“Of course,” Ellie echoed.

“Obviously they saw each other at least once,” he added. “My very existence is proof of that.”

“Goodness, but look how faded the damask is,” she said in an overloud voice as she reached forward to touch an ottoman.

Charles grinned at her obvious attempt to change the subject.

Ellie moved forward and peered through the open doorway. Charles's room was decorated with far less fuss and opulence and was much more to her liking. “Your decor is very nice,” she said.

“I had it redone several years ago. I believe the last time the chamber had been refurbished was by my great-grandfather. He had abysmal taste.”

She looked around her room and grimaced. “As did his wife.”

Charles laughed. “You should feel free to redecorate in any manner you choose.”

“Really?”

“Of course. Isn't that what wives are meant to do?”

“I wouldn't know. I've never been a wife.”

“And I've never had one.” He reached out and took her hand, his fingers stroking her sensitive palm. “I'm rather glad I do.”

“You're glad you've managed to keep hold of your fortune,” she retorted, feeling the need to keep a bit of distance between them.

He dropped her hand. “You're right.”

Ellie was a bit surprised he'd admitted to it when he'd been working so hard to seduce her. Materialism and greed were generally not considered seductive topics.

“Of course I'm rather glad to have you, too,” he continued, his voice rather jaunty.

Ellie didn't say anything, then finally blurted out, “This is terribly uncomfortable.”

Charles froze. “What?” he asked cautiously.

“This. I barely know you. I don't—I just don't know how to act in your presence.”

Charles had a very good idea how he'd like her to act, but it required that she remove all of her clothing, and somehow he didn't think that concept would appeal to her. “You didn't seem to have any difficulty being your rather blunt and entertaining self when we first met,” he said. “I found it quite refreshing.”

“Yes, but now we're married, and you want to—”

“Seduce you?” he finished for her.

She blushed. “Must you say it out loud?”

“It is hardly a secret, Ellie.”

“I know, but—”

He touched her chin. “What happened to the fire-breathing woman who tended my ankle, bruised my ribs, and never once let me get the last word?”

“She wasn't married to you,” Ellie retorted. “She didn't belong to you in the eyes of God and England.”

“And in your eyes?”

“I belong to myself.”

“I'd prefer to think that we belong to each other,” he mused. “Or with each other.”

Ellie thought that was rather a nice way of putting it, but she still said, “It doesn't change the fact that legally, you can do anything you want with me.”

“But I have promised that I won't. Not without your permission.” When she didn't say anything, he added, “I would think that that would give you leave to relax a bit in my presence. To act more like yourself.”