She bit back a shocked laugh. “Some men of science theorize that humans are merely animals. I’ve been to assemblies—my conclusion is that animals are more civilized.”

“How do you propose we tame these savage dogs?”

“Through the bitches—I mean, the wives.”

“Bitches,” Leo confirmed.

Again, Anne found herself appalled ... and also thrilled by his candor. “A few morning calls on the right wives could secure us any number of advantages. Including invitations to private gatherings and dinner.”

Outsider Leo might be, but he recognized the benefit of dining with select company. Alliances fashioned over the roast, and confederacy shaped between after-dinner glasses of brandy. Anne actually disliked paying calls, and had found them exceedingly tedious when her mother dragged her along on them. Either the conversations were full of meaningless prattle, or else scandals were dragged forth with all the glee of a resurrectionist procuring a corpse.

“Seldom have I received dinner invitations,” he noted.

“Single men might not. There are advantages to marriage.”

His gaze, suddenly hot, raked over her, and she struggled to keep from folding her arms protectively across her chest. Yet deep within her, a quick flare of response ignited.

“I’m aware of some of the advantages,” he murmured.

Anne dropped her gaze. Last night, as he had slept, she stared at the shapes his body made beneath the bedclothes, their solidity and strength. He heated the bed far more than any warming pan, and as the night’s chill had seeped into the room, she had wanted to press herself against him. Only partly for warmth.

“Doors may open for you now. Married men are seen as more respectable than bachelors.” She traced the knotted pattern on the counterpane. “Less threatening, too.”

Leo made a soft noise, something akin to a laugh, though absent of any humor. “Perception and the truth seldom overlap.”

She glanced up. “Are you a threat?”

“To you, never.”

Some comfort in that, yet she did not miss what was couched in his response. But his gaze warmed as he looked down at her.

“You would do that—pay calls, wrangle invitations—for me?” He sounded bewildered, a man little used to kindness.

“We are married now. If we do not take care of each other, who shall?” It was more than matrimonial duty, however. She had heard the hurt throbbing beneath his words last night, the wounds that pained him still, despite, or because of, his pride. And pride Leo had in abundance. Not unlike the lion with which he shared a name.

Here was something she could provide for Leo. Something he could neither be born into nor buy. She discovered she wanted to give him something. For all the abundance of things in his home, his clothespress full of expensive garments, even those Hellraisers he called friends, he had very little truly his own, bestowed on him simply for the gratification of giving.

“I ...” He searched for words, perplexed. And then, “Thank you.”

Her cheeks heated, her pleasure intensified by the simplicity and honesty of his language.

With slow ceremony, he took her hand in his. Turned it so that her knuckles faced up. His gaze held hers, and she felt herself planted firmly where she sat, unable to move or even breathe. Then, unhurriedly, he bent and pressed his lips to the backs of her fingers.

It was not an unmannerly kiss. Not lascivious or coarse. Yet for all that, the touch of his firm, warm lips to her fingers sent dragon coils of hunger twisting through her. A contraction of want tightened between her thighs.

“I would say that you’re too good for me,” he said, his breath its own caress on her skin, “but I want good things.” With equal leisure, he released her hand and straightened. At the very least, the tightness in his jaw revealed that the courtly gesture had affected him, too.

For a moment, they simply stared at each other, spinning the fine threads between them into something stronger.

“I do have a request of you,” he said finally.

She nodded, eager.

His gaze shifted away and followed the thorny convolutions painted upon the wallpaper. “Ever since my father made his fortune and sent me away to school, I developed ... well ... one might call it an odd habit. A compulsion, you might say. I’ve become a collector. A collector of coins.”

“That does not sound very odd. Many men collect coins—ancient coins, or from other countries.” Her own father had been too lacking in resources to have anything remotely resembling a gentleman’s cabinet of curiosities. Rather than accrue small treasures, antiquities or animal bones, her father collected letters demanding payment. Occasionally, those debts would be paid.

“The coins I collect aren’t rare,” said Leo. “They’re quite ordinary. Except for the fact that they belong to other people.”

“I do not follow.”

Leo dipped his hand into his pocket and produced a handful of change. He set the coins upon the counterpane, arranging them beside her leg in a neat line. Commonplace currency: farthings, pennies, shillings.

“This.” He pointed to a sixpence. “Belonged to Lord Huyton. This.” He nudged a ha’penny. “Lord Feering’s.” Leo saw the question in her eyes, and answered, laughing, “I didn’t steal them. Merely asked for change and it was given.”

“But ... why?”

He shrugged. “It’s hard to explain. I suppose having something that was once so difficult to obtain is part of it. Now I have coin in profusion, but I like owning something that belonged to one of the gentry. Something so mundane, but important.” Leo gave a wry smile. “Now I sound like I should be in Bedlam.”

“No, it makes sense.” And it did, in a peculiar way. “Both you and these gentlemen having use of coins. Despite everything that they say, all their prejudice, the need for coins makes you equals. It confirms what they might never acknowledge.”

His eyes narrowed as he looked at her. “Something in an aristocratic girl’s education must make them astute. Yet,” he added thoughtfully, “I suspect it isn’t the education, but the girl that makes the difference.”

“Living one’s life dependent on others’ goodwill, one learns to make a close study of one’s environment.” She had seen hardly anything of the larger world, but that which she knew, she understood very well.

“I congratulate myself for making such a wise decision in my choice of a bride.”

“By all means,” she replied, “take credit for my perspicacity.”

He chuckled, but his gaze drifted from her face back down to the coins. And then she understood.

“You would like me to collect some coins for you,” she deduced.

“There are certain men whose coins I want.”

At first, Anne thought to refuse. She could not fault Leo for his idiosyncrasies. Almost everyone had them, including herself. Yet his was a mania altogether private, something between himself and his desires.

Still, it was such a small thing. And if it helped forge a stronger bond between her and Leo, she knew her directive.

“If you write their names down for me,” she said after a pause, “and if they’re married, I’ll gather coins for you.” She was not particularly adept at making idle, pleasant conversation, and had not the slightest understanding how she might obtain these coins, but she had faith in her wits. A solution might present itself.

“The coins must come from the men themselves. Not their wives or children or servants.”

Here was an added complication, and frankly, one even more eccentric than she had anticipated. “If that’s what you wish.”

He seemed surprised that she agreed. “Truly? You’ll do this?”

“It might be an enjoyable challenge.”

He moved so quickly, Anne had no chance to react. One moment he stood beside the bed, and the next, he leaned over her, his large hands cupping her head, tilting it back. He kissed her. Not the tentative exploration of the wedding night, but a full, sumptuous kiss, demanding and carnal. His lips were ravenous on hers.