"I can hardly wait to see what delights you have in store."

She flicked a glare at him. He bit his lip to keep from grinning. What fun to tease her!

Again her gaze lingered a bit too long on his chest. That was definitely a spark of interest. He pretended to ignore her, took the soap and stroked it over his chest and neck. Lifted an arm and washed underneath.

She appeared spellbound by his actions for several moments before she snapped to attention. "I bid you a good night, monsieur."

"I wish you wouldn't call me monsieur." Too cold and distant.

"Très bien. My laird."

"Lachlan," he corrected.

A moment of silence stretched out in which she stared at the floor. "Lachlan," she murmured.

Had she ever said his name before? The sound of it in her husky voice and beguiling accent made his blood heat like mad. His shaft hardened more fully, tingling, and he wished she'd take another peek at it. Stroke it. He hungered for her soft, smooth hands on him.

"Would you care to join me?" he asked.

She stiffened and took a step toward the door. "Non. I have already bathed. I must go."

"Would you like to sleep in here? I'd like it if you would." Nay, I would love it. Saints, what he would do to her. Kissing, licking, caressing. The slowest, most tantalizing seduction he had ever indulged in... if he could keep himself under control. Aye, he could. For her, he would go to great lengths to ensure her enjoyment. Great lengths. He almost smiled.

"Non. I am not ready," she said in a quiet voice.

"'Tis understandable to be nervous," he said mildly. Hell, he was growing a smidgen nervous himself. And eager. He rubbed the soap down his abdomen as if they were discussing naught more significant than what to have for supper.

"I do not care for... the coupling," she said.

"What happened?" he asked. And who was the whoreson who turned you against the most pleasurable experience on earth? Some bumbling, selfish imbecile, no doubt. Over the years he'd changed more than one woman's opinion of sex, usually after their much older or unskilled husbands had died. 'Twas a crime they'd never satisfied their wives nor given them a jot of pleasure.

Angelique exhibited that trapped hart look again. "Nothing. I simply detest it."

"I shall remedy that as well, for never have I been with a woman who didn't enjoy it."

Her glare speared him with pure hatred. She turned and strode from the chamber, slamming the door.

"God's blood! I'm daft," he muttered to the quietness of the room. Could he never learn to guard his tongue?

He quickly finished his bath and dried off. He wrapped the damp piece of linen around his hips, stalked across the sitting rooms to her chamber door and knocked.

Silence.

"Angelique?" He knocked again.

"Va-t-en!"

"I'm sorry for what I said, and I won't be leaving." He lifted the latch and opened the door. Why had she not barred it if she truly wanted him to stay out?

She stood by the fireplace, glaring icicles at him. "You may not enter my bedchamber unless I give you permission."

"I am your husband and I will enter whenever I wish." He closed the door behind him.

"C'est que tu es goujat!"

She thought him a lout, huh? "I take it that was not a compliment. We are wed. Get used to it, Angelique."

"Need I remind you it is a marriage in name only? You agreed to this."

"Nay, I did not."

"You did! Does your word mean naught?"

"Don't question my honor. What I said was, 'whatever you desire.' And what you 'desire' has not been established yet."

Her eyes narrowed further, her expression militant. "I have made my desires quiet clear, monsieur. We will not share a bed."

"And how do you propose to have an heir for this illustrious estate? Immaculate conception?"

"Do not mock me."

"'Tis an honest question."

With big eyes, she watched him. "Do you intend to force me?"

He drew back, feeling as if he'd been slapped. "Nay! How can you ask such a thing? I would never force you, or anyone."

She turned away, facing the small fire in the hearth.

"Angelique. I wish you wouldn't fear me so much. I would never hurt you, or make you do aught against your will. I but wish to show you how it can be between a man and a woman. Believe it or not, the bedding can be quite fun, pleasurable and astonishing."

"For you, I'm sure it is."

"And for you. I would ignore my own needs and fulfill yours first."

"I do not have those kinds of needs." Her gaze was cutting.

"Aye, you do. You just don't ken it yet. Either that or you're lying about it."

"Non, believe what I say."

"I'm thinking you protest too much. I've seen the way you look at me. You enjoyed the kisses." And so had he. In fact, he craved another now. He would cover her sweet, delectable body in kisses if but given the chance.

Her face reddened but her mouth appeared sealed tight.

"I'm also thinking no man has ever pleasured you." Deep down, he was glad for that because he wanted to be the only one to teach her about pleasure. And he wanted her addicted to the carnal delights he would dole out.

"I told you, I am not a virgin."

"That makes no difference. 'Haps you have been with a man but you didn't enjoy it. A woman deserves as much pleasure as a man." And for her, he'd endeavor to give her twice as much.

"I am not interested," she said in a small voice. But, like a light caress, her curious gaze slid down his chest, over the thin material draping his hips and becoming tented at his groin.

Not interested? What a terrible liar she was. "One kiss," he said.

"What?" The ambivalence—fear and desire—in her eyes made him ache to the depths of his soul. How could she think he'd hurt her?

"One kiss is all I ask of you this night."

"I do not wish it."

"You enjoyed the one last night. I didn't think you feared anything."

"I do not fear you." Her tone was almost like a wee wildcat's growl. So fragile, yet so fierce.

"Aye, I'm thinking that's why you chose me over those other two men." He needed to remind her it was her decision to marry him. And remind her of the bastards she could be married to at this very moment instead. Neither man would be so lenient as Lachlan.

"I did not wish to marry a man old enough to be my grandfather."

"Understandable. And Kormad?"

"Him I detest beyond anything."

Lachlan nodded. "What of Philippe? Did he give you pleasure?"

She remained silent, staring into the fire.

"I didn't think he had."

"He did."

Och! Another lie. "Indeed? Then I deserve a chance to wipe him from your memory."

"You cannot. I shall never forget Philippe."

What the hell did she see in the cowardly laddie? Likely, that was another lie to keep Lachlan at bay. "A kiss, Angelique. 'Tis all I'm asking. If you'd married Chatsworth or Kormad, either of them would've already forced you into bed. But I wouldn't do that. I ask you to come of your own free will."

The fire crackled in the long silence.

Stomach aching, Angelique clenched her sweaty hands, unable to forget the pain and humiliation she'd suffered at Girard's hands... and body. The way he forced his erect member inside her, like a battering ram, making her flesh bleed, even as he slapped her and hit her. Tears stung her eyes. She turned away from Lachlan, hoping he would not see.