“Oh, Lord.” Caroline made a small moue. “Do I have to take orders from Isabella? If so, I may consider an annulment” A not entirely facetious remark.

“Relax, darling. I won’t let her touch you.”

Her brows lifted faintly. “I’m not sure you have sufficient authority.” Caroline knew Simon’s mother. They’d both avoided her whenever possible during their childhoods.

“Remember who controls the exchequer, darling. She’s relatively manageable.”

“I hope you don’t consider me in the same light.”

His guffaw echoed through the high-ceilinged corridor. “Darling, you’ve never been manageable.”

She flashed him a smile. Thank you.“

Once they reached Simon’s apartment, Caroline suggested Simon wait for the servants in the sitting room. “Tell them to put all the food in here. I’m going to freshen up.”

He glanced at her, her tone as odd as her mannered phrase. But maybe women had some esoteric rituals they performed on their wedding night-freshening up a case in point, “Yes, dear,” he replied.

“What does that mean?”

Maybe they both were on edge. He kept his voice exquisitely noncombative. “It means, yes, dear, I will tell them where to put the food.”

She looked at him. “That’s all?”

He opened his arms. “I swear.”

“Sorry.” She exhaled softly. He smiled. “Go. I think I can take care of this.” The footmen arrived a few moments later with the food, an extra table to hold it and several bottles of champagne on ice. Simon oversaw the disposition of the items and once the servants had withdrawn, he went to fetch Caro.

On opening the bedroom door, he came to a stop, a slow smile forming on his lips. “What do we have here?” he drawled. “Am I a pretty package?”

She was lounging nude against a mass of pillows, all the jewelry he’d given her artfully displayed on her voluptuous form. Bracelets sparkled on her wrists and ankles, several necklaces were layered at her neck, her fingers glittered with rings, a long string of pearls was wrapped around her waist and the ruby tear-drop earrings shimmered in her ears.

He hung in the doorway, his hands braced against the door frame, his smile stretching from ear to ear. “Do you know how many years it’s been since I’ve seen you like that?”

“But now this jewelry is mine, not your mothers.”

“I always thought mother’s jewels looked better on you than they did on her.

“Do you remember the ones you couldn’t see?” His eyes shut for a fraction of a second and when they opened again, a visible heat glowed in their depths. “I remember,” he murmured.

“You can come closer. I won’t bite,” her voice dropped to a silky whisper, “unless you want me to. And if you find the hidden jewels, you win an additional prize…”

He didn’t move or speak for a moment.

“Frightened?” she murmured.

“On the contrary.” He smiled. “I was debating my options. Do you like your jewels?”

“I adore them.” She adored more that he’d taken the trouble to care. Or had Gore selected these? Don’t ask, she told herself. You may not like the answer. “Did you buy these?” She touched her earrings. “Or did Gore?”

“Does it matter?” He let his hands drop and stood in the doorway resplendent in full evening attire- including ruffles on his shirt front in honor of the occasion.

Be polite, some inner voice reminded her. “I suppose it does,” she replied, ignoring her voice of discretion. “Actually, it does. Odd, isn’t it, considering the manner of your proposal?”

His mouth quirked faintly. “I thought my proposal was courteous. Your acceptance on the other hand,” his lashes lowered marginally. “And yes, I bought them,” he added, understanding the answer mattered, like it mattered to him that they were married. “I knew you liked rubies and the rest”-he half-lifted his hand- “were for your amusement.”

“When did you buy them?”

His brows arched as he moved toward her. “Why the catechism?”

She shrugged, her need to know as ambiguous as her feelings that fluctuated wildly.

“I bought them in London four days ago. I wanted you to have jewels of your own.”

“You say that to all your paramours, no doubt.”

His gaze went shuttered for a moment “I’ve only said it to a wife once,” he said in a deliberately casual voice, choosing to ignore her provocation in the interests of conjugal harmony. “And I must say, I find it enormously pleasing”-his hand came up in a lazy gesture-“looking at you so festively arrayed.”

“I was hoping to impress you.” She responded to his pleasantry with equal cordialness.

“And well you have.”

“You have time, I hope.”

“If I didn’t, I’d damn well make time. But seeing as how it’s my wedding night, you have my undivided attention.” He pulled his cravat loose.

“Can you tell what’s missing?”

He shook his head. He’d purchased whatever the jewelers had brought to Hargreave House and he’d not been attentive to the manner of her gifts when Caro had opened them.

“Would you like me to undress you?” she asked. “Sometimes you like it.”

He dipped his head in deference to her allure. “When I can stand to wait.”

“I’m glad I’m not the only out-of-control person.”

For a man who had spent a great deal of time playing at love, he recognized one of the more pertinent motives behind his marriage. Only Caro made him frantic. She always had. “You noticed,” he said with a smile. “But we have all the time in the world now. We needn’t be out of control. Undress me if you wish.”

“If I were your harem houri, I would have to undress you.”

At her tone of voice, his gaze narrowed and he took in her sudden shifting movement. Rolling onto her side, she lay propped on one elbow, her plump breasts suspended in soft, elliptical mounds, the sweeping curve of her hips gently oscillating.

“You can feel something inside you.” He watched her small rocking motion. “It must be large enough to make a difference.”

“It’s making a vast difference.” She briefly shut her eyes. “I may not be able to undress you… after all.”

“If you’re incapable of carrying out your duties tonight, my sweet houri,” he drawled, an undefined edge to his voice, “should I call for another of my harem ladies?”

How many times had she seen him like that- dark and handsome, ready for sex and play. And while he was not, in fact, some pasha or caliph with a harem, in his own way, he had one. Although his ladies were captive only to his great beauty and sexual expertise. “No, please, my lord,” she said, breathy with need. “I didn’t mean that. Please, let me stay. I haven’t been allowed in your bed for months.”

“I’ve been gone.” His dark gaze holding hers was self-willed and commanding. “You know you’re my favorite wife when I’m home,” he said, a kind of disengaged promise in the mildness of his tone.

“You don’t take me with you anymore,” she noted with a small petulance.

He couldn’t help but smile at her jeunesse doree pose. “Perhaps, I may again.”

“If I please you.”

“If you don’t displease me. You always please me with your body. It’s your temper that often displeases me.”

“I’ve changed, my lord. Ask anyone.”

“We’ll see. Come.” He held out his hand.

She immediately rolled from the bed in a shimmer of jeweled light and delicious sensation and came to stand before him.

He ran his hands over the glittering necklaces resting on her breasts. “You do these justice.”

“I’m pleased you think so, my lord.”

His erection surged at the docility in her tone. “The eunuchs tell me you’re progressing in your lessons.” He took her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers and tweaked them lightly. “You’ve not had to be disciplined for your temper of late.”

“I’ve been on my best behavior, my lord, so I could be admitted back into your good graces. You have but to test my accommodating nature, my lord, and you’ll be gratified, I assure you.”

With a gentle squeeze, he released her nipples. “Undress me, then, and we’ll see if your temper has improved.”

“You’ll see it has, my lord.”

“You must fold my clothes and put them away.”

His instructions brought a momentary spark to her eyes, but as quickly as it appeared, it vanished. “As you wish, my lord.”

“And you must be wet for me.”

“I am, my lord.”

“I’ll see for myself. Later…” He pointed at the buttons on his waistcoat.

And she did as she was bid. His coat and waistcoat were removed and folded away, his shirt as well.

“Now, my shoes,” he said. “Kneel.”

That small hesitation again, but she obeyed, the descent to her knees, shifting the object inside her, bringing her to a breathless standstill.

“Are you capable of serving me?” He touched her bent head.

“Yes.” She drew in a shallow breath. “Yes, my lord.”

He lifted one foot and she slid off his evening shoe, each movement intensifying the throbbing ache deep inside.

“Look at me.” He snapped his fingers. “Show me how wet you are.”

With effort, she concentrated on his words, gazing up past his blatant erection to meet his eyes.

“Put your finger in and show me that you’re ready.” So might some satrap speak, with utter authority.

“Here, my lord?” Her voice trembled, all sensation focused on her pulsing need.

“Yes. There. On your knees.”

Gently stroking her head as though she were a favorite pet, he watched her finger disappear between her legs, saw her shudder faintly, his erection rising higher in response. A moment later, having regained a modicum of composure, she raised her hand to him.

“Bring it closer,” he commanded.

And she lifted her hand higher.

Her finger was drenched with glistening liquid. He touched it lightly, scooping up a dab of fluid on his fingertip. He raised his finger to one nostril. “I like your smell,” he said, as though he were her vetting agent. “I always have.”