“Yes,” he said. “Starting now.”

Beatrix might have protested his autocratic tone, except there was still a dangerous glint in his eyes, and she understood that he was chafing just as she was. He wasn’t comfortable with any woman having such power over him.

Very well. She would certainly not be submissive to him in all things, but she could yield to him on a few points. “I promise to be more careful from now on,” she said.

Christopher didn’t smile, precisely, but his lips took on a wry curve. Carefully he deposited her on the settee, went to his discarded clothes, and managed to find a handkerchief.

Beatrix lay half curled on her side and watched him, puzzling over his mood. He seemed as if he were back to himself, for the most part, but there was still a sense of distance between them, of something withheld. Thoughts he wouldn’t share, words he wouldn’t speak. Even now, after they had engaged in the most intimate act possible.

The distance wasn’t new, she realized. It had been there since the beginning. It was only that she was more aware of it now, attuned to the subtleties of his nature.

Returning, Christopher gave her the handkerchief. Although Beatrix would have thought herself to be far beyond blushing after what she had just experienced, she felt a tide of scarlet cover her as she blotted the sore wet place between her thighs. The sight of blood was not unexpected, but it brought home the awareness that she was irrevocably changed. No longer a virgin. A new and vulnerable feeling came over her.

Christopher dressed her in his shirt, surrounding her in soft white linen that retained the scent of his body.

“I should put on my own clothes and go home,” Beatrix said. “My family knows I’m here with you unchaperoned. And even they have their limits.”

“You’ll stay the rest of the afternoon,” Christopher said evenly. “You’re not going to invade my house, have your way with me, and dash off as if I were some errand you had to take care of.”

“I’ve had a busy day,” she protested. “I’ve fallen from a horse, and seduced you, and now I’m bruised and sore all over.”

“I’ll take care of you.” Christopher looked down at her, his expression stern. “Are you going to argue with me?”

Beatrix tried to sound meek. “No, sir.”

A slow smile crossed his face. “That was the worst attempt at obedience I’ve ever seen.”

“Let’s practice,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Give me an order and see if I don’t follow it.”

“Kiss me.”

She pressed her mouth to his, and there was silence for a long time afterward. His hands slipped beneath the shirt, tormenting gently until she pressed herself against him. Her insides felt molten, and she weakened all over, wanting him.

“Upstairs,” he said against her lips, and picked her up, carrying her as if she weighed nothing.

Beatrix blanched as they approached the door. “You can’t take me upstairs like this.”

“Why not?”

“I’m only wearing your shirt.”

“That doesn’t matter. Turn the doorknob.”

“What if one of the servants should see?”

Amusement flickered in his eyes. “Now you’re worried about propriety? Open the damned door, Beatrix.”

She complied and kept her eyes tightly closed as he carried her upstairs. If any of the servants saw them, no one said a word.

After bringing Beatrix to his room, Christopher sent for cans of hot water and a hip bath, and a bottle of champagne. And he insisted on washing her, despite her cringing and protesting.

“I can’t just sit here,” she protested, straddling the metal tub and lowering herself carefully, “and let you do something I’m perfectly capable of doing myself.”

Christopher went to the dresser, where a silver tray bearing champagne and two fluted crystal glasses had been set. He poured a glass for her, and brought it to Beatrix. “This will keep you occupied.”

Taking a sip of the cool, bubbly vintage, Beatrix leaned back to look at him. “I’ve never had champagne in the afternoon,” she said. “And certainly never while bathing. You won’t let me drown, will you?”

“You can’t drown in a hip bath, love.” Christopher knelt beside the tub, bare-chested and sleek. “And no, I won’t let anything happen to you. I have plans for you.” He applied soap to a sponge, and more to his hands, and began to bathe her.

She hadn’t been washed by anyone since she had been a young child. It gave her a curious sense of safety, of being nurtured. Leaning back, she idly touched one of his forearms, trailing her fingertips through a froth of soap. The sponge drew over her slowly, her shoulders and br**sts, her legs and the creases behind her knees. He began to cleanse her more intimately, and all sense of safety vanished as she felt his fingers slipping inside her. She gasped and floundered a little, reaching for his wrist.

“Don’t drop the glass,” Christopher murmured, his hand still between her thighs.

Beatrix nearly choked on her next swallow of champagne. “That’s wicked,” she said, her eyes half closing as his exploring finger found a sensitive place deep inside her.

“Drink your champagne,” he said gently.

Another head-spinning sip, while his invading touch moved in subtle swirls. Beatrix lost her breath. “I can’t swallow when you do that,” she said helplessly, her hand gripping the glass.