“Oh!” The back of her head bounced against the door.

He glowered at her, the grooves on each side of his cheek stark and deep. She’d never seen him in such a temper.

Never felt so alive in all her years.

“Is this how you want it to be?”

“To be manhandled?” she hissed, thrusting her face close to his. “Oh, indeed. It’s the stuff of girlhood dreams.”

His expression darkened, his eyes so vibrant a green that she shuddered against him. “You fling at me that our marriage isn’t real, that it isn’t truly legitimate because we haven’t consummated it. You don’t expect me to docilely agree with such prattle, do you?”

“That wasn’t a provocation to maul me!”

“Wasn’t it?” His gaze dropped to her dress, to the modest neckline. His voice lowered to a husky whisper. “You know what I think?”

She shook her head.

He pressed his h*ps into hers, driving his erection into her belly. She gasped. A dull throbbing ache stirred between her legs.

“That all this was your ploy for me to claim you.”

“Absurd—”

“You’re doing everything in your power to provoke me into it.”

“Drivel!”

He smiled a dangerous grin that made her belly clench. “Let us skip these games, Evie, shall we? We’ve been heading toward this moment from the start.”

Her heart thrilled, tripped with treacherous speed. “Never!”

His smile slipped. “Stubborn woman. I’ll make it easy for you, then.”

Chapter 18

His head swooped down.

Desperation pumped through her blood, and she jerked her head to the side with a whimper. His lips grazed her cheek.

Don’t let him kiss you, Evie! Don’t be like poor Linnie . . . susceptible and weak to a man’s persuasions.

Still, he chased her mouth.

She thrashed her head against the door, avoiding his descending lips. Pins fell loose from her hair until the mass unraveled to her shoulders.

He grabbed her face with both hands, sliding his fingers in her hair, his palms warm on her cheeks, a delicious rasp that made her insides quiver.

His green eyes snapped fire, and she could see how this man commanded soldiers into battle. Right now, she felt like she was engaged in battle with him. And losing.

Nose to nose, his breath mingled with hers. Trapped, she drowned in the intensity of his eyes—the swelling green of a sunlit forest she could not escape.

His head dipped then, mouth crashing over hers in a savage kiss, punishing, devouring—the sole purpose to claim her, mark her. The press of his mouth on hers stunned her. He had never kissed her like this. Not in Little Billings, not at the inn. This tasted of anger and dominance. A man out of control.

Her hands struggled between them, trying to create a wedge. Body writhing, she fought him, fought herself, holding her lips motionless against the searing invasion. The door hard at her back, him harder at her front, she fought until her every nerve wept with exhaustion.

She couldn’t surrender, couldn’t let him discover her inexperience . . .

As if he read her mind, as if he sensed her anxiety . . . as if he knew that he wasn’t going to win her like this, his lips gentled against hers. He kissed her top lip first, nibbling gently, taking it between his warm lips and sucking before laving it with his tongue.

Hunger pooled in her belly, the throb between her legs increasing. Her body softened, melting against him.

His hands dropped to her hips, holding her in better position to his bulging manhood. She rose on her tiptoes and thrust her pelvis forward, the throb near pain now.

She knew what she did . . . knew she played with fire.

“I don’t want this,” she choked, tearing her mouth from his. Her voice, hoarse with need, marked her a liar. Swallowing, she tried again. “Please.”

Those mesmerizing eyes scanned her heat-flushed face. “Don’t you?”

She squeezed out between him and the door, holding her hands awkwardly before her. Thankfully, he let her go.

Her hands flew to her hair, but the damage was done. She couldn’t hope to tidy it right now. Lacing her fingers tightly over her clenching belly, she tried to forget that she faced him with her hair a wild mess and her lips throbbing from his rough kiss.

His eyes glittered down at her, terrifying in their ice-cold beauty, their desperate hunger. He wanted her. As unbelievable as it seemed, it was true. It couldn’t all be about the begetting of an heir. Could it?

 Then the thought occurred to her. Perhaps his fierce desire had nothing to do with her specifically . . . and more to do with the woman downstairs. True, he hadn’t appeared overly affected by Adara’s presence, but Evie was convinced they shared a history that went beyond what was seemly for a brother- and sister-in-law. An altogether different heat swept over Evie as mortification rushed through her.

Her chin lifted a notch. “Why did you marry me?” she demanded, her thoughts churning at a furious pace. “Truly? It wasn’t all honor and obligation, was it?”

“I told you. I had a duty to wed and fill my nursery. A duty to provide for you and Nicholas.” An angry muscle ticked in his cheek. “Marrying you seemed a convenient arrangement.”

She motioned toward the door. “Was it because of her?”

He looked confused. “Who?”

“Lady Adara.”

If possible, the ice-green of his eyes grew even colder. “Adara doesn’t mean anything to me anymore.”

“Anymore,” she echoed. That one word knifed her through the heart. Unaccountably. She had no right to feel jealousy over the women of his past. She had no right to feel jealousy over the women of his present.

She swallowed against the tightness in her throat. “She matters enough to be here now. What was she to you?” Her voice changed, sounded tinny and distant in her ears.

A dull pain pulsed at the center of her chest. She rubbed the spot through her gown as if she could rub it out. This was meant to be a practical arrangement. Why should it hurt?

That muscle ticked in his cheek again, feathering his skin. “Adara married my brother. Not me—”

“But you wanted to marry her?” It shouldn’t be so important. It happened long ago.

He hesitated before admitting, “Yes. She agreed to run away with me, then chose my brother instead.”

“Apparently she still holds a soft spot for you.”

He shrugged. “What she feels is of no consequence to me. I don’t even know why we’re discussing this.”

Because she’s here now. “So marrying me so quickly upon returning to England had nothing to do with her?” She crossed her arms tightly.

He looked furious, and she resisted stepping back.

“It was as I said. I needed to wed.”

“And just as well me as anyone else, right? A woman too stupid, too desperate to question your motives,” she ground out.

He shook his head, his voice cutting. “Why should it matter to you one way or another? You married me for your own reasons.” His top lip curled on a sneer.

Indeed. She was behaving like a jealous shrew. Still, she could not stop herself from accusing, “You married me to punish your sister-in-law, to make her jealous.”

His eyes narrowed. “You care so much? You can’t even bring yourself to let me in your bed because you’re in love with a bloody ghost!”

She inhaled sharply as if slapped. He was correct, of course. Not about loving a ghost, naturally, but the rest. There was nothing between them. They had not married for love or affection, so why must she play at the hot-tempered wife desperate for her husband’s undivided attentions?

The memory of his hands on her, stroking her most intimate places, heated her body. Well. There was that. Desire. Perhaps that had confused her. Rattled her head into thinking there could be more between them. Eventually, she would surrender her body to him. She must. She had agreed. He needed his heirs. If he didn’t discover her carefully guarded secret then perhaps they could have something beyond a coldly calculated marriage of convenience. Even with her subterfuge yawning as wide as a chasm between them.

Shame swept through her then. Her subterfuge. How could she stand here, haranguing him for misleading her when she had lied about everything? Her very name!

Her skin prickled with mortification. She pulled herself as tall as her height would allow. “You’re right, of course. I’m acting foolish. You owe me no explanation about your past.”

His gaze drilled into her, probing. Strangely, he looked even angrier at these words. His large hands flexed at his sides. “You are the most vexing female.”

She looked away, noting his well-appointed chamber, masculine with its elaborate molding of rich walnut.

“Where am I to sleep?” Certainly she would not be expected to share his bed again. Once had been more than she could endure.

“You’ll sleep through there.” He motioned to an adjoining door, his gaze still fixed on her.

She nodded. Without another word, she strode ahead and opened the door, eager to put a wall between them—desperate for the solitude to regain perspective. Theirs was a marriage of convenience. Somehow she had forgotten that. Somehow she had begun to think they were more than conveniently wedded strangers. A real marriage where one might expect happiness, affection. Love.

Just before closing the door, she could not resist another glimpse at his face, at his form standing so stalwart, chest impossibly broad, muscled thighs braced apart, as if he stood at the edge of a battlefield.

Lifting her gaze, her eyes met his where he stood in the center of his room. She wondered at his thoughts. Did she vex him so much that he regretted marrying her?

She shut the door and collapsed back against its length, struggling against her own thoughts, chiefly the matter of her desire for the man one room over.

For the next few days, Spencer remained conspicuously absent. She pretended not to notice, tried not to care, focusing instead on settling into her future home and ignoring pangs of loneliness. She missed home. Her family. Her friends.

And yet even as she struggled to adopt tasks and routines in order to make her new life as Lady Winters more palatable, she strained for the sound of his tread. Especially at night.

Alone in her bed, she would wait, staring at the shadows twisting along the walls, wondering if tonight would be the night he claimed his husbandly rights. Her teeth worried her lip until she tasted blood in her mouth . . . or fell asleep.

On the third morning she was unable to bear it another day. He wished to forget he possessed a wife? Very well. She, however, had a son waiting for her. While he may have forgotten that fact, she had not.

Unable to locate her husband, she tracked down Mrs. Brooks in the kitchens, grumbling unkind words about Lady Adara and her houseguests, who had yet to vacate the premises. Fortunately, Adara and her friends kept to their own amusements and did not seem overly concerned that Evie eschewed their boisterous company. Indeed, they were too amused with themselves and their own diversions to pay her much heed.

At Evie’s inquiry on her husband’s whereabouts, Mrs. Brooks straightened over a list she was reviewing and angled her head thoughtfully. “His lordship? Hmm?”

Evie smoothed at a wrinkle in her skirt, hoping her question appeared idle, no more than that. With luck, Mrs. Brooks did not know that her husband was avoiding her.

“He was pouring over some ledgers in his study earlier. Right now he’s out and about the grounds somewhere.”

“I see. Thank you.”

Evie felt the housekeeper’s pitying gaze on her back as she moved away.

Initially, she convinced herself that Spencer would have a great deal of business to attend to after so long from home. Especially with the added responsibilities of the viscountcy on his shoulders. Certainly he did not avoid her on purpose.