Fury surged through Sophy, mingling with the other heady emotions that were already coursing through her. She was suddenly so violently angry she could not even speak. Instead, she jerked open the heavy mahogany doors and dashed across the hall to the stairs.

She stormed into her bedchamber a few minutes later and startled her maid who was busy turning down the bed.

"My lady! Is somethin' wrong?"

Sophy took a grip on her anger and her reeling senses. She was breathing much too quickly. "No, no, Mary. Nothing is wrong. I took the stairs too quickly, that's all. Please help me with my dress."

"Certainly, ma'am." Mary, a bright-eyed young girl in her late teens who was thrilled with her recent promotion to the status of lady's maid, came forward to assist her mistress in undressing. She handled the embroidered muslin gown with reverent care.

"I think I would like a pot of tea before bedtime, Mary. Would you please have one sent up?"

"At once, my lady."

"Oh, and Mary, have two cups put on the tray." Sophy took a deep breath. "The Earl will be joining me.

Mary's eyes widened with approval but she wisely held her tongue as she helped Sophy into a chintz dressing gown. "I'll have the tea up here straight away, ma'am. Oh, that reminds me. One of the housemaids is complainin' of her stomach. She thinks it's somethin' she ate. She was wantin' to know if I'd ask your advice."

"What? Oh, yes, of course." Sophy turned toward her chest of dried herbs and quickly filled a small packet with a selection that included powdered licorice and rhubarb. "Take these to her and tell her to mix two pinches of each into a cup of tea. That should settle her stomach. If she is not any better by morning, be sure to let me know."

"Thank you, ma'am. Alice will be ever so grateful. She suffers a lot from a nervous stomach, I hear. By the by, Allan the footman says to tell you his sore throat is much better thanks to that honey and brandy syrup you had Cook prepare for him."

"Excellent, excellent, I'm glad to hear it," Sophy said impatiently. The last thing she wanted to discuss tonight was Allan the footman's sore throat. "Now, Mary, please hurry with that tea, will you?"

"Yes, ma'am." Mary scurried out of the room.

Sophy began to pace the floor, her soft slippers making no sound on the dark, patterned carpet. She barely noticed the bit of lace trim that had come loose from the lapel of her dressing gown and was dangling over one breast.

The overbearing, unspeakably arrogant man she had married thought he had only to touch her and she would succumb to his expertise. He would badger her and pester her and otherwise keep after her until he had his way with her. She knew that now. Bedding her was obviously a matter of masculine pride to him.

Sophy was beginning to realize she would get no peace until Julian had proven himself her master in the privacy of the bedchamber. There was little chance to work on the harmonious relationship she dreamed of while Julian was concentrating only on seducing her.

Sophy halted her pacing abruptly, wondering if the Earl of Ravenwood would be satisfied with a single night of conquest. Julian was not, after all, in love with her. At the moment apparently she constituted a challenge because she was his wife and she was refusing him the privileges he considered rightfully his. But if he thought he'd finally proven to both of them he could seduce her, perhaps he would leave her alone for a while.

Sophy went quickly to her beautifully carved medicine chest and stood looking down at the rows of tiny wooden trays and drawers. She was simmering with rage and fear and another emotion she did not want to examine too closely. There was not much time. In a few minutes Julian would come sauntering through the door that connected her bedchamber with his dressing room. And then he would take her into his arms and touch her the way he touched his little ballet dancer or actress or whatever she was.

Mary opened the door and came into the bedchamber carrying a silver tray. "Your tea, ma'am. Will there be anythin' else?"

"No, thank you, Mary. You may go." Sophy managed what she hoped was a normal smile of dismissal but Mary's eyes seemed brighter than ever as she bobbed a small curtsy and let herself out of the room. Sophy was sure she heard a muffled giggle out in the hall.

Servants seem to know everything that goes on in a large house such as this , Sophy thought resentfully. It was quite possible her maid knew perfectly well that Julian had never spent the night in his wife's bed. That thought was rather mortifying in some ways.

Fleetingly, Sophy wondered if part of Julian's irritation had to do with the fact that he knew the entire staff was speculating on why he was not visiting his new bride in her bedroom.

Sophy hardened her heart. She was not about to turn aside from her goal merely for the sake of Julian's male pride. He had more than enough of that commodity as it was. She reached into the herb chest and took a pinch of chamomile and a pinch of something far more potent. Deftly she stirred them into the pot of brewing tea.

Then she sat down to wait. She had to sit down. She was trembling so much she could not stand.

She did not have long to anticipate the inevitable. The connecting door opened softly and Sophy gave a start. Her eyes went to the doorway. Julian stood there in a black silk dressing gown that was embroidered with the Ravenwood crest. He regarded her with a quizzical little smile.

"You are entirely too nervous, little one," he said gently as he closed the door behind him. "This is what comes of putting matters off for far too long. You have built the whole business into an event of terrifying proportions. By tomorrow morning you will be able to put everything back into its proper perspective."

"I would like to beg you one last time, Julian, not to pursue this any further. I must tell you again that I feel you are breaking the spirit, if not the letter of your oath."

His smile vanished and his gaze hardened. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his gown and began to prowl slowly around her room. "We will not discuss my honor again. I assure you, it is an important matter to me and I would not do anything I felt would tarnish it."

"You have your own definition of honor, then?"

He gave her an angry glance. "I know far better how to define it than you do, Sophy."

"I lack the ability to define it properly because I am merely a woman?"

He relaxed, the faint smile edging his grim mouth again. "You are not merely a woman, my love. You are a most interesting female, believe me. I did not dream when I asked for your hand in marriage that I would be getting such a fascinating concoction. Did you know that there's a bit of lace dangling from your gown?"

Sophy glanced down uneasily and was chagrined to see the lace flopping over her breast. She made one or two fruitless efforts to push it back into place and then gave up. When she raised her head she found herself looking at Julian through a lock of hair that had slipped free of its pins. Irritably she pushed it back behind her ear. She drew herself up proudly.

"Would you care for a cup of tea, my lord?"

His smile broadened indulgently and Julian's eyes became very green. "Thank you, Sophy. After all the port I allowed myself after dinner, a cup of tea would be most welcome. I would not want to fall asleep at an awkward moment. You would be quite disappointed, I'm sure."

Arrogant man, she thought as she poured the brew with shaking fingers. He was interpreting her offer of tea as a gesture of surrender, she just knew it. A moment later when she handed him the cup he accepted it the way she imagined a battlefield commander accepted the sword of the vanquished.

"What an interesting aroma. Your own mixture, Sophy?" Julian took a sip of tea and resumed prowling her room.

"Yes." The word seemed to get caught somewhere in her throat. She watched with sick fascination as he took another sip. "Chamomile and… and other flowers. It has a very soothing effect on nerves that have become somewhat over agitated."

Julian nodded absently. "Excellent. He paused in front of the little rosewood desk to study the handful of books she had carefully arranged there. "Ah, the lamentable reading material of my bluestocking bride. Let me see just how regrettable your tastes really are."

He pulled first one and then another of the leather-bound volumes off the shelf. He helped himself to a second sip of tea while he studied the engraved leather bindings. "Hm. Virgil and Aristotle in translation. Admittedly a bit overpowering for the average reader but not really all that terrible. I used to read this sort of thing myself."

"I'm glad you approve, my lord," Sophy said stiffly.

He glanced at her, amused. "Do you find me condescending, Sophy?"

"Very."

"I don't mean to be, you know. I'm merely curious about you." He replaced the classics and removed another volume. "What else have we here? Wesley's Primitive Physic? A rather dated work, is it not?"

"Still an excellent herbal, my lord. With much detail about English herbs. Grandfather gave it to me."

"Ah, yes. Herbs." He put the book down and picked up another volume. He smiled indulgently. "Well, now, I see Lord Byron's romantic nonsense has made its way into the countryside. Did you enjoy Childe Harold, Sophy?

"I found it very entertaining, my lord. What about you?"

He grinned unabashedly at the open challenge. "I'll admit I read it and I'll admit the man has a way with melodrama, but, then he comes from a long line of melodramatic fools. I fear we shall hear more from Byron's melancholy heroes."