“What are they?” She looked into his eyes, curious to know what he saw as

flaws.

“I'm always late, for one thing. I'm famous for it. I also have a temper.”

A frisson of fear clenched her belly at the admission.

“Don't look at me like that; I would never hit a woman. It's a cowardly thing to do. I'm not a bully. Now, if a man makes me angry, I've settled it with my fists from time to time. Less now that I'm an adult, but in school, I got into quite a few scuffles. I've even studied pugilism since you never know when a threat might arise.” He paused, waiting for her to relax before he continued. “I curse;

probably more than I should. It upsets my mother. And I despise tobacco. I find

it so disgusting I can hardly help but object to people smoking in the same room

as me, and snuff is worse.”

Katerina grinned. “What a terrible monster you are.” She leaned over and

kissed Christopher on the cheek.

The look he turned on her simmered with possessive heat. You're mine, it seemed to say, and I intend to claim you over and over until all other claims fall away.

She shivered, but not with fear.

“I also have a strong appetite for lovemaking. I hope you're prepared for it.”

His lighthearted tone gave way to an intensity that matched his expression.

She had noticed, but honestly, the process hadn't been disgusting or unduly

frightening. Now that she knew what to expect, she felt perfectly willing, though

the thought did make her cheeks color a bit. “Yes, I think I could try it again,”

Katerina said, biting her lower lip, “though perhaps tomorrow night. The ache is

still quite strong.”

He patted her hand. “No doubt. Tomorrow will be fine.”

They pulled up in front of the Bennett family home, and Christopher helped

his bride descend from the cab. Then he walked her up to the door, his arm wrapped gently around her waist to shield her from the cold.

An elderly gentleman answered his knock.

“Good evening, Tibbins,” Christopher said, treating the servant with a

courtesy normally due to a social equal. “Are my parents in?”

“Yes, sir,” the man replied. “They're in the music room this evening.”

“Very good. And how are your knees?”

His concern further astonished his bride. If this is how he treats servants, maybe I really am safe.

“Fine. Better actually, thank you. Tonight, it's my arm that hurts.” He

clutched his withered bicep in one trembling hand and dug in the fingers.

“Heavens, we can't have that. Take care of yourself,” Christopher insisted.

“I'll do that, sir, and thank you.”

Now that they had found shelter from the biting wind, Christopher took

Katerina's arm properly. Though she knew the layout well enough, having

visited the sizeable house on more than one occasion, she allowed her husband

to steer her. Her mind focused on the meeting, on worrying over the reaction of

her dear friend to the rash and impulsive decision she'd just made.

Christopher led her to a familiar room and opened the door. Only three

weeks ago she had visited for tea and played the lovely painted harpsichord for

Mrs. Bennett and Mrs. Turner.

“Good evening, Mother, Father,” Christopher addressed his parents. “Is there

any chance of a couple of weary souls finding food on such an icy night?”

“Of course, son,” Julia replied, jumping from her seat and hurrying forward

to greet the new arrivals. “But… Katerina, what on earth are you doing here?

This is too great a risk, my dear.”

“It's fine, Mother,” Christopher answered. “I remember you told me how

great the danger was where Katerina was concerned, and I have applied myself

to getting to know her as quickly as possible. We need to talk to you both to be

sure we are all in agreement about how to proceed.” He squeezed Katerina's fingers gently, as though sending a silent message.

“What do you mean, son?” Adrian asked, eyebrows like storm clouds.