"This and that. Everything."

"Did you make a list about me?"

"Of course."

Ellie waited for him to elaborate further, then impatiently asked, "What was on it?"

He chuckled at her curiosity. "It was a list of reasons why I thought you should make a good wife. That sort of thing."

"I see." Ellie wanted to ask how long this list of good reasons was, but thought that might sound a touch too ill-bred.

He leaned forward, the devil lurking in his brown eyes. "There were six items on the list."

Ellie leaned back. "I'm sure I didn't ask you the number."

"But you wanted to."

She kept silent.

"Now then," Charles said, "you must tell me something about Miss Eleanor Lyndon."

"I'm not Miss Eleanor Lyndon any longer," she pointed out pertly.

He laughed at his mistake. "The Countess of Billington. What is she like?"

"She is often a bit too mouthy for her own good," she replied.

"I already knew that."

Ellie made a face. "Very well." She thought for a moment. "When the weather is nice, I like to take a book and read outside. I often don't return until the sun sets."

Charles reached out and took her arm. "That is a very good thing for a husband to know," he said softly. "I will know where to look, should I ever lose you."

They walked toward the dining room, and he leaned down and said, "The dress seems to fit you well. Is it to your liking?"

"Oh, yes. It is quite the most lovely gown I have ever worn. It required only the smallest of alterations. How were you ever able to obtain it on such short notice?"

He shrugged nonchalantly. "I paid a dressmaker an obscene amount of money."

Before Ellie could respond, they had rounded a corner and were entering the dining room. The small crowd of guests stood up to cheer the new couple.

* * *

The wedding breakfast passed uneventfully, with the exception of the introduction of Charles's great-aunt Cordelia, who had been mysteriously absent from the ceremony and much of the breakfast. Ellie couldn't help but glance at the empty seat, wondering if her husband's aunt had an objection to the marriage.

Charles caught her staring, and murmured, "Do not worry. She is merely eccentric and likes to act on her own schedule. I am sure she will make an appearance."

Ellie didn't believe him until an older woman, dressed in a gown at least twenty years out of date, came crashing into the room with the declaration, "The kitchens are on fire!"

Ellie and her family were half out of their seats (indeed, Mrs. Foxglove was halfway out the door) by the time they realized that Charles and his family had not moved a muscle.

"But Charles!" Ellie exclaimed. "Didn't you hear what she said? Surely we must do something."

"She is always claiming that something or another is on fire," he replied. "I believe she enjoys a flair for high drama."

Cordelia made her way to Ellie. "You must be the new bride," she said bluntly.

"Er, yes."

"Good. We needed one of those around here." And then she left, leaving Ellie openmouthed in her wake.

Charles patted his wife on the back. "See? She likes you."

Ellie sank back down into her seat, wondering if every aristocratic family had a crazy maiden aunt stashed away in the proverbial attic. "Are there any other relatives of yours you'd like to introduce me to?" she asked weakly.

"Just my cousin Cecil," Charles replied, clearly trying hard not to laugh. "But he doesn't live here. He's quite a toad, actually."

"A toad in the family," Ellie murmured, the barest hint of a smile brushing along her lips. "How peculiar. I had no idea the Wycombes had an amphibian branch."

Charles chuckled. "Yes, we are all very accomplished swimmers."

This time it was Ellie's turn to laugh. "You shall have to teach me someday. I have never managed to learn."

He took her hand and brought it to his lips. "It should be my honor, my lady. We shall journey out to the pond just as soon as the weather turns warm." And to all the onlookers, they looked very much like a young couple madly in love.

* * *

Several hours later, Charles was sitting in his study, his chair tipped back and his feet balanced against the edge of his desk. He had sensed that Ellie might like a few moments alone to unpack her belongings and adjust to her new surroundings. So he had come here, telling himself that he had a number of business concerns that called for his attention. The responsibilities of administering an earldom were quite time-consuming if one wanted to do a decent job of them. He would complete some work here in his study, take care of all the tasks he had let pile up in the past few days. He'd go about his business while Ellie went about her business and—

He let out a loud rush of air, trying very hard to ignore the fact that his entire body was tense with desire for his wife.

He wasn't succeeding.

He certainly hadn't expected to want her quite this badly. He had known he was attracted to her; that was one of the reasons he had decided to ask her to marry him. He had always considered himself a sensible man, and there wasn't much sense in marrying a woman for whom one couldn't muster up a bit of excitement.

But there was something about those little half-smiles of hers—as if she had a secret that she would never divulge—that drove him mad. And her hair—he knew she detested the color, but he wanted nothing other than to run his fingers through the length of it, and—

His feet slipped off the desk and his chair crashed down onto the floor with a loud clunk. How long was his wife's hair? It seemed like something a husband ought to know.