Everything about her was fascinating. From the curve of her jaw to the straight line of her nose. And her eyes. God help him, but staring into them was as if he were drowning in huge vats of melted chocolate. The sooty thickness of her lashes intrigued him with every downward sweep. He wondered what she was thinking as she stared out the window. Did she regret marrying a man who was essentially a stranger?

There were little things about his new wife that Gabriel wanted to peel away, layer by layer. Things like the unmistakable air of innocence that clung to her like a sweet perfume. Why was that, when she’d admitted she was no longer a virgin? Who had she been with? Someone from her social circle? Someone she interacted with even now?

Despite his statement that he did not care what she’d done in the past, Gabriel was discovering that held no truth. He was not curious because of any censorship of her behavior, but rather he was ravenous to know what made his little wife who she truly was beneath that glittering social veneer. He wanted to know what made her laugh. Made her cry. What she liked most about him. Whether she liked her hands bound during sex or if she preferred to initiate exploration.

Yes, there were many things he’d yet to learn about Lady Celia Buchanan Rosenthorne. Many of those would be answered the first time they made love, and while he was dying to uncover every secret she possessed, he could not explain why he’d not taken her yet.

It had not felt right taking her under Ravenswood’s roof. True, he’d already crossed so many boundaries when it came to establishing intimacy, but their first time together as man and wife should be done in his domain. In his home. In his bed. Where he was lord and master.

That type of chauvinistic attitude was commonplace among the ton. Gabriel attributed his own tendencies to the fact he was naturally dominant. Regardless of his upbringing and new elevation to Marquess, he’d always dictated his own path in life. He’d done as he pleased, when he pleased, with whomever he pleased. From the age of sixteen, he’d charted his own course and people followed him because of it.

Life as a marquess would probably exacerbate this forceful trait he carried. He already recognized the change in his demeanor. He demanded and others obeyed, or at the very least, deferred to his wishes.

It was partly the reason he’d instructed Sebastian and Heath to see to Lord Harvey’s release from the constable’s custody. Now that Gabriel was wed to Celia, the man wouldn’t dare infringe on his claim. He no longer posed a threat and had hopefully learned a valuable lesson.

Staring at the slender fingers of his wife’s hand as she absently removed her traveling gloves, Gabriel wondered how well Celia would accept being commanded. She would probably resist at first, but he sensed a submissive spirit hiding behind all of her feistiness. He would delight in uncovering it for their mutual pleasure and bringing it to the surface.