A muscle ticked in his jaw. Not a good sign.

Lilac's hand went to her throat.

"Close the door, Lilac," he said softly.

Not stopping to question his order, she did as he said, shutting the dressing room door behind her. After all, he was standing there almost in the nude; one of the maids might walk in, although that was unlikely.

His burning gaze flicked to her shawl. "Put it down."

So, he wasn't concerned about someone walking in; he was furious with her planned act of rebellion. Lilac thought about not doing it, but one look into those glittering blue and gold orbs made her change her mind. She wisely walked over to the shelf near the door, replacing the shawl.

"Come to me." His voice was quiet and deadly serious.

This time she did balk. Nickolai looked a wee bit too angry. She shook her head silently.

"Come here, Lilac."

Such a tone required some response. She slowly approached him, lifting her chin defiantly when she stood directly in front of him.

Her defiance abruptly vanished at his shocking words. "Lift your dress," he ordered.

"What?"

"Did you not hear me?"

She heard him all too well. "I will not!"

"Charming world, this," his eyes flashed a warning, the silk and velvet of his voice at complete odds with the expression in their depths. "From what I understand, a wife must obey her husband. Is that not so?"

Lilac's nostrils flared. She reluctantly lifted her skirts.

The dark, sooty lashes drifted downward. Nickolai eyed her lacy pantalettes dispa.s.sionately. "Remove them."

She sucked in her breath. "Nickolai, I-"

"Do it."

Holding the material of her dress in one hand, she reached over to untie the ribbon at her waist. The cottony material slid down her legs, gathering about her ankles in a soft puddle. Exposing her totally to his view. Lilac wished she could hide her face. Among other things.

"Step away."

Looking at a spot somewhere to his left, she did as he bid, gingerly stepping out of the undergarment.

He took one step forward.

She took one back.

The corners of his mouth curved mockingly. She did not like the look on his face. He took another step, forcing her back against the door.

"Nickolai, I don't think-"

Strong masculine hands reached down, cupping her derriere. Without any visible exertion, he lifted her up, high against his chest. "Enclose my waist with your legs," he hissed.

When she hesitated, he braced her against the door with one hand and easily positioned her to his liking with the other. She was completely open to him now. Poised on the tip of his masculinity.

He stared down at her-all male fire and smoldering heat.

Pa.s.sion and fury mixed equally on his sultry face. Despite her apprehension, Lilac could feel her dewy moisture slicken the head of his manhood.

By the narrowing of his eyes, he felt it, too.

Nickolai was very angry. She had flaunted his words in his face, outwardly defying him. What would he do to her? There was something almost feral about him.

"Nickolai, don't! I'm afraid, I-"

He sunk ruthlessly into her.

A cry somewhere between alarm and ecstasy escaped her lips.

He withdrew, then fiercely plunged into her again.

Sliding her hands beneath his shirt. Lilac gripped his shoulders. She didn't know whether to yell in outrage or bliss. This was aggrieved ecstasy! It amazed her how fast her husband could turn from sweet to savage. Nickolai was definitely inflamed.

And he was inflaming her in a way he probably didn't intend. The sight of that remarkable masculine face, jaw tensed, eyes flashing, struck her with a powerful surge of desire.

Bracing her against the door, he thrust into her with a steadfast, ironclad rhythm. No words came from his lips; the upward motion of his thighs gave him all the power he needed to get his point across. And not just s.e.xually.

Lilac moaned over and over, senselessly; burying her face into the skin of his warm, sweat-damp throat. The position he held her in would not allow her to escape his masterful impalement. Even if she wanted to. The door rattled against the hinges with his constant, ramming strokes.

Still, he pounded into her.

She shivered and screamed at the exquisite torture. "You're killing me! You're killing me!"

But they both knew what she was really saying.

His hot, racing breath fell across her face. "Who am I to you?" he ground out between teeth clenched with his exertion and, although she did not know it, his control.

"My-my husband," she sobbed against his neck.

"Yes." He drove up into her. White-hot flame shot through him; exploded in him.

Lilac began to climax with him, tasting his blood as she bit sharply into his lower lip in her frenzy.

Rejar sagged heavily against her, pinning her between him and the back of the door. Trying to catch his breath, he spoke raggedly in her ear. "Do you understand me?"

She nodded, rubbing her forehead against his chin. With very few words, he had expressed himself remarkably well, had sharpened her awareness of him and what he was to her. There would be no taking herself off to Lady Whitney's. Her husband expected her to consult with him in such matters and heed his advice. "Good."

She thought his lips brushed her hair, but when he released her curtly and coldly turned away, she realized she must have been mistaken. This was an untamed side of Nickolai and she never wanted to see it again. Lilac swiftly grabbed her pantalettes off the floor and fled the room.

After she had gone, Rejar yanked on his clothes with precise, irate movements.

He was still concerned about her safety; she was headstrong and youthfully rebellious. These att.i.tudes, while charming in their way to him, could cause significant problems between them. In his anger, he had almost turned feral on her.

He was worried about that.

Lilac would not be able to handle him if he turned feral. She 'was too inexperienced with his kind-with any kind.

A Familiar woman innately understood her male. This unsophisticated woman did not.

Rejar rolled his shoulders to release some of the tension there. Familiar males had a way with their mates which was never questioned. The female knew that her mate always had a reason for his behavior, often an instinctual reason. Consequently, she knew he would never request anything from her without a strong sense of necessity. To do otherwise was not their way. Female Familiars trusted their mates in all things; for they knew the male cherished and protected his family, even at the cost of his own life.

Lilac knew nothing about instinctual reasons.

He licked his lip, tasting the blood. He remembered her wildness and smiled halfheartedly. Well, she certainly had the pa.s.sion to become like a Familiar woman. Maybe in time, she would come to understand him.

Before leaving the dressing room, he thoughtfully retrieved her shawl, bringing it with him downstairs. The weather had a habit here in Ree Gen Cee Ing Land of turning raw.

She would need it when he escorted her home from Lady Whitney's.

His dutiful wife was waiting for him in the parlor when he came downstairs.

The picture of abject misery, she sat primly in her chair, back straight, hands folded in her lap, staring straight at the wall. Rejar shook his head disbelievingly at the tragic melodrama portrayed before him.

Agatha and Traed entered the room from the doors which led out to the garden. Agatha was adjusting her pince-nez as she expostulated on some topic, while Traed walked at her side, hands clasped at the small of his back, listening to her with a patience only he possessed.

"Lilac! I've been looking all over for you."

In keeping with her role as the pitiful martyr, Lilac sighed dolefully. "Yes, Auntie Whumples; what is it?"

"Why, did you not hear it? There was a terrible racket! It appears there is a shutter loose somewhere on the house-the banging was dreadful! Traed and I just went out to investigate, although we couldn't find anything loose."

Lilac turned scarlet.

She risked a glance at Nickolai. Did he realize, just what banging noises Auntie had heard?

Blue/gold eyes twinkling, her rogue of a husband slowly ran his tongue over the little red spot she had nipped on his lip. Abashed, she turned away from him.

His low laugh just reached her.

Oh, how she detested him!

Traed came alongside Rejar. Glancing knowingly at the Familiar's lip, he murmured facetiously, "Have you been to battle, Rejar?"

He grinned, sending Traed a c.o.c.ky look. "Mmm."

Traed's eyes danced with sport. "Perhaps there is some Aviaran warrior in you after all."

"Only in certain parts," Rejar mouthed to him as he walked over to fetch his wife.

Traed coughed.

"It is a little early in the day, but what do you think, Traed?"

Traed ta'al Yaniff gazed around the smoky interior of the gaming h.e.l.l at 77 Jermyn Street. Everywhere he looked, men were engaged in various kinds of wagering.

"This is what the men here do for a pastime?" he asked in disgust.

"Yes. Sons often wager entire family fortunes."

Traed chuckled. "Krue would knock your head against a wall, Rejar."

"Only if I lost."

Both men grinned at each other.

"What is this game here?" Traed walked over to a green baize table.

"It is called hazard."

"What are the rules?"

"Do you see those two cubes with the spots on the sides? They are called dice. A caster throws the dice until he scores spots numbering five, six, seven, eight, or nine. This score is called 'the main.' "

"Then what?"

"Then he throws again. If his second score equals the main, he wins all the tokens. If he throws anything other than his main, he continues to throw until he gets the main-here he loses-or he gets his second score, in which case he wins. However, if he throws a two or a three, it is called 'crabs' and he loses at once."

Traed was not impressed. "Where is the challenge?"

"Ah! That is called 'hedging' or knowing the odds. Someone good at hedging can ensure his victory by the bet he places."

"Show me."

Rejar placed a bet on the table after the caster had thrown his second score. By carefully watching the throws, he was easily able to figure out the odds in his favor. So he was somewhat surprised when he lost his tokens.

Traed looked at him.

Rejar rubbed his ear. "I meant to do that... to show you how the game is played."

"Of course you did." Traed glanced at him out of the corner of his eye.

The caster "threw out" and the dice were pa.s.sed to Rejar. He picked them up, weighing them in his palm. The hazard table at 77 Jermyn Street was notoriously crooked. Rejar, with his Familiar abilities, could tell at once that the cubes were not balanced.

He leaned over and spoke in Traed's ear. "The dice are askew. The game is set up for a loss."