The Rebel Bride by Catherine Coulter

“Come,” he said after a moment, “it’s time we returned. It will be dark in but a few minutes.”

She gave him a clipped nod and, he saw that she was shivering with cold. “Just a moment, my dear,” he said.

She stopped and looked at him questioningly, brows raised. He shrugged out of his greatcoat and wrapped it around her shoulders. She drew back, uncertain whether or not to protest.

“No,” he said. “Don’t. Come now.”

Throughout their evening meal in the cozy private parlor, he spoke to her hardly at all, and it seemed to Kate that he appeared rather distracted. She wondered if he was employing a new stratagem. She was soon disabused of this notion, when, after their meal, as the landlord poured him a glass of port, Julien asked, “Would you care to join me?”

She shook her head vehemently, and he grinned at her. “No, don’t worry you’ll fall on your face. Just one glass, not half a bottle. Trust that I wouldn’t allow you to have more than one glass, for in truth, you are no fit companion when you are drunk.”

“Very well, one glass. I also think you’re unkind to remind me of that night.”

Unused to the heady port, she choked on her first sip and fell into a paroxysm of coughing. She quickly downed a glass of water, drew a few sputtering breaths, and leaned back in her chair.

He gave her a pensive look, then sighed his martyr’s sigh. “You really must learn to conduct yourself with more grace, dear wife. It befits your new station, you know.”

Without thought, she clutched her wineglass and readied herself to hurl the contents into his face. He read her intent quite easily. “Don’t do what you’re thinking. I’ll give you another statement of fact: If you commit such a childish act, I shall retaliate and treat you as a child.”

She clutched the glass tighter.

“In plain words, Kate, if you throw the wine at me, I shall throw you over my knee, bare what I am certain is a lovely backside, and spank you soundly. Who knows what would follow once my hand is on your hips? Surely something quite pleasurable. Surely something you would come to enjoy, perhaps very much.”

She set the glass on the table. She’d been made to look very much the fool. Never again would she underestimate him. She rose quickly and strode quickly toward the door.

“Running away? I didn’t think you so craven. Come, my dear, I do apologize.”

He sounded perfectly sincere, and she stood uncertain, her hand on the doorknob.

Julien said, silently congratulating himself on this sudden inspiration, “I have been given to understand that you play piquet quite well. Do you care to pit your skill against mine?”

She instantly forgot everything. A warm surge of confidence flowed through her. She would beat him into the ground. She was good, very good.

“Perhaps I might be interested. Piquet, you say? I do play occasionally. Very well, if you wish it. It will pass the time.” Without thought, she added, “Would you care to lay a wager on the outcome? Say, perhaps a shilling a point?”

She had no sooner spoken the words than her face fell ludicrously, for she realized she had only the pitiful amount of money left from her Paris adventure.

He merely smiled, saying, “Rather than guineas, why don’t we set more interesting stakes?”

“What stakes do you have in mind?”

He looked thoughtful for a moment. “Let us say, Kate, that if I win, you will ceremoniously dispose of the gown you are wearing and willingly wear the wardrobe I’ve provided for you.” He felt quite pleased with himself, for the gown she had insisted on wearing for the past three days was in lamentable shape. If she lost to him, which he was quite sure she would, her pride would be salvaged, for she would be merely paying a debt of honor.

“Yes, I will accept that condition, but know that I won’t lose, Julien. I never have.” She was suddenly aware of the gravy stain that had somehow managed to appear on the bodice of her dress during dinner. “And what is my prize if I win?”