Walking to where Caroline stood in the middle of the sitting room, his cape so long on her it dragged on the floor, Simon unwrapped the layers of black wool and lifted it from her shoulders. Then he lightly touched her cheek with the back of one finger. “You look tired.”

“After twelve nights of parties, I have a right to be.” It was a deliberate remark, meant to provoke.

He tossed his cape on a chair before replying, needing the moment of delay to curb his temper. “Perhaps I won’t be as demanding as your opera-loving beau.” His eyes had turned cool. “Does he like to fuck all night?”

She realized she’d made a mistake when he looked at her like that “I wouldn’t know,” she said, aware retreat was called for. “He only kissed me once.”

“You expect me to believe that? Maybe when you were thirteen or fourteen I might.” His drawl was pronounced. “But we both know you were a precocious little girl after that, don’t we?”

“Not as precocious as you,” she snapped, taking exception to his remark when it had been he who had prompted her precociousness. “Was it your nanny or governess? I forget.”

“Both.” He smiled. “Which makes me doubly suspicious of governesses.” Reaching out, he gently stroked her throat. “I’m going to have to keep my eye on you after we’re married.” His long fingers slowly circled her neck. “Knowing you as well as I do,” he added in a whisper before releasing his light hold. He plucked at the azure velvet of her sleeve. “I brought you something to replace this,” he said in a normal tone of voice, as though he’d not just given her warning. “I hope you like your wedding gown.”

“And I hope you have some plan other than coercing me into marriage,” she replied tartly, having been his playmate for so many childhood years, she was the last person he could intimidate.

A hint of a smile played across his mouth. “Sorry. That’s my only plan.”

“You’re completely, bloody mad, of course. I don’t suppose you’ve once considered how grossly unfair this dragooning of yours is? Not just to me, but think how it will look to the outside world.”

He didn’t care about fairness although there was no graceful way to say that “Come, Caro, is it so awful?” he asked instead, his tone cajoling, since he understood her objections even if he chose to overlook them. “You can have your freedom. You know I’m not an ogre. I missed you, that’s all.” The degree and scope of that deprivation indeterminate and highly problematic.

“And what of your freedom? Tell me about that.” Her words were barbed.

He searched for a mollifying answer, not sure the truth would serve. But in the end he chose candor. “I’ll try to be faithful. Will you settle for that?”

“Why do I have to settle for anything?” she asked bitterly.

Because he had all the power, he wished to say. “Because I found I was miserable without you and I’d rather not lie and say I’ll be faithful forever. But I’ll really try.”

“That’s not good enough.”

His brows rose. “Do you think you have a choice?”

“Do you think you can lock me up forever?”

He grimaced. “Jesus, Caro. You’re asking a lot. No men I know are faithful.”

“Then you should marry someone like their wives who are willing to sell their souls and honor for a wedding ring and a title! I’m not for sale!”

He abruptly turned and walked away, passing from the sitting room through the dressing room into the bedroom where he dropped into a sprawl on the bed. Staring up into the pleated silk of the canopy, he debated how best to reconcile his wishes and hers and whether he even wanted to compromise on so ridiculous a point. Men of his class were rarely faithful; he actually didn’t know any who were.

But the word, rarely, refused to be dislodged from his brain and he was forced to confront the uncompromising reality that some men were faithful. He’d heard of men who loved their wives to distraction, although those husbands had not been the standards of conduct among his friends. Could he deal with the possibility that he might become such an anomaly?

And how much did it matter if he were?

He heard her footfall and waited, still not certain what he’d choose to do. Although marry her, he would. With or without force.

She came to a stop in the bedroom doorway; he could hear her breathing. Her perfume drifted into his nostrils, but he still didn’t move, his gaze unfocused on the canopy overhead.

“Whoever wins two out of three hands has their way? What do you think of that?” She was feeling lucky with that piquant flush of excitement she’d known since childhood. She was going to win.

He turned his head and looked at her. She was smiling and she wasn’t objecting to the marriage anymore, only the manner of it.

“My cards,” he said.

“A new deck,” she countered.

He sat up and grinned. “Done.”

“Now I don’t know if I should,” she murmured, leaning against the door frame and looking at him askance. “You’re too eager.”

He threw his legs over the side of the bed and sprang to the floor. “Can I help it if I feel lucky?”

“Lucky meaning you won’t have to be faithful?”

“No, lucky I won’t have to argue with you about this anymore,” he said, moving toward her, smiling.

A knock on the door of the sitting room infiltrated into the bedroom.

He winked. “Your cake, my duchess-to-be.”

“Maybe by the time I eat, I’ll think of some way out of this marriage, or perhaps your luck might change.”

“Or yours.” He already had all the luck he needed; she was here and smiling. The rest could be resolved.

Sitting across from her at a table set before the fire, he drank a brandy while she ate her cake and sipped her tea. The firelight gilded her hair and he wished above all things to unpin her curls and bury his face in their scented softness. Her bare shoulders and arms, burnished by the glow of the fire tempted him. Would she take issue were he to reach out and slide his hand down her slender arm? She suddenly smiled at him as though giving him leave, and a curious warmth enveloped him. And if there was such a thing as contentment, he was content.

“Don’t you want any?” she asked again, offering him a forkful of a gooey chocolate confection that obviously had found favor with her. She was eating her third piece.

“Maybe later,” he replied, politely as he had on the previous occasions she’d offered him some.

“Do you think you have a chef here?” she asked through a mouthful of cake. “This is quite, quite marvelous.”

He shrugged. “We’ll have to ask.”

“Why did you buy this place?”

“So I could be near you.”

“How sweet.”

Sweetness, perhaps, wasn’t the precise word to describe his motivation, but he wasn’t about to ruin her cheerful mood with the base truth. He smiled. Thank you. We try.“

She made a small moue. “I don’t know why I can’t stay angry with you.”

“Why would you want to?”

“Out of principle, of course. You have some very annoying habits.”

He wasn’t about to touch that very dicey subject and in an effort to distract her, he said, “Would you like to see if your ring fits?”

That was very thoughtful of you… the ruby, I mean.“ Was the chocolate unduly influencing her mood? She was finding it impossible to be cross with him. Although when he was lounging across from her like he was, looking ever so accessible, and astonishingly handsome and dissolute in a completely unassuming and enticing way, it was difficult to resist. Although for her peace of mind, she preferred the chocolate theory.

“I knew rubies were your favorites.” He slowly slid up into a seated position, set down his drink and rose to his feet. “Shut your eyes…”

She didn’t.

Waggling his finger, he smiled faintly. “If you want your Christmas presents, you have to shut your eyes. Don’t you remember?”

Tears sprang to her eyes. Her father had always said that and then Simon had. She quickly shut her eyes, but Simon had seen the telltale wetness.

“Now you have to tell me you like your presents whether you do or not or I’ll cry,” he teased, moving to the armoire.

She laughed, which he’d intended. “I haven’t had any presents for years.” A small excitement trembled in her voice.

And he almost cried.

He’d dictated his instructions to Gore who had written them down and sent them north with the coachman. Caro’s presents were supposed to be in the armoire. Which one was the question. He pulled open the armoire door in the sitting room and surveyed several shelves of wrapped packages and Caro’s wedding gown hanging from a satin-covered hanger. He’d have to give both Gore and Eaton a raise.

He still had the ring in his waistcoat pocket, but he’d selected other pieces of jewelry to compliment it and his bride’s beauty. Lifting several jewelers’ boxes from the shelves, he carried them back to the table and set them down. “Open your eyes, although I know you were looking.” His mouth quirked in a lazy grin.

She looked up at him, feigning innocence. “I didn’t see anything. Really.”

“I’ll have to feed you chocolate more often,” he drawled, charmed by her mummery.

She winked. “Maybe I’ll let you.”

All her animosity was gone, her playful smile wrenchingly familiar and he felt as though he were eighteen again and neither he nor Caro had a care in the world. “I think maybe I should get down on one knee and do this properly,” he murmured, suddenly unafraid of how he felt or how she would respond or whether he might be walking off the end of the earth into nothingness. Dropping down on one knee, he took the small velvet wrapped package from his waistcoat pocket, pulled out the ring and reached for her hand. “Darling Caro, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife? I find, unaccountably,” he said with a boyish smile, “I’m crazed with love for you.”

“Or perhaps only crazed,” she murmured, their eyes on a level, hers sparkling with laughter. “And I think it must be contagious, for I find myself crazy in love with you.”

He slipped the large square-cut ruby on her finger, a quick sure gesture, as though sealing the bargain. “You know what everyone will say.”

“That Hargreave has escaped Daphne’s lure?”

“Bitch,” he said with a chuckle. “No, everyone will say they deserve each other.”

“Will that be a compliment?”

“Probably not,” he replied, matter-of-factly as he came to his feet. “But I would view it as such. You make me happy. It’s as simple as that.”

She gazed up at him, her expression contemplative. “It may not be so simple. We are frequently at daggers drawn.”

Then I shall have to constantly ply you with chocolate and presents,“ he teased. ”And if you want romantic words darling,“ he added, his voice suddenly sober, ”write me a list. I’ll learn them for you.“

Not sure Simon was serious, particularly when it came to romance, Caroline opted for a neutral response. “How very kind,” she said, as one might to an offer of a dance.

“I can be infinitely kind.” His voice was like velvet as he took his chair opposite her and his eyes held hers for a lingering moment. “Wait and see.”

Whether it was the chocolate or his close proximity, she was fast losing her sense of restraint. “I do hope I don’t have to wait long,” she murmured, thinking if he looked at her like that much longer, she wasn’t going to wait at all.

A fact he was well aware of, having had his share of females throwing themselves at him since he’d reached adolescence. But he wasn’t about to delay his marriage, no matter how eager Caro might be. “Open these.” Leaning over, he pushed the presents toward her. “Then I’ll help you with your wedding gown,” he took a deep breath, “or then again, maybe I won’t. We’ll find a maid to help you, and quickly, I’m thinking.” He shifted in his chair, his erection rising. He waved a hand at the packages. “Hurry.”

She loved that his impatience matched hers or perhaps he was always impatient for sex and with that thought in mind, she recalled their wager. “The cards,” she said.

“After the wedding.”

“Before,” she said, firmly, thinking she might yet regain her sanity if she had time.

“We’ll cut for it.” He glanced about, then pulled open a small drawer in the table. “Ah ha.” He held up a pack of cards. “Manley was always ready for a game, apparently. High card?”

She nodded.

He shuffled, the cards a soft blur in his hands and then he placed the pack on the table, straightened the edges and cut. He held up a portion of the deck, the four of clubs facing out.

She felt confident. Her odds were good with that low a number. Reaching over, she slid a small stack of cards off the pile and held it up. A three of hearts.