"Judith!" Helen exclaimed, turning quite pink.

"Well, you did. You said he contorts with too many women, and—"

"Judith!" Helen fairly shouted, grabbing her by the hand. "This is not the time."

"It's all right,". Ellie said quickly. "She meant no harm."

Helen looked as if she wanted to sink into the floor and disappear. She tugged on Judith's arm, saying, "I believe our newlyweds would like a moment alone. I shall show everyone to the dining room for the wedding breakfast."

As Helen hurried the guests from the room, Ellie and Charles heard Judith chirp, "Claire, what is a loose woman?"

"Judith, you are a pest," was Claire's reply.

"Does she fall apart? Are her arms and legs not screwed in tight enough?"

Ellie wasn't certain whether she should laugh or cry.

"I'm sorry about that," Charles said quietly once the room was empty.

"It was nothing."

"A bride shouldn't be subjected to stories of her new husband's peccadilloes on her wedding day."

Ellie shrugged. "It's not so dreadful coming from the mouth of a six-year-old. Although I imagine she meant that you consort with women."

"I can assure you I contort with no one."

Ellie actually chuckled.

Charles looked down at the woman who was now his wife and felt an inexplicable sense of pride blossoming within him. The events of the morning could not have been anything but overwhelming for her, and yet she held herself with grace and dignity. He had chosen well. "I'm glad you didn't cover your hair," he murmured.

He chuckled as one of her hands flew to her head. "I can't imagine why you asked me not to," she said nervously.

He reached out and touched a lock of hair that had escaped her coiffure and curled along the base of her throat. "Can't you?"

She didn't answer and he applied pressure to her shoulder until she began to sway toward him, her eyes beginning to glaze over with desire. Charles felt a burst of triumph as he realized that seducing his wife wasn't going to be nearly as difficult as he'd anticipated.

His body quickened, and he leaned down to kiss her, to run his hands through that glorious red-gold hair of hers, and then...

She pulled away.

Just like that.

Charles swore under his breath.

"This isn't such a good idea, my lord," she said, looking damnably sure of what she was saying.

"Call me Charles," he bit out.

"Not when you look like that."

"Like what?"

"Like—oh, I don't know. Rather imperious." She blinked. "Actually, you look as if you're in pain."

"I am in pain," he snapped.

She took a step back. "Oh. I'm terribly sorry. Do you still ache from the curricle accident? Or is it your ankle? I noticed you still have a tiny limp."

He stared at her, wondering if she could possibly be that innocent. "It's not my ankle, Eleanor."

"You should probably call me Ellie," she said, "if I'm to call you Charles."

"You haven't done so yet."

"I suppose not." Ellie cleared her throat, thinking that this conversation must be proof that she did not know this man nearly well enough to be his wife. "Charles."

He smiled. "Ellie. I like that. It suits you."

"Only my father calls me Eleanor." Her brow furrowed in thought. "Oh, and Mrs. Foxglove, too, I suppose."

"Then I shall never call you Eleanor," he vowed, a smile tugging at his lips.

"You probably will," she said, "when you're angry with me."

"Why do you say that?"

"Everyone does when they're angry with me."

"Why are you so certain I will become angry with you?"

She scoffed at that. "Really, my lord, we are to be married for a lifetime. I cannot imagine I will make it that long without incurring your ire at least once."

"I suppose I should be glad I married a realist."

"We are the best sorts in the long run," she replied with a loopy smile. "You'll see."

"I have no doubt."

There was a moment of silence, and then Ellie said, "We should go in to breakfast."

"I suppose we should," he murmured, reaching out to stroke the underside of her chin.

Ellie lurched backwards. "Don't try that."

"Don't try what?" He sounded rather amused.

"To kiss me."

"Why not? That was part of our bargain, wasn't it?"

"Yes," Ellie hedged. "But you know very well I can't think straight when you do that." She supposed she probably ought to have kept that fact to herself, but what was the point if he was just as aware of it as she?

Charles's lips spread into a full-fledged grin. "That's the idea, my dear."

"Perhaps for you," she retorted. "But I wanted the chance to get to know you better before we entered that... er ... phase of our relationship."

"Very well, what do you want to know?"

Ellie was silent for a moment, having no idea how to answer that. Finally she said, "Anything, I suppose."

"Anything?"

"Anything that you think might help me to know the Earl of Billington—excuse me, Charles—better"

He thought for a moment, then smiled and said, "I am a compulsive list-maker. How does that rate for an interesting tidbit?"

Ellie wasn't certain what she'd been expecting him to reveal about himself, but that certainly wasn't it. A compulsive list-maker? That told her more about him than any hobby or pastime ever would. "What sorts of things do you make lists about?" she asked.