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Rupert

Rupert stared blindly at the speech he’d written almost nothing of. He groaned and barely prevented himself from banging his head against the desktop.

A blur of sage skirts flashed by his open study door. He stilled. She wouldn’t. He shook his head, pressing his lips together until they stung. There was no way she was going to do it. He had expressly forbidden her.

The memory of their breakfast that morning came careening back.

“Would you stroll around the pond with me this afternoon, Rupert?”

He glanced down at his speech.

His polite decline. Her set jaw.

“Perhaps I’ll go by myself then. I have been longing to go for a swim anyhow.”

“You cannot go swimming,” he’d said in alarm. “A marchioness does not swim in a pond like a plebeian.”

Her shoving back from the table.

“Perhaps this one does.”

Her storming from the room.

Him calling after her.

“Franny, I forbid it!”

He dropped his head in his hands, pulling at his curls. Why hadn’t he agreed to take a walk around the bloody pond with her? Because ever since the wedding ceremony, something had felt off… He couldn’t focus. He was usually calm, collected, and in command of himself. He had objectives, aspirations, and plans of execution. But everything that had once felt so certain now wavered, the foundation of his world unsteady. It seemed his world always unraveled when Franny was around.

What he needed to do was reset himself, ground himself in the principles he was raised to abide by. A true gentleman lived by the rules he set for himself, the rules governed by society. He did not succumb to foolish indulgence. He was not impetuous. He did not swim in a pond . Rupert let the strictures of his childhood settle over him.

But there was that feeling again. Like his cravat was over-starched. He chewed on the inside of his cheek. Which didn’t make a lick of sense. His cravats were always perfectly starched.

He groaned. Why couldn’t she behave for once? Then maybe he’d have a chance to get past whatever this setback was. Maybe then he’d be able to write this blasted speech. He pressed his fingers into his scalp. He really needed to stop swearing so much. Even in his mind, he was hardly conducting himself as a marquess ought.

A knock disturbed the silence of the room. Sanderson, his butler, cleared his throat, his eyes skittering around the room, looking everywhere but at Rupert.

“Sanderson, do you have a message?”

“It has come to my attention, my lord, that Her Ladyship is at the pond…”

“Yes, yes. Disregarding my orders,” he said, attempting to sound bored and uncaring. “Go retrieve her, please.”

“She…appears to be disrobing.”

“Disrobing…” Bloody fucking hell .

His mother’s words rushed forward, and he flinched: A true gentleman does not rely on vulgarity. Coarse words are the mark of ill-breeding.

He sped up his pace, his feet eating up the ground as he strode toward the pond, unsure if he was running from his mother’s words or after his shameless wife.

Sure enough, Franny stood before the pond, shrugging out of her green day dress, leaving her in nothing but her chemise. God, where were her stockings? No corset and no stockings—had she never learned how to dress herself? He would be having a word with her lady’s maid.

“Franny, stop this instant!”

She whirled around, green eyes flashing fire at him. Lifting her chin, she brushed her chemise straps off her shoulders. And let it fall.

The air left his lungs with a whoosh . Legs. For. Days. A thatch of black curls to match the waves cascading over her breasts. Sunlight shimmered over the ebony strands. And bloody fucking hell—fuck minding his language—because those were her pink nipples peeking through her inky black tresses.

A strangled yell tore from his throat. He was going to kill her. Punish her. Fuck her. No! Control, Rupert.

She pivoted on her heel and marched into the pond, apple-bottomed arse sashaying in defiance. The water splashed violently as she strode in, arcing out of her way, frantically evading the selkie plunging into its depths.

“What in heaven’s name do you think you’re doing? Get back out here and put your bloody clothes on!”

She spun, planting her hands on her hips, breasts swaying. He latched onto them. Like his mouth wanted to. Why was he cross again? Disobedient wife, Rupert. Restrain your wife. He clenched his fists. Oh God, how he’d love to restrain her.

“I cannot possibly go swimming with my clothes on, Pretentious Perty. They’ll get all wet.”

Wet. From her lips. His gaze shot to her shell-pink lips, pouting at him in her tirade. Gather your wits. His weakness floored the fury fighting its way through him, determined to break out. Like his hammering heart threatened to break out of his chest.

“You can’t take off your clothes in…in…public!” His yell came out high-pitched and strained, like she had gripped him by the ballocks. This woman was going to be the death of him.

She rolled her eyes and sunk backwards into the water, drifting deeper into the pond. Thank God. If he had to stare at her naked form any longer, he would have thrown any vestiges of control over his shoulder and fucked his wife right then and there.

“We aren’t in public,” she called out to him. “We are at our home . We can do whatever we please.”

“No, we can’t! There are rules. There are…are expectations. God, people visit this estate. It is open to the public! I demand you get out of the pond at once.”

Dear God. He could only imagine the scandal if this got out. If someone saw. He could say farewell to his political ambitions. Both because his marchioness had been caught naked on her estate, and the marquess in question had murdered the people who’d seen. Because if anyone laid eyes on his wife’s nude form, they’d find themselves eyeless shortly thereafter. And he’d use something dull and rusty.

Bloody hell, he was a madman.

Her disbelieving snort carried across the pond’s surface, ripples cascading from where she glided in the water. “Like you’ll stop me? I’d wager you cannot even swim.”

“I do too know how to swim!”

Dear Lord. Why was this always how it went with them? Her taunting that he didn’t know how, and then he foolishly trying to prove he very much did know how. It was like they were children all over again. He crossed his arms. It wouldn’t work this time.

He was a man, damn it. Disciplined.

Franny’s laughter floated over to him, mocking him, and he scowled.

He couldn’t be provoked.

She twirled in the water, lifting her arms into the air and dropping her head back.

Taunt. Taunt. Taunt.

Fuck it .

He toed off his boots, bent over and ripped off his stockings. He advanced on the pond, on her, unbuttoning his waistcoat. He shrugged out of it, not breaking stride. It hit the ground behind him with a soft thump . The only thing soft about any of this. Everything he felt was hard. Heated.

Hostile.

He tore at his cravat, pulling the length of fabric viciously until he finally got the last of it off his neck.

Franny’s eyes widened. He reached the edge of the pond and popped the buttons of his shirt, holding her gaze. When the last button popped free, he arched a you-dare-doubt-me brow, reached over his shoulder to his back, and ripped off his shirt.

Franny’s lips parted in a small moue, and she swam forward, as if drawn to him, as if the sight of him was some sort of irresistible pull. A low growl rumbled from him. He really liked the thought of that.

He strode into the pond, water lurching as he powered through. Just as the water reached his waist, he reached her.

“Rupert, you actually came in—”

He cut her joyous exclamation short, picked her up, and threw her over his shoulder.

She squealed. “Rupert! What are you doing? Put me down!”

“No.”

She beat her arms against his back, legs kicking wildly. He gripped her tighter, his cock thickening. God, he loved her fight. Black fire licked through his blood. Something dark stirred to life inside him. His fantasies simmering just below the surface, threatening to break free.

“Put me down this instant! You beast! My arse is completely exposed!”

“Oh, so now we’ve found some modesty, have we? Well, it’s too late for that.”

He could hear her teeth grinding over his shoulder, and he smiled. He stepped onto the bank of the pond and walked over to her pile of clothes. He bent over and grabbed Franny’s chemise and threw it over her arse.

“There, modesty.”

She grunted.

He picked up her dress and proceeded to the hunting lodge bordering the pond.

“Put me down, Rupert. I can walk now. I’ll put my clothes back on, I promise.”

“Too late. We will be having words, wife .”

Her body trembled against him. Good, she should be afraid of the tongue lashing he was about to deliver. Of everything he was about to deliver.

He burst through the door of the hunting lodge and kicked it shut. Bang— it slammed like a gunshot, reverberating through the shadowed deserted lodge. Deserted except for a pair of dusty wooden chairs, an empty hearth, a dirt-covered stone floor, and dark wood walls.

Rupert finally put her down and stepped back. She immediately ran up to him, beating on his chest with her delicate fists. As ineffectual as a pawing kitten.

“How dare you,” she said through panting breaths.

He grabbed her wrists, immobilizing her.

“How dare I ? Your behavior is deplorable, Franny. What was I supposed to do? Allow my undignified wife to frolic naked on my estate? God, you didn’t even deign to put on stockings or a corset today.”

“It’s June! It’s hot!” She pouted at him, pulling at his grasp.

His eyes went wide in disbelief. “It’s hot? Your reason is it’s hot . Try wearing a cravat in the heat of summer! Do you have no regard for propriety?” He dropped her wrists and waved a hand wildly in front of her naked breasts. “Exposing your breasts. Have you no shame?”

The tension fled her body, and her shoulders wilted. She took a half-step backward, her brow puckering. She looked down and grabbed fistfuls of her breasts, lifting them.

Fucking hell .

“Shame?” She looked at him, hands molding her breasts into gloriously enticing mounds.

He realized he was leaning forward, drawn to those breasts, and snapped straight with a growl.

“Because of these?” She worried her lip. “Should I be ashamed of them? Is there something wrong with them?”

“No! Arghh! God, Franny!” he exploded, fisting and yanking on his hair. Frustrated with himself, with her. “They’re… No, that is not what I meant.” He closed his eyes and prayed for patience. He pinned her with a glare. “It is not what well-bred ladies do. Goodness, I don’t think it’s what any ladies do. Didn’t anyone ever teach you how to behave properly?” Granted, he never would have thought wearing clothes would need to be a bloody lesson.

“Female presence was rather lacking…with my mother dying while birthing me and all.” Her hands fell away from her breasts, and she propped them on her hips. “My governesses preached chastity and purity and the whole—” She paused, taking up a faux lecturing stance, shaking her finger, which of course also shook her delightful breasts. “Being a virgin is of utmost importance! Your virtue is your husband’s!”

She shrugged. “But truly they were too busy most of the time looking over their shoulder, not knowing what creature I was going to sneak into their pocket or leave in their bed to teach me much in the way of lessons.”

Her gaze locked on his, and she slowly lifted her hands. Then, in the most torturous manner, she trailed her fingers down her body. And if he weren’t a man starved… His stare devoured their descent, mouth as dry as the dust filling the lodge they stood in.

“I suppose they left out the lesson on…nudity , ” she purred.

His growl thundered through the hunting lodge, and she froze. Her eyes stretched wide. She took a hesitant step backward.

Adrenaline pumped through his veins.

Anticipation.

She thought to provoke him? She better be prepared for the repercussions.

“Are you going to try to run away from me, Franny?” His voice was a gentle whisper, but he was going to be anything but gentle with her. She wanted to run around the estate out of control? He would show her out of control.

His lips curled up.

He closed in on her.