“What are you thinking about?” he asked.
She realized she’d been rearranging the perfume jars beside her mirror for over a minute. She turned to him, taken aback by his haughty beauty, the ease with which he sprawled before her.
“I was thinking of something I used to sing,” she said. “A trifle of a duet, but with lovely notes, the type I enjoyed performing. Mozart had a talent for that.”
“Così fan tutte?”
“No, The Magic Flute. It was part of our winter performances last year.”
He leaned forward on the bed, resting his head on his hand. “Sing it for me, Ophelia. Whatever song you’re talking about.”
“I can’t.”
He snorted, his gaze darkening. “You mean you won’t. Come lie with me, at least, if you’re going to be cross.”
“I’m not cross,” she said, although she knew she was acting cross as anything. She gathered her courage and joined him, sitting on the edge of the bed, her knees pressed firmly together.
“I suppose it doesn’t matter that everyone’s descended upon our honeymoon,” he said. “We’re like an old married couple already, arguing and frowning at one another.”
Ophelia softened her frown, hating that he’d called her out on it. “The problem is, my voice is out of practice. Also, the song was in German. I doubt I’d remember all the words correctly.”
“You could at least hum the melody for me.” He moved to sit beside her, meeting her eyes. It felt intimate just being close to him. Too intimate.
“I enjoyed spending the evening with your family,” she said, to change the subject. “How interesting they all are. And your friends.”
“Interesting is one word to describe them,” he said with a laugh. “Marlow and Augustine will move into their own ancestral holdings out here when they’re married. For now, they hang about London, if they aren’t with their families, or at some house party being set up with this young lady or that. They try to avoid that.”
“Don’t they want to marry?”
He made a face. “It’s complicated. August wanted to marry Townsend’s older sister, but she wed an Italian prince years ago. Marlow isn’t ready to marry anyone, and Townsend…” He paused. “Well, he couldn’t marry who he liked. He’s run off to the continent to lick his wounds. How cruel you were to him.”
“What?” She turned on him, aghast. “I didn’t know him well enough to be cruel to him.”
He took her arms and caught her in an embrace. “I was teasing you, crosspatch. Why must you snap at me? I’ll have to spank you again.”
He was in a jolly mood, but she wasn’t. “Please let go of me.”
She pulled away but he pulled her back. “You didn’t dream of the fire last night, did you?” he pointed out. “It was the first peaceful sleep you’ve had in a while.”
“I don’t know if it was peaceful. I dreamed of ginger and canes.”
“But you slept. I think the punishment was good for you. For both of us.” He grinned. “Come, Ophelia. Let me see how things look the day after.”
“How things look?”
He meant to inspect her bottom? She stiffened as he strong-armed her over his lap.
“Come now. No protests. Just do as I ask.”
He didn’t give her much choice. No matter how she resisted, she couldn’t escape his grip, so she let him have his way and lay over his knees, across the bed. How cruel he was, amusing himself by exposing her this way. He pushed up her robe and night shift, baring her bottom. She knew the two cane welts were still there; she’d felt them all day.
“I should give you a couple of cane strokes each night,” he said, his fingertips tracing over the welts. “That’ll keep you properly in line. I can add more for poor behavior, or take a stroke away if you’ve been especially good.”
She pressed her lips shut, refusing to dignify such a horrid idea with an answer. When would he let her up?
“What do you think?” He goaded her, pinching one of the sore stripes. “It might improve our marriage.”
“It will make our marriage worse,” she said through gritted teeth. “You shouldn’t treat me this way. A proper husband wouldn’t embarrass his wife in this fashion.”
“Why should I act like a proper husband, when you refuse to be a proper wife and perform your marital duties?”
It always came back to that. Stupid, lecherous man. Why, she would never please his perverse appetites, even if she gave in and welcomed him in her bed. She tried to keep her temper as he traced the cane stripes again, for he would spank her for any reason. If she gave a snide answer about “marital duties,” she was in the perfect position for reprisal, so she held her tongue, even as his caresses grew bolder.
He kneaded her hips, stroked the small of her back, even dipped a few fingers between her thighs. She lay still, wishing he’d release her. Instead he pushed her back on the bed, coming over her. She froze, praying his robe wouldn’t fall open any more.