As if someone had blown it out.

A rolling clatter sounded on the street outside. Startled, her heart contracted, a painful grip in the center of her chest. Then came the footman’s steps echoing across the checkerboard floor as he strode to the door and held it open. Anne drifted to the railing and looked down.

Cold air swirled in, and a man stood in the doorway. Light from the linkboy’s torch outside made the man a figure of darkness, limned in fire. Tall, and broad-shouldered. He came into the entryway, sleek and sinister as night. She felt a clutch of instinctive fear, the urge to turn and run. Then light from the footman’s candle touched the stranger’s face and she saw it wasn’t a stranger, no one to fear. Only her husband.

Though calling him only anything seemed paltry. For, as Leo strode into the house, removing his hat and caped coat and handing them to the footman, he looked up. Right at her. His storm gray eyes fixed on her with startling accuracy. The chandelier hanging in the domed entry bathed him in light, all the hard and handsome angles of his face, the long lines of his body. He wore the clothes of a gentleman, but the guise did not fool Anne. This was a dangerous man.

They stared at each other. It seemed to take a moment for Leo to place her, like running into an acquaintance after several years’ absence. Then came recognition. He smiled, yet it did not much soften his face.

“Is that a bruise on your cheek?” Her voice sounded overloud, echoing in the foyer.

He reached up and absently touched his face. “I was in a fight.”

Anne hurried down the stairs. “Footpads? Are you injured? We should summon the constabulary.”

“And tell them I paid for the privilege.”

She reached his side, tilting her head back to look at him in confusion. “Paid?”

“A pugilism academy.” He held up his fist. Small cuts and bruises adorned his knuckles. “Every afternoon, after business at the ’Change is done. The man who did this to me looks much worse, but he was given a half crown for his troubles.”

“Boxing.” It made sense. The way he moved, how he held himself, as if expecting a fight at any moment, and not only ready to defend himself, but eager for the challenge. Of course, her supposition was all theory, but she had a rather good grasp of theoreticals. “I’ve never seen a boxing match.”

He raised a brow. “Never?”

“Young ladies aren’t encouraged to attend events where men in undress pummel one another. Though I’ve always been curious. It’s a very ancient sport, isn’t it?”

“I should take you.”

Her mouth dropped open. “You can’t.”

He frowned. “It isn’t illegal for a woman to attend a boxing match. In fact, I’ve heard that, once or twice, a woman was one of the pugilists. Next time a match is arranged, I’ll take you.”

“It will be quite scandalous.” Her pulse came a little quicker to think about it. But not entirely from fear.

“Scandal doesn’t bother me.”

She looked at him, with the bruise on his face and the scabs on his knuckles, his sandy hair coming out from its queue, and suddenly understood that what made Leo so very dangerous wasn’t his humble birth, nor his wealth, and not even his physicality. What truly made him dangerous was this: he honestly did not care what anyone else thought. And that gave him perfect freedom to do exactly what he pleased.

It was a thought both frightening and exciting.

Rather than address any of this, Anne said, “That bruise wants tending.”

He merely shrugged. “I heal quickly.”

“A meal for the victor, then?”

“Meal?” He looked blank.

“Food. One consumes it. Often at home. Though,” she added, “I’m given to understand you seldom do.”

“Little reason to.”

“Until now.” She wondered what he must think of her impertinence, yet she was unable to curb herself in his presence. His sense of liberation must be communicable.

He did not seem to mind, however. His smile actually warmed, becoming more genuine. “This must be the side of marriage that is so celebrated. A doting, fussing wife.”

“I’ve little experience with the matter,” she said, “having never had a wife before.”

“Then we are equally innocent on the subject.”

One word she would never choose to describe Leo: innocent. Even a rather sheltered young woman such as herself recognized that a whole life was lived behind the cool gray of Leo’s eyes, a life utterly unknown to her.

She turned to the footman. “Ask Cook to prepare a collation for Mr. Bailey. Meat, cheese, bread. Wine. Some of the pie from this afternoon’s supper.”

The footman bowed and departed, leaving Anne and Leo standing alone in the chill of the vaulted foyer.

“Do you wish to bathe before eating, sir ... Leo?” She caught the scent of fresh sweat from his skin, musky and clean, and fought to keep from drawing closer to his wool coat and inhaling deeply.

His smile turned rueful. “I did not know you had a supper prepared.”

“It is a wife’s duty to have meals ready.”

“And a husband’s folly if he forgets. Consider me chastised.”

“I’ll do nothing of the sort,” she answered. “You aren’t chastised in the slightest.”

He chuckled. “Perhaps a little.”

Anne gestured toward the stairs. “A bath? And then something to eat. I’m given to understand that is the common order of things.”

“Behold your obedient husband.” He turned to the stairs and brushed past her, his body large and warm. A shiver of awareness passed through her, like a fingertip drawn down her throat and between her breasts. She remembered the sensation of his hands on her, and the insistent press of his arousal. No, this was not to be a chaste marriage, but as to the when of its consummation ... The promise filled her with dread. And eagerness.

At the foot of the stairs, he paused, his hand on the newel post. He gave a low laugh.

“A wife. A bath. A meal at home.” He shook his head. “I’m becoming damned civilized.”

As he continued up the stairs, Anne understood that no matter what Leo Bailey did, he would never be domesticated. He was, and always would be, wild.

“This is where we’re supposed to eat?”

Anne noted the appalled expression on Leo’s face as he surveyed the capacious dining chamber. He had bathed and changed into fresh clothes. In his pristine stock, snowy against his jaw, expertly cut green woolen coat, his hair dark, gleaming gold in the candlelight, he had transformed from a bruised brawler. But he didn’t look a gentleman. No, in his restrained evening finery, he seemed a pirate prince contemplating future pillaging.

“You found no fault with the room yesterday.”

“Because there were people everywhere. This.” He waved his hand at the chamber, where a collation awaited him at the vast dining table, and two footmen stood in disinterested readiness. “All we need is a bear to bait.”

“One of your footmen is a very big fellow. Perhaps he’d be willing to play the part of the bear.”

With Anne on his arm, Leo brought them farther into the room. All the chandeliers had been lit—an expense she could scarcely fathom—yet this only illuminated how large and empty the dining chamber truly was. He frowned at the walls as if displeased by their distance, and the look was so commanding, she half expected the walls to simply get up and move closer just to please him.

“No wonder I never ate at home. Who could dine in here?”

“I did.”

Her quiet words snared his attention. “Today.”

“Yes, today. I broke my fast in this chamber, and dined, as well.”

“Alone.”

“There was a footman.”

He shook his head, his frown deepening. “God, I’m an ass.” He quirked an eyebrow at her. “This is the point in the exchange where you contradict me.”

“I was given to understand that a good wife does not contradict her husband.”

His scowl transformed into a smile that glittered in his eyes. “I think I’ve married an impertinent hoyden.”