Her head snapped back up. "I beg your pardon?"

Charles looked as if he wanted to shake her. Hard. "I said," he repeated, "have you anything to say for yourself?"

She blinked and replied, "This room is quite blue."

He just stared at her, clearly at a loss as to how to respond.

"I didn't think you were serious about taking me to the blue room," she explained. "I thought you merely wanted to take me somewhere where you might yell at me."

"I do want to yell at you/' he ground out "Yes," she mused. "That much is clear. Although I must say that I'm not entirely certain why ...'

"Eleanor!" he fairly roared, "You had your head in an oven!" .

"Of course I did," she replied. "I was fixing it. You'll be quite pleased once you start receiving proper toast for breakfast."

"I will not be pleased, I could not care less about the toast, and you will never enter the kitchens again.

Ellie's hands found their way to her hips. "You, sir, are an idiot." .

"Have you ever seen a person with his hair on fire?" Charles demanded, jabbing his finger into her shoulder. "Have you?"

"Of course not, but—"

"I have, and it was not a pretty sight."

"I don't imagine it was, but—"

"I'm not certain what ultimately caused the poor fellow's death, the burns or the pain."

Ellie swallowed, trying not to visualize the disaster. "I'm terribly sorry for your friend, but—"

"His wife went insane. Said she heard his screams at night."

"Charles!" ...

"Good God, I had no idea having a wife would be this disruptive. And only one day into marriage."

"You are being needlessly insulting. And I can assure you that—"

He sighed and rolled his eyes heavenward as he interrupted her. "Was it so much to hope that my life could continue as peacefully as before?"

"Will you let me speak!" Ellie finally burst out.

He shrugged in a deceptively casual manner. "Go right ahead."

"You needn't be so pointlessly macabre." she said. "I have been fixing ovens my entire life. I didn't grow up with servants and luxuries and the like. If we were to eat supper, I had to cook it. And if the oven didn't work, I had to fix it."

Charles pondered that, paused, and said, "I apologize if you feel that I have underestimated you in any way. I certainly do not mean to belittle your talents."

Ellie wasn't entirely certain that fixing an oven qualified as a talent, but she kept her mouth shut.

"It is simply"—he reached out, took a lock of her strawberry-blond hair, and twirled it around his forefinger—"that I shouldn't like to see this go up in flames."

She swallowed nervously. "Don't be silly."

He tugged gently on her hair, drawing her closer to him. "It would be such a shame," he murmured. "It's so soft."

"It's just hair," Ellie stated, thinking that one of them had to keep this conversation grounded in reality.

"No." He brought the lock of hair to his mouth and ran it across his lips. "It's much more than that."

Ellie stared at him, unaware that her lips had parted ever so slightly. She would swear she felt that gentle caress on her scalp. No, on her mouth. No, on her neck. No—blast it, she'd felt that bloody sensation all over her body.

She looked up. He was still running her hair across his mouth. She shuddered. She was still feeling it. "Charles," she croaked.

He smiled, clearly aware of his effect on her. "Ellie?" he countered.

"I think you should..." She gasped and tried to pull away as he pulled her even closer to him.

"You think I should what?"

"Let go of my hair."

His free arm stole around her waist. "I disagree,"' he whispered. "I've grown quite attached to it."

Ellie looked at his finger, around which were now wrapped several coils of her hair. "Clearly," she said, wishing she sounded more sarcastic and less breathy.

He held his finger up so that he could regard it against the undraped window. "Pity," he murmured. "The sun is already well above the horizon. I should have liked to compare your hair to the sunrise."

Ellie stared at him, dumbfounded. No one had ever spoken to her in such a poetic fashion before. Unfortunately, she had no idea how to interpret his words. "What are you talking about?" she finally blurted out.

"Your hair," he said with a smile, "is the color of the sun."

"My hair," she said loudly, "is ridiculous."

"Women." He sighed. "They are never satisfied."

"That is not true," Ellie protested, thinking that she ought to defend her gender.

He shrugged. "You are not satisfied."

"I beg your pardon. I am completely satisfied with my life."

"As your husband, I cannot tell you how heartened I am to hear it. I must be better at this marriage thing than I thought."

"I am perfectly satisfied," she said, ignoring his ironic tone, "because I now have control over my own destiny. I am no longer under my father's thumb."

"Or Mrs. Foxglove's," Charles pointed out.

"Or Mrs. Foxglove's."' she agreed.

His face adopted a thoughtful air. "But my thumb, I could do quite a bit with my thumb."

"I am certain I do not know what you are talking about."

He let go of her hair and let his fingers trail down the side of her neck. "I am certain you don't," he murmured. "But you will. And then you will be satisfied."