“‘Number Three: Doesn't nag.’ I don't nag.”

He didn't say anything.

“I don't nag.”

“You're nagging right now.”

Ellie's eyes shot daggers in his direction, and she continued on with the list. “‘Number Four: Ability to move within my social circle with ease.’” She coughed with disbelief as she read this. “Surely you realize that I have no experience with the aristocracy.”

“Your brother-in-law is Earl of Macclesfield,” Charles pointed out.

“Yes, but he is family. I needn't put on airs with him. I have never been to a London ball or a literary salon, or whatever it is you indolent types do all day during the Season.”

“I shall ignore your misplaced insult,” he said, sounding suddenly every bit as haughty as Ellie had always expected an earl to. “Now then, you are an intelligent woman, correct? I am certain you will learn whatever you need to. Can you dance?”

“Of course.”

“Can you converse?” He waved his hand. “No, don't answer that. I already know the answer. You converse overwell and overmuch. You shall do just fine in London, Eleanor.”

“Charles, I am beginning to find you overirritating.”

Charles merely crossed his arms and waited for her to continue, beginning to find this process extremely tiresome. He'd made out this list well over a month ago, and he'd certainly never intended to go over it with his future wife. Why, he'd even written—

He suddenly remembered number five. All of the blood in his face abruptly dropped down to his feet. He saw Ellie look down at the list as if at half speed, and heard her say, “‘Number Five.’”

Charles didn't even have time to think. He vaulted off the bed, a primitive cry escaping his mouth, and pounced on her, knocking her down. “The list!” he croaked. “Give me the list.”

“What the devil?” Ellie pawed at his arms as she tried to wriggle out of his grasp. “Let go of me, you cur.”

“Give me the list.”

Ellie, who was now supine on the floor, stretched her arm out over her head. “Get off me!”

“The list!” he roared.

Ellie, unable to think of any alternative, kneed him in the stomach and scurried across the room. She stood up and frantically read the paper in her hands while he caught his breath. Her eyes scanned the lines, found number five, and then she shouted, “You bastard!”

Charles just groaned, clutching at his midsection.

“I should have planted my knee lower,” she hissed.

“Stop overreacting, Ellie.”

“‘Number Five,’” she read in a prissy voice. “‘She must be worldly enough to overlook my affairs, and may not conduct any of her own until she has produced at least two heirs.’”

Put that way, Charles conceded, it did sound a bit cold. “Ellie,” he said placatingly, “surely you realize that I wrote this before I met you.”

“What difference does that make?”

“A world of difference. It…ah…it…”

“Am I meant to believe that you fell so head over heels in love with me that all of your notions of marriage were suddenly overthrown?”