The Rebel Bride by Catherine Coulter

“Sarah,” he said finally, “I do believe the countess is in the right. The parlor is indeed in the very center of her half of the house. Regrettable as it may appear, her logic is persuasive.”

Kate blinked, thankful for once that no words were required of her.

“By God, surely you don’t mean that, Julien. Surely.”

“Yes, Sarah. Shall I ring for George?”

“No man dismisses me! How dare you? Just look at you, besotted by this provincial girl who has changed and I hate the changes, just as I hate her and always have.” She was so angry, so outraged, that she couldn’t move.

Julien turned to his wife, who was looking, to his amusement, quite bewildered.

He said softly, “Perhaps you’re right, Sarah. I’m quite besotted and have been ever since the first time I saw her, dying dramatically in a duel at my very feet.”

“I hope you will not live to regret this action, my lord. Actually I hope you will.” She picked up her skirts and walked with what dignity she could muster from the room. They could hear her angry breathing as she stomped down the corridor.

“Close the door.”

Without a word, Kate turned and pulled the door closed.

“Now, come here.” He grinned at her. “Please come here.”

“Perhaps I should ring for tea, my lord?”

“What happened to my protector, my mouthy wife who quite routed Lady Sarah— surely a novel experience for her.”

“I don’t know. It’s different now. We’re alone and you’re not my enemy.”

“That’s true enough.”

“Surely tea isn’t such a bad idea?”

“It’s the very worst idea I’ve heard. What I would most prefer is to have my shrew of a wife in my arms.”

“I’m not a shrew, curse you.” However, she walked into his arms without hesitation.

He hugged her tightly against him, his hands sweeping up and down her back. Finally, he lifted her chin in his palm. She was staring up at him, as shy as a nun. He leaned down and kissed her.

She’d been so afraid, so very afraid, but the moment his mouth was on hers, she knew it would be all right, and she arched up against him, bringing his mouth closer, accepting his tongue, wanting more and more.

When he released her, her eyes darkened with disappointment.

He grinned down at her, absolutely delighted. “The servants, sweetheart, remember the servants. With Lady Sarah tearing down those stairs, doubtless hurling curses back at us, poor George must think we need him. Do you want him flying in here to see us making love?”

She gave him a look that made his hands clutch her shoulders. “Why not?”

“A very good point. However, before I have that lovely gown off you and throw you to the rug in front of the fireplace, I want to talk to you.”

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.”

“I’ll kiss you while we talk. But it’s important, love, don’t you think so?”

“If you insist.” She was silent a moment, then, to his surprise, laughed. “You should have seen poor George. I’ve never known him to be so bowled over. I quite marched all over him, you see. He must have believed that murder would be done in this house, for he knew I was capable of it, I know. And I was.”

He sighed even as he kissed her again, and then again and again. “Being that my wife is a shrew, a very beautiful shrew, but there you have it nonetheless, I see I have to agree. Yes, murder at the very least, had I not intervened.”

“Intervened, ha! You stood there like a stick. I didn’t know if you would send me out or not. It was horrible. Oh, God, Julien, I was so afraid.” She threw herself against him, holding him tightly.

“Shush, love, it’s all right. Come now and sit down, else that rug will be under your back in a second flat and I’ll be on top of you.”

She sat beside him, actually, more on him, her cheek against his neck. “I treated you so badly at St. Clair, so very badly.”

She slowly pulled away, fixing her eyes on an elegant Dresden figure above the mantelpiece.