“I am a whore," she said. "And in addition to that, I am not a nice woman. But despite these facts, my word is gold.”

“Be that as it may, a gentleman doesn’t continue to press hisattentions on a lady who can’t return them.”“Then, as I see it, you have two problems, my lord,” Harry said.Tony’s eyes narrowed.“One, that the lady does, in fact, return my attentions, and two”—Harry turned to meet the earl’sgaze—“I am no gentleman.”

“You are different." She lifted a hand to delicately trace his hairline.He closed his eyes, feeling her fingers tremble against his skin."For whatever reason," she said softly, "when you are with me, you aresimply Isaac and I am Coral.”

“Who are you?” Her eyes snapped open, and her voice held a hysterical edge. “Do I even know who you are?”He stepped over Walker’s battered corpse and grabbed her by the shoulders, leaned downso that his no-doubt foul breath washed over her face. “I am your husband, my lady.”She turned her face away from him.He shook her. “The one you promised to obey always.”“Simon—”“The one you said you’d cleave to, forsaking all others.”“I—”“The one you make love to at night.”“I don’t know if I can live with you anymore.” The words were a whisper, but they rang in his head like a death knell.”

“He shoved his hips against her, reminding her of what they had just done, and said, “I had never bedded a woman before you. I made that plain. Did you think I let you seduce me lightly? No, I did not. You made a deal with me the moment you gave me entry into your body.”“I made no such deal!” Her eyes were angry—and frightened—but he would not let her make him back down.“Precious Isabel,” he whispered. “You made a deal with your heart, your soul, and your body, and you sealed it with the wash of your climax on my c*ck.”She blinked, looking dazed. He’d never used such words before, especially not with her, but their bluntness was necessary.”

“She heard him close the door. “I was going to impress you with my romantic eloquence, of course. I’d thought to wax philosophical about the beauty of your brow.”Lucy blinked. “My brow?”“Mmm. Have I told you that your brow intimidates me?” She felt his warmth at her back as he moved behind her, but he didn’t touch her. “It’s so smooth and white and broad, and ends with your straight, knowing eyebrows, like a statue of Athena pronouncing judgment. If the warrior goddess had a brow like yours, it is no wonder the ancients worshiped and feared her.”“Blather,” she murmured.“Blather, indeed. Blather is all I am, after all.”She frowned and turned to contradict him, but he moved with her so that she couldn’t quite catch sight of his face.“I am the duke of nonsense,” he whispered in her ear. “The king of farce, the emperor of emptiness.”Did he really see himself so? “But—”“Blathering is what I do best,” he said, still unseen. “I’d like to blather about your golden eyes and ruby lips.”“Simon—”“The perfect curve of your cheek,” he murmured close.She gasped as his breath stirred the hair at her neck. He was distracting her with lovemaking. And it was working. “What a lot of talk.”“I do talk too much. It’s a weakness you’ll have to bear in your husband.” His voice was next to her ear. “But I’d have to spend quite a bit of time outlining the shape of your mouth, itssoftness and the warmth within.-Simon to Lucy on their wedding night.”

“You've used me to punish yourself, haven't you?"He watched dawning realization spread over her face, a confirmation more positive than anything she could ever say, and that arrow twisted deep in hischest. Yet still he had to ask the last question."Am I anything to you but a punishment?”