staff of hundreds certainly can.”
She didn’t reply for the time it took her to put a forkful of chocolate mousse into her mouth and wash it down with a lengthy draft of champagne. “We’ll see about that, won’t we,” she eventually said, her gaze angelic. “In the past you often spent a great deal of time in the brothels. That will allow me a certain-shall we say-freedom of movement? And your servants have always liked me, you know.”
He growled deep in his throat, the sound too shockingly literal for his peace of mind. “God, Caro, you’re going to drive me crazy,” he muttered. “Although, I should be used to it by now.”
Taking note of his less arbitrary tone, she paused with a forkful of meringue poised inches from her mouth. “Perhaps we could come to some amicable agreement. It’s a common enough arrangement in the ton, is it not? Most fashionable couples lead separate lives and still manage to keep up appearances in the most civilized way.”
“If by separate lives, you refer to sexual freedom, absolutely not.”
“Are you speaking of your sexual freedom as well?” she remarked through the meringue melting in her mouth.
“You lost the wager, darling. Not I.” His voice was unutterably bland.
She sighed in a blatantly theatrical way that put his teeth on edge. “Unfortunately, I’ve never taken orders well,” she murmured, scooping up another portion of meringue before meeting his gaze. “You’re aware of that minor flaw in my character I presume.”
“And nobody touches what’s mine,” he drawled, each word underlaid with a steel inflexibility. “If you weren’t previously aware of that unflinching principle in my character, consider yourself warned.”
She lifted her forkful of meringue in salute. “It should be interesting then…”
He raised the bottle in his hand in a negligent gesture. “Take off that robe and we’ll see…”
“You don’t really think I’m likely to do that, do you?”
“Actually, I know you will.”
“And why is that?” she asked licking the meringue off the fork in a particularly provocative way.
“Any number of reasons-most of them having to do with your unquenchable sexual appetite.” He set his bottle down. “I could show you.”
“Don’t bother.”
“It’s no bother. In fact,” he said, rising from his chair, “I look forward to your education.”
“I’m not frightened, Simon. If that’s what you’re trying to do.” But she set down her plate and fork.
“Nor would I want you to be frightened, darling.” But his dark gaze belied the softness of his voice and he was steadily advancing. “On the other hand,” he murmured, “you may need some schooling on your wifely duties.”
“Do husbands have duties as well?” She refused to show fear, although she understood she was quite alone and well guarded.
“I’m not sure. We can discuss it later if you like.”
“Why not now?” She had to look up because he was standing directly before her.
“Mainly because I don’t wish to.”
“Do you expect me to tremble before you?”
“Certainly not. Although you do tremble in passion on occasion, do you not?”
She wouldn’t answer. He was annoyingly right, as he was annoyingly imperious.
“Are we sulking?”
“Don’t press me, Simon. I’m not in good humor with you.”
“I know the feeling.”
“Even if it were true about Will and it’s not, for you of all people to take issue…”
“I’d prefer not giving my title to a by-blow.”
“And I prefer you believe me.”
“Time will tell.”
“Lord, I dislike you righteous.”
“I’ll try to fuck you in a different frame of mind. Take off that robe.”
She gazed at him, hot-tempered and sullen. “You’re the last person I want to have sex with.”
“I’m the only person you’re going to have sex with. Take off that robe or I will. I’m not in the mood to play.”
She didn’t move.
Leaning forward, he nimbly opened the robe tie and slipped it from around her waist with a light jerk of his wrist.
As she moved to rise, he pushed her back, looping the silk tie around her wrist in the same smooth motion.
“Simon!” In vain, she pulled on the tie.
He had already secured her wrist to the chair arm. “Just a minute, darling,” he murmured, as though she’d been speaking about something innocuous and sweeping the tie once around her waist, he held her against the chair back with his forearm while he tied her other wrist to the chair arm.
Only mere seconds had elapsed.
He stepped back to admire his handiwork.
Speechless with rage, she glowered at him.
“You look very pretty.”
“Trussed up like a Christmas goose?”
“No, like a succulent, lush, alluring wife who I expect will soon be in a much improved mood.”
“Not likely,” she snapped, although against her will, her gaze was drawn to his erection-very near and very large and lamentably a magnet to her treacherous cravings.
“Do you like it?” he murmured, taking note of her gaze.
“Not at the moment,” she muttered, wrenching away her gaze, her perfidious sensibilities responding to his swelling erection with a surge of desire.
“Maybe we could induce you to think of us with more fondness,” he said gently, leaning near to slide his robe down her shoulders. The fabric caught at her bound wrists and shifting his attention, he opened the front of the robe, pulling it away from her body so she sat nude before him-framed in navy silk.
“Your nipples are hard.”
“It’s cold.”
“You don’t look cold.”
She was flushed pink, her breasts noticeably rising and falling, her breathing agitated.
“I could warm them.”
