“The Turner?” He began to sit up and was pleased to see Pen move to forestall him. “Let’s try it in place.”
She stopped a few feet from the bed. “You can’t run around the house naked.”
He subsided upon the pillows. “It’s my house.”
“The servants won’t like it.”
“They’re asleep. And we must resolve this question of the painting in that corner immediately.”
“I can wait until morning.”
She might be able to. He wasn’t sure he could.
Maintaining his casual manner required a mortifying effort. “Perhaps we should bring some pictures from Fentonwyck. My grandfather’s best acquisitions are in the long gallery there.”
She regarded him suspiciously. “I know. You showed me. Remember?”
“I remember.” After he’d botched his wedding night. She’d jumped every time he’d touched her. Just as she’d jumped tonight when he’d taken her arm at the musicale.
The
thought reminded him that he was at least half responsible for their difficulties. Pen had every right to prod and snipe. If it meant an end to the constraint between them, she could take an ax to him. He made himself smile. “I wonder if perhaps the Titian in the library might be better. Do you want to go and look at it?”
She sipped her wine as if considering his question. He had her measure now. Despite desire gnawing like a hungry tiger, he began to enjoy himself.
“Perhaps not immediately,” she said neutrally.
“Then how else shall we pass the time? Do you still play chess?”
A quirk of her lips. She definitely guessed his scheme. “Not recently.”
He nearly laughed. His amiability irked her. Although surely a moment’s glance at his body must reveal that neither art nor chess was uppermost in his priorities. “There’s a board in my room. Shall I fetch it?”
“You want to play chess?”
“You want to discuss art?”
To his relief, she burst out laughing, the sound sweet and silvery. He loved the wholehearted way she surrendered to amusement. If he could only gain her wholehearted participation in the conjugal act, he’d be a happy man.
With a click, she placed the half-full glass on the table and advanced toward the bed, every line of her slender body conveying purpose.
Cam kept his expression quizzical and his posture relaxed while his heart thundered so fast, surely she must hear it. One hint of triumph and she’d retreat.
“You want to play?” She stopped beside the bed and swiftly tugged her nightdress over her head. Before he could mask his shock, she kneeled on the mattress and with a determined gesture, pushed him back. “Let’s play.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Butterflies the size of ponies cavorted in Pen’s stomach. She wasn’t nearly as confident as she pretended. Even worse, she suspected Cam recognized her uncertainty.
But beneath the playfulness, what happened tonight was important. To her. And to her future with her husband.
She’d been a fool to think that she could sustain her submissive spouse act. How unexpected that Cam asked her to be herself. Somewhere he’d developed an appreciation for unconventional females.
“Come here, my wife.” His voice was hoarse with need. The desire in his gaze could set London alight.
He caught her in his arms, but she slid out of reach. “No.”
She’d held the upper hand until now. She had no intention of surrendering it until she achieved her aim. Tonight she’d made Camden Rothermere strip naked physically. Little did he know she launched a campaign to strip him naked emotionally.