Emily believed him. She was not particularly alarmed, however, as she certainly could not envision making love with any other man except Simon. "You need not fret, my lord. I was not so overly impressed with what we did last night that I would immediately seek out the experience with anyone else."
The dangerous fire in Simon's eyes faded. It was replaced with a distinctly annoyed expression. "I promise you that you will enjoy it more next time."
Emily chewed thoughtfully on her lower lip and narrowed her eyes mutinously. "Since we are on the subject, my lord, I may as well tell you that I am not interested in trying it a second time."
Simon looked away from her. He reached out, seized the poker, and began stoking the flames on the hearth with stabbing motions. "As I said, you will soon feel differently about the matter."
Emily gathered her courage. "No, my lord. I do not think so."
Simon glanced at her over his shoulder. "What do you mean by that?"
"Simply that I do not wish to have you make love to me again," Emily said bravely. She was determined on her course of action now. She knew what she had to do. "That is, not unless certain conditions are met."
"Emily," Simon began ominously, "I realize you are in something of a state because of your recent adventures, but I warn you, I will not tolerate—"
She held up a palm to silence him. "Pray, allow me to finish, my lord. I do not want you to make love to me again until we have truly established a pure and transcendent relationship, the sort of relationship I believed us to have when I asked you to marry me. You are not to trick me into love-making again, Simon, do you understand?"
"I did not trick you into lovemaking," he said through his teeth. "I explained to you that I merely eased your normal, maidenly wedding night anxieties. Some would say I behaved like a very thoughtful and concerned husband."
"Rubbish. You tricked me. And you will not do so again. That is final."
Simon's eyes gleamed dangerously, reflecting the flames on the hearth. And then he appeared to relax slightly, like a hunter who is content to lie in wait before pouncing on his quarry. "Very well, madam."
Emily was nonplussed by his ready acceptance of her mandate. "You agree you will not force yourself on me?"
Simon shrugged. "I have no particular interest in forcing myself on an unwilling wife." He put down the poker and sat back. His fingers drummed briefly on the arm of the chair. There was a lengthy silence and then his mouth curved coldly once more.
Emily did not like the looks of that smile. "What are you thinking, my lord?"
"Merely that I am content to wait until you come to me, Emily. In fact, I believe it will be infinitely preferable that way." He nodded, as if confirming some private conclusion. "Yes. Much better."
Emily hesitated, wondering if she had overlooked some glaring hole in her clever plan. Simon's acceptance of it was much too quick. "What if I do not come to you, my lord?"
"You will. And very soon." Simon got to his feet and poured two glasses of sherry from the decanter on the table. "I do not believe I shall have long to wait, you being a creature of excessive passions, and all. You are intelligent enough to know very well that while last night might not have lived up to your romantic expectations, there is more to be discovered on the physical plane. Surely you have not forgotten your experience that night I sat you down on the library desk, parted your thighs, and introduced you to your own passionate nature?"
Emily blushed and looked away. "No," she admitted quietly. "I have not forgotten."
"Imagine how it would have felt to go through that same rush of sensations with me buried deep inside you," Simon said deliberately. "Think about how much more truly transcendent the experience would have been. How very metaphysical. How stimulating to all your sensibilities. How damn exciting. Because, my dear, that is what it will be like the next time we make love. You have my personal guarantee on the matter."
Emily was suddenly feeling much too warm and she knew it had nothing to do with the heat from the fireplace. "You are trying to trick me again. Simon, I do not want to discuss this. I have made my decision and I insist you honor it."
"By all means, madam." He began to pry off his boots. "Not another word on the subject until you come to me and ask me very nicely to show you what you are missing and how much you have left to experience."
"Do not hold your breath waiting for that event, my lord," she shot back.
Simon started to unfasten his shirt. He smiled with a hunter's anticipation. "My sweet, rest assured you will not merely ask for it next time, you will beg me to bed you."
"Never," she vowed, driven to rashness by Simon's cool, masculine certainty.
"A woman of excessive passions should be very careful about making such sweeping statements."
"I will make any sort of statement I wish. Simon, what are you doing?" Emily's eyes widened in shock as he stripped off the linen shirt and slung it carelessly over the back of the chair.
"Getting ready for bed. I have had a very hard day, my sweet, as you well know." He started to unfasten his breeches.
"But I have just told you, I will not make love with you."
He nodded. "I heard you. I intend simply to go to bed and sleep as best I can on that lumpy-looking mattress. In the morning I shall hire a post chaise to take us home as soon as possible. I have no wish to spend any extra time here at this depressing inn."
"You are going to sleep on the bed?" Emily looked around, fully appreciating her surroundings for the first time. "Simon, there is only one bed."
"It is big enough for both of us." He started to step out of the breeches. Firelight gleamed on the sleek contours of his back and buttocks.
Emily stared, utterly fascinated, at the sight of her husband's lean, hard body. He stood with his back to the fire as he undressed but in the shadows she could see that he was half aroused. His manhood jutted boldly from its thicket of crisp, black hair. She remembered touching that broad staff last night, remembered the instant response of his flesh. She remembered, too, the way he had used that part of himself to forge a path into the very core of her being.
"Is anything the matter, Emily?" Apparently oblivious to her longing gaze, Simon strolled across the room to the bed and pulled back the covers. He got in and folded his arms behind his head on the pillow. "Well?"
Emily touched the tip of her tongue to her dry lips. "No. No, there is nothing the matter." She yanked her spectacles off and put them on the table. It was better not to be able to see too clearly at the moment. She jumped to her feet and began pulling a footstool into position in front of the hard wooden chair.
"What are you doing?" Simon asked, sounding curious.
"It is not obvious? I am preparing myself a place to sleep tonight." She stalked over to the bed, grabbed a blanket, and stalked back to the chair. Then she sat down, propped her feet on the stool, and arranged the blanket over herself.
"That chair is going to be very uncomfortable by morning. And when the fire dies, this bedchamber will get exceedingly cold," Simon warned.
"I do not expect to be comfortable, my lord. I expect to suffer. I shall consider it a punishment for my crimes of bad judgment and worse luck." Emily blew out the candle and settled down to ponder her wretched fate.
Half an hour later, Simon, who had been kept awake by a series of small, restless, miserable little noises from the vicinity of the chair, lay gazing up at the ceiling. The fire was now a mere pile of glowing coals but there was just enough light to reveal Emily's small form huddled under the blanket. She was no doubt freezing and Simon told himself he had no wish to have her get sick. An ailing wife would be a genuine nuisance.