Maggie reflexively drew back in her seat. She was no sheltered child. She nevertheless felt a quiver of uneasiness at Fred’s bluntness.

Ladies hadn’t much to protect them in this world. Little else but the rules of polite behavior. It was those very rules that made gentlemen treat them respectfully—almost deferentially. Maggie had never valued such deference. Not when it was offered purely on account of her sex. But now…the absence of it left her feeling peculiarly vulnerable. As if Fred had issued an unspoken threat.

“You mustn’t speak of such things to me,” she said. “It’s not decent.”

Fred continued undeterred. “You may not care one way or the other. You’ve made no secret how little score you set by your own reputation. But know this, I won’t wed a woman who’s been playing the light-skirt, nor will I support one.”

Heat rose in her face at his crass words. Her temper rose as well. “Is that what it will take to rid you of this ridiculous desire to marry me? If only I’d known sooner.”

“I mean it, Margaret. If you’re to be my wife, you’re to come to my bed untouched or not at all. And if I find out—”

“Untouched. There’s a word. It can mean so many things.” Maggie knew she was playing with fire but couldn’t seem to stop herself. “Am I never to have embraced another gentleman? Never to have kissed him? Or is it only the marital act that you object to?”

Fred’s face reddened in the dim light. He leaned forward in his seat. “Have you kissed him?”

“You’re not a feudal lord, Fred. You’re no lord at all. You’re not even a baronet. Not yet. And if you think you can dictate to me—”

“Have you kissed him?”

She lifted one shoulder in a careless shrug. “I can’t recall. One kisses so many gentlemen.”

A predatory glint shone in Fred’s eyes. “You’ve never kissed me.”

Maggie didn’t register the danger until it was too late. One second Fred was sitting across from her, and the next he’d caught her by the arms and pulled her from her seat, straight into his lap. She gave a muffled yelp of surprise.

“Perhaps that’s the trouble,” he said. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”

She shoved his chest. “Let go of me, you great oaf.”

“Just one kiss.” His grip on her arms tightened painfully. “It’s the least you owe me.”

“I don’t owe you anything.” She fought to break free of his bruising grasp. Her hand found his injured shoulder in the struggle. She pressed hard against his bullet wound.