He glowered. "Quite right. It does. Beginning with your very convincing performance this morning at the breakfast table. I had no notion what a consummate actress you could be. But then I don't suppose it bothers you to have lied with such bald-faced ease to Cousin Wilhelmina and Mallory, not to mention myself."

She thrust her hands into the pockets of her borrowed trousers. "Of course it does and I owe them both a huge apology, and you as well, Your Grace. I never like to deceive people. But under the circumstances, it could not be helped."

"Oh, could it not? Of all the incredible stunts to have pulled, this is without question the most egregious. Have you any idea the extent of the scandal you've caused? Every tongue in London will be wagging come nightfall, and likely across half of England by tomorrow!"

"I thought you didn't mind scandal," she said. "What was it you said? That I'd have to do a great deal better than a few extra dances to make you take notice."

He growled under his breath. "Oh, you've definitely got my attention. In case you didn't notice, you've had it these past few weeks while you've flitted from one peccadillo to another. But this time you've gone too far."

"Why? Because I dressed up like a man and went to your club?"

"No, because you involved others in your scheme, and worse, you've made an enemy of a very ugly-tempered man. By God, what were you thinking playing cards with a brute like Moregrave?"

"He sat down at our table and there was nothing we could do to prevent him. Besides, I had no idea what sort of villain he is, nor did the twins. At least not until the game began and then it was too late to withdraw."

"It's never too late to withdraw and you should have made your excuses."

"But he was into us for five hundred pounds by then. I wasn't about to give him the satisfaction of walking away with all that money."

"That's exactly what you should have done. Stood up and left. And the pot I saw had a great deal more than five hundred pounds in it, closer to five thousand."

"Actually, I believe the pool was more in the realm of ten to fifteen thousand pounds during that final hand, since I'd put in a rather hefty IOU."

His eyebrows shot high. "You gave him vowels! And what on earth would you have done if you'd lost? How would you have paid him?"

She lifted her gaze to the ceiling, noticing what lovely molding and cornice work had been done in the room, before looking back. "I rather imagined you could pay."

"Me!" His eyes narrowed in clear speculation. "Well, of course. I'm sure that was part of your plan to provoke me. So what went wrong? Or did you just get lucky at the wrong time?"

"Getting that high card was pure luck, but otherwise, I was in complete control of the game. Believe me, when you grow up in the country, you learn to play cards or else die of boredom. My sisters and I spent countless evenings playing whist and loo, and I'm quite skilled at both. Obviously we never played for stakes, but the principles are the same."

"So why didn't you lose to Moregrave?"

She hesitated before admitting the truth. "Because he is utterly contemptible and I couldn't bring myself to let him win, not even so much as a penny. Besides, the twins would have been devastated, since most of the original stake was theirs. I didn't think it was right to lose their money."

"Oh, you didn't, did you? But it was fine to lose mine?"

"Well, yes, considering how rich you are."

He stared, then barked out a harsh laugh. "By God, you're an outrageous baggage, do you know that?"

And too outrageous to be a duchess, she waited for him to say. Too outrageous to be his duchess.

Instead, a heavy silence lengthened between them.

"Do you know," he mused aloud in an abrupt change of subject, "I've decided what I'm going to do with the twins. They'll be sent home to Braebourne first thing tomorrow, where they're to remain until their next term begins at university."

"No! You can't," she protested. "They love London and the Season. Leo and Lawrence only went along with this scheme because I dared them into it. It wasn't their idea, so don't lay the blame at their doorstep. This was my doing."

"And they are old enough to know better. If they didn't want to take their lumps, they shouldn't have jumped into the fray."

"But-"

"As for you now, that is the more difficult quandary," he continued, resuming his speculation. "The Ton is already well-used to your ungoverned antics, so perhaps this Brooks's debacle shall pass over as nothing more than a nine-day wonder. Then again, repercussions of the scandal could carry on throughout the remainder of the Season. A few hostesses may withdraw their patronage, and I rather doubt you'll be welcome at Almack's, at least not for the rest of this year."

He tilted his head, studying her with an expression that made her shift her feet like some naughty schoolgirl, despite her current masculine mode of dress. "I know that most men would pack you off somewhere too," he continued. "Or else ignore their duty and send you back to your parents. But that isn't possible. I gave my word, and I am nothing if not a man of my word. You may have these fanciful notions that we can break off this engagement and that everything will go back to the way it was before. But that choice ended the day you accepted my offer.

"You may not realize it yet," he said, "but we're as good as married already in the eyes of Society. Has it never occurred to you why you've been given so much freedom and why the Ton is so willing to cast a benign eye on your escapades rather than condemn you? It's because you are The Clybourne Bride, my bride, whether you wear a wedding ring yet or not."

"No," she retorted, air rushing from her lungs.

"And as such, you are my responsibility."

"I don't want to be your responsibility-"

"And it's up to me to see to your welfare and to regulate your conduct."

Her chest grew tight. "You don't own me, not yet, Your Grace."

The gaze he turned on her was penetrating and implacable. "But I do, Claire. You just need to accept that fact and stop all this nonsense."

Temper burned like fire in her veins. "Never!"

He arched a warning brow. "I would be careful about using absolutes, if I were you. Such statements often have a way of coming back to haunt their issuers."

"Well, that's one 'never' that won't haunt me, since I mean what I say. You are absolutely unreasonable, rigid and controlling, without so much as a spark of spontaneity. Your entire existence is dictated by duty and convention and doing everything that is expected of you."

"Unlike yourself, who does whatever you please, whenever you please, and devil take the hindmost."

Her hands turned to fists at her sides. "That's unfair and you know it."

"As are your accusations against me," he countered. "Just because I see to my responsibilities doesn't make me rigid. If I were, you certainly wouldn't have been allowed to get away with half the things you've perpetrated these last few weeks."

Pausing, he drew a breath. "I suppose you're right, however, that I take my duties seriously. But then I must, since my actions have a direct impact on a great many people's lives. People who look to me for their livelihoods and welfare, even the shelter over their heads. It's true that I could shirk my responsibilities and be some self-absorbed, irresponsible ne'er-do-well, as far too many of my brethren are. I could indulge my vices and laze away my days while my tenants and pensioners are left to fend for themselves as best they may. But I happen to care about my legacy and my lands, and most of all, my people. If that makes me rule-bound and inflexible, then so be it."

She lowered her gaze. "I never meant to imply that you shouldn't see to your people or your lands. Of course you must, and I would think very ill of you if you did not."

"Well then, that complaint appears resolved. As for your charge that I lack spontaneity, I believe you will find that I can be as unpredictable as the next man. Consider those clothes you're wearing, for instance. You might imagine I don't care for them, but you'd be wrong. I especially like the trousers and the way they hug your bottom when you move."

Her lips parted on a gasp.

"And although I don't much care for the coat, since it covers up the lovely shape of your breasts," he went on, "the idea of removing the cravat offers several interesting possibilities. But I suppose I'll have to keep those to myself for the time being."

She could only speculate about what he meant by that last remark, but her heart sped up nevertheless, her pulse throbbing in her neck and wrists.

"Come here, Claire," he commanded.

"Why?"

"Just come here."

When she didn't move, he straightened away from the desk and strode toward her. "Fine then, I shall come to you." Reaching out, he took her by the shoulders. "You're the most contrary female I've ever met, do you know that? You drive me so mad that half the time I'm not sure whether I'd rather paddle you or kiss you."

Refusing to be cowed, she met his gaze. "I'd prefer the paddling, if you don't mind," she taunted.

His eyes narrowed. "That can be arranged." Catching hold of her wrist, he pulled her after him.

"What are you doing?"

He dragged her forward.

"Surely you aren't going to...no, I didn't mean it," she called as she fathomed his intent.

"Did you not?" he tossed out in a gruff voice. "Has no one ever told you that you shouldn't say things you don't mean?"

Clearing aside a space on one side of his desk, he whirled her around and bent her over its wide wooden expanse so that she lay on her stomach. She tried to squirm away, but he wouldn't let her, his hold as strong as a steel clamp. Yet he wasn't hurting her, she realized, careful to control her movements without inflicting any pain.

"So you want a paddling, do you?" he goaded with dark satisfaction.

"No! I told you to stop. Let me go."

"Not until you've learned your lesson. Perhaps this is what's been missing from our earlier confrontations."

"Edward Byron, don't you dare!" She squirmed again for good measure, but it made no difference, her body firmly under his control.

"Oh, so I'm Edward again, am I? As for not daring, I believe you'll find that I'm capable of daring a very great deal. Most especially when I'm provoked."

She lay there helpless and trembling, waiting to see what he would do next. But surely he was only trying to scare her. Surely he wouldn't actually make good on this threat. Then he struck her bottom with the flat of his hand and showed her that he was indeed a man of his word. She wiggled, her bottom stinging as his palm made contact. The blow wasn't painful, so much as it was humiliating.

"Stop!" she beseeched.

"Say please," he said mockingly.

Her spine grew rigid and she bucked against his hold again, trying futilely to free herself.

"You know," he remarked aloud, "I don't believe I'll ever be able to look at a pair of trousers the same way again after this. Maybe I should have a couple extra pair made up for you to wear when we're alone."

"Ohhhh," she raged, heat scalding her face.

Then he struck her again twice more, sending another kind of heat flowing fast over her stinging buttocks and thighs. She lay tense, preparing herself for the next blow, when suddenly he stopped, his wide palm coming to rest on her bottom, but not with force this time.

He stroked her, slowly, gently, as if trying to massage away the discomfort. She twisted again, but for an entirely different reason, no longer eager to get away. His movements slowed even more, turning into something that very definitely resembled a caress-and more. Closing her eyes, she gave herself over to the helpless shudder that racked her frame. Her nipples drew into taut, aching peaks, moisture pooling between her thighs in a way that left her shocked.

How could she desire him now? Like this, when she was lying completely at his mercy? But to her shame, she did.

Quite deeply.

He shifted, leaning up and over her back. A whimper escaped her as he pressed his mouth to her ear. "Forgive me, Claire. I should not have done that. I've never struck a woman before in my life. I have no excuse. None at all."

"And I should not have goaded you," she whispered, honest enough to admit her part in their skirmish. "It was just as much me as you." To her horror, a single tear leaked from her eye.

"Oh God," he whispered, "don't cry. Have I hurt you?"

"No."

"Then what?"

But she couldn't tell him. How could she when she herself barely understood all the feelings welling up inside her, threatening to overflow, warning of emotions best left unexplored.

Brushing away her tear with his thumb, he kissed her damp cheek, soothing her as he silently begged her pardon.

One kiss.

Then another.

Light and tender, gliding and gossamer as butterfly wings.

Her lips parted on a shivery inhalation, her body flashing hot, then cold, then hot all over again. He kissed her, taking her mouth with a sweet suction that made the world melt away and her senses along with it.

Her toes curled inside her shoes, her muscles aching to stretch and curve, needing to reach out and wrap around him like twining vines. Shifting, she tried to roll over, but couldn't quite manage, accepting his aid once he realized what it was she wanted. She shimmied and scooted, inadvertently pushing something off his desk that dropped to the carpet with a muffled thump. Fleetingly, she found herself hoping it hadn't been fragile or worse-ink.

Then there was no more time to worry as he parted her trouser-clad legs and stepped between. Leaning fully over her, he left her in no doubt of his own desire, his erection pressing thick and hard against her belly, despite the barrier of their clothes.

Claiming her mouth, he slipped his tongue inside, tangling against her own with warm dips and seductive glides that drove her half wild. Reaching up, she wrapped her arms around him, caressing his shoulders and neck with languid strokes that incited his own answering shudder. Her senses spun, his every touch as intoxicating as wine-rich and sweet and supple. Drunk on him, she craved more, wanting him more forcefully than she did her next breath. Spearing her fingers into his hair, she kissed him back, matching his possession with a dark, heady longing of her own.

Her breathing quickened, turning shallow and ragged. She discovered that Edward was in a similar state when he broke away to kiss her jaw and throat.

Suddenly he growled, his movements plainly hampered by the cravat tied around her neck. "Of all the strange things, this is the strangest," he murmured, tugging at the material without untying it. "I've never kissed anyone before who was wearing a neck cloth. It's a pure nuisance."

"Oh, it's not so bad," she said, reaching up to run a pair of fingers under the edge of his own cravat. He groaned and paused long enough to give her a hard, dizzying kiss before returning to his inspection of her attire.

"At least this waistcoat is dispensed with easily enough," he observed, gliding his hands over the gold buttons. Nimble as a tailor, he had them open with a few quick twists. Spreading apart the sides, he revealed a shirt made of fine white lawn, her nipples jutting visibly upward beneath the thin cloth.

His hands moved to cover her breasts, her rib cage angling up on a quick breath at his touch. "My God, are you bare under there?" he said.

She nodded. "I couldn't wear my stays, and a binding didn't seem necessary, not with my coat and waistcoat to provide protection."

"I'm glad I didn't realize that earlier," he said, flexing his fingers gently over her aching flesh, "or I wouldn't have been capable of thinking about anything else."

He squeezed her breasts again, letting them completely fill his palms before circling the peaks with his thumbs. She moaned, arching into his touch with unconcealed pleasure. Hunger pounded through her, leaving her wanton and restless. Her body turned to fire when he leaned low and drew one taut peak into his mouth. Suckling through the cloth, he did things that made her mind whirl, her nerve endings turn to embers.

Then, without her quite realizing that he'd managed to yank the shirt free of her trousers, he suckled on her again. Only this time her breasts were naked, the shirt bunched up just below her neck. His hands stayed busy too, playing with her other breast using clever, devastating moves that sent her flying, before his fingers roved lower to trace over the sleek, flat length of her belly and back.

She was utterly dazed, blood thrumming in dizzying beats and heady pulses through her system by the time he left her breasts to trail a line of kisses across her stomach. Somehow, the buttons on her trousers had come free, his big hands reaching inside.

"No drawers either?" he murmured in half-amazed, half-appreciative tones, his fingers stroking over her hipbones and around to her bare bottom.

"N-No. Too big for me."