The Rebel Bride by Catherine Coulter

“Quite good.”

“And the four kings and three aces?”

“Also good.” She stared down at the impressive array of high cards and then back at the one card he still held in his hand.

“Oh, hell and the devil,” she said. “I’ll be fleeced horribly if I don’t manage to guess this discard. Drat, I have no idea what to keep.”

“No, I agree, there’s nothing at all to tell you.” He sat back in his chair, turning the long card first one way and then another between his long fingers.

“Very well, a spade.” She flung the card onto the table.

“Sorry, but you must lose.” Julien turned the card toward her, and she saw that he held a small diamond.

She gazed at the card for a long moment, unwilling to believe that she’d been trounced so thoroughly. How it galled her to lose to him when she had been so certain that she would defeat him. She fought with herself to take her loss gracefully.

“It appears that you’ve bettered me.”

“I had no doubt of the outcome.”

She recoiled from his quietly spoken words, and a shadow of hurt and surprise filled her eyes. She couldn’t explain why, but it seemed very unlike him to make her feel her defeat more than necessary. “It’s not very kind of you to say that.”

“You’re a fine player. You’re weakest in your discards. You don’t play the odds as you should. Of course I would beat you, for I have at least ten more years of experience in the game than you do. In time, if you attend carefully, your skill will equal mine.”

As she gathered the cards together, she became painfully aware that he was regarding her steadily. She instantly forgot her vow to beat him at cards as she felt a surge of fear sweep through her. She dropped the cards onto the table and quickly squirmed out of her chair, her eyes fixed on the door.

“Surely you don’t wish to leave so soon. Wouldn’t you like to discuss some of the finer points of the game?” He rose leisurely as he spoke and walked to the closed door, cutting off her only avenue of escape.

“I want to go to bed now.” Was that her voice, all thin and sickly-sounding?

“Precisely my idea, my dear. It’s encouraging that you begin to read my wishes.”

“That isn’t what I mean and well you know it.”

He walked slowly over to where she stood. She felt like a fox being stalked by only one big hunter.

“But it’s exactly what I mean. I’ve let you have your way for four nights now. A very long time. Far too long for a man to wait to bed his bride. I want you and I want you now. Will you come with me?”

She ran behind the card table, out of his reach. Though she was a scant three feet from him, the small barrier gave her courage.

“No, I won’t come with you. Please, don’t you understand? I don’t want you to frighten me like that.”

He walked around the card table.

“No. Stay away from me. I swear I’ll fight you, Julien. I’ll hurt you. I’m no weakling. I’m strong and I hurt Harry many times.”

He found himself torn between exasperation and a physical desire that was fast dying. The situation had gone beyond absurd. He couldn’t allow it to continue another night. Damnation. He drew a steadying breath. “Listen to me, wife. I find it refreshing that in liberal times virginal modesty still exists, but you carry it to an absurd point.” He leaned over and spread his hands on the table, his eyes on a level with hers.

“When are you going to accept the fact that I’m your husband? When are you going to face up to the fact that you and I, madam, will be together until one of us cocks up his toes and passes to the hereafter?”

She was trembling. Not wanting him to see her fear, she quickly whisked her shaking hands behind her back. “It’s not that, truly. It’s just that—”

He waited for her to continue, but she fell silent, her hands knotting the material of her skirt. He was baffled, no other word for it. There she was, his wife, standing there, her face as white as the collar of her gown had been four days ago.