"If you will recall," she said with a sharp bite to her voice, "we already consummated the marriage. So you may at least strike that off your list."
He grinned wolfishly. "I seem to recall you mentioning your desire for such pleasures again and again."
She glared at him with burning, reproachful eyes. "That was before I found out you were a hypocrite."
His fingers froze on the buttons of his waistcoat, and his expression darkened with suspicion. "How so?"
"Who, sir, was using whom?" she asked, her tone ice-cold with accusation. "You might have told me you were being pressured to marry, but you did not tell me why. Do not bother to play innocent. I know all about your father's will."
For a long moment he stared down at her, then he tore at his necktie, pulled it off and tossed it lightly onto the bench beside her. "Then it appears we have everything out in the open now, doesn't it? You wanted me to save you from marrying your neighbor, and I wanted you to save me from losing my inheritance. We trapped each other, plain and simple. So now we can move forward with this convenient marital arrangement without pretenses or romantic expectations. There are no more secrets. At least I hope that is the case."
"It is."
"You're sure?" he asked, pulling his shirt off as well, so she was forced to look at his smooth muscular abdomen, directly in front of her face. "Because I still have my doubts." He tossed the shirt to the chair with his jacket.
"There is nothing to doubt," she replied, realizing she was somehow on the defensive again. "I've told you everything."
He bent forward and braced his knuckles on the bench on either side of her, his face a mere inch from hers. "But do I believe everything, is the question."
Her breath was coming short, and she was very close to losing her composure. For the longest time he remained there, brushing the tip of his nose over hers, wetting his lips…
"What does he look like?" he asked.
"Who?"
"Your betrothed."
She huffed with annoyance. "He was never my betrothed."
"I'm sure he would argue with that. I would most certainly put up a fight if I had been told you were mine, then another man took possession of you."
"I am no one's possession."
"Yes, you are. You're mine."
She should have been offended. She should have slapped his arrogant face. But she was capable only of sitting on the bench, using every ounce of will she possessed simply to hide how shaken she was in the presence of such ostentatious masculinity. He was a powerful, imposing man. It was what had knocked her off her feet to begin with.
"Surprised to hear that from your perfect-gentleman hero?" he asked, looking like he was enjoying this far too much.
"Not in the least," she replied. "Didn't I say you were a scoundrel that first night in the ballroom?"
"Indeed you did." Appearing somewhat amused, he straightened and stood over her, looking down. "Perhaps occasionally, you do know how to judge a man with some accuracy."
She let out a long-held breath, relieved when he backed away, then moved around the bed. She did not turn around, but heard the bed creak and knew he had climbed onto it.
"Incidentally," he said, "I didn't marry you to keep my inheritance. I married you to appease my father so that he would not require my brothers to be rushed into hasty marriages."
She stood up and turned to face him. He was lying back with one leg crossed over the other, his muscular arms tossed behind his head on a soft, feathery pillow, recently fluffed.
Gazing freely at his thick biceps and his toned, strapping body, she found herself able to focus on little else but the shivery thrill dancing down her spine.
"So you are a martyr," she replied. "A sacrificial lamb, forced to give up your independence and chain yourself to a life you never wanted. No, wait, you are a hero to them," she added with sarcasm. "Isn't that what they think?"
His blue eyes clouded over with disdain. "Not all of them."
"No, of course not." She moved gracefully around the bed, closing a hand around the ornately carved bedpost, running her open palm over the smooth, flowing grooves in the mahogany. "Vincent would never thank you for anything, would he? And he's the only one with any sense, isn't that right?"
She stood over him, taking in his tempting virility while she remembered her mother-in-law's advice. Just love him…
She pulled the pins from her hair and shook it loose down her back, then climbed onto the bed. "I know what you're doing, you know." She straddled her husband's hips and sat down upon his enormous erection, swiveling her hips, rubbing against him. "You're trying to make me hate you, trying to prove you are right and I am wrong, that I was mistaken to believe you were good and reliable, and that our marriage is doomed like every other."
He took her hips in his hands and thrust himself about, meeting her smooth, erotic undulations with proficient movements of his own.
"Maybe I am," he said, "but admitting that doesn't change anything. We still deceived one another, and we both have very good reason not to trust much of anything in this marriage. So there we are. Doomed."
"Forever the pessimist."
"There will be fewer disappointments that way."
She wiggled and squirmed over his amorous erection, growing harder by the second. "And fewer joys." Leaning forward, she pinned his arms over his head. "I might as well inform you now," she said. "I am not going to let you do what you are attempting to do."
"And what is that?" He lifted his head off the pillow and tried to kiss her.
She pulled back, just out of reach. "To spoil this marriage by pushing me away."
"I'm not pushing you away at the moment, darling. I would very much prefer it, actually, if you would come closer."
She did as he asked. She leaned down and kissed him, letting go of his arms so he could cup the back of her head in his hand and thrust his tongue into her mouth.
"And how exactly do you intend to keep me from spoiling this marriage?" he asked, when she dragged her lips from his.
"I'm going to allow you to make love to me."
He laughed. "Allow me to make love to you? I'm not the one on top."
Then his eyes narrowed, and he flipped her over onto her back and reached down to unfasten his trousers.
"Who's on top now?" she asked, while she wriggled her hips and tugged her skirts up to her waist.
He shoved his pants down. "I am, and don't forget it. You are mine now, Rebecca. No other man shall ever have you. Unbutton your bodice."
She understood what he wanted and needed from this. He wanted to prove that she belonged to him, that he was still in control of his emotions and his life and the future of this marriage.
Perhaps she could have been more sensitive to that, or more resistant, but all she wanted was to give herself to him body and soul, because it was all true. She did belong to him, and she wanted him to know it.
"Give me a chance to get my skirts out of the way," she said breathlessly. "You could help, you know."
Panting with impatience, he leaned to the side on one elbow while he unbuttoned the bottom of her bodice, working his way up while she started at the top.
As soon as it was free, she sat up and yanked it off her shoulders. At the same time, he was unfastening her skirts and drawers and wrenching them down over her hips.
At last, their clothing was out of the way. Very quickly he positioned himself between her legs and moved until he found the precise location for his purposes, then thrust inside, smoothly and easily, for she was slick and wet and ready for him.
She gasped with unrestrained lust, aching for more as he plunged deep and hard, again and again. He worked in and out of her, pounding furiously, moving inside her with voracious passion.