«You needn’t look so appalled,» Wolfe said curtly. «It’s only what a cat would do for a foolish kitten.»

Jessica opened her mouth but no words came out. A visible shudder ran over her. Wolfe turned away and lit another match with a swift slash of his hand.

«Go unpack the trunks, your ladyship,» he said as he set the match to the previously laid fire. «Theviscount’ssavage will fix supper tonight.»

Jessica flinched. She hadn’t realized how warm and affectionate Wolfe’s voice had become until she measured it against the return of ice and distance.

«Wolfe? What have I done?»

«When you’re finished unpacking, be sure to take some of those aristocratic bed linens you brought and make a pallet by the hearth. A nun like you wouldn’t want to do something so bestial as to sleep near any man, much less a savage like your husband.»

Wolfe stood up. Behind him the stove fire blossomed into orange flames.

«But —» she began.

«You said when I tired of your company you would leave me alone,» Wolfe interrupted, slamming the stove door shut. «Do that, Lady Jessica. Now.»

Even an aristocrat had some common sense. Jessica picked up her skirts and fled to Wolfe’s bedroom. But even there, she found no peace.

The sound of the wind was very loud in the silence.

Wolfe watched Jessica as she knelt over a washtub in the lean-to at the side of his house.

«You’re supposed to be washing the shirt, not making rags of it,» he said.

«I see little difference in the process.»

«Not the way you’re going about it, certainly. Tell me, your ladyship, while the servants accomplished all the useful work at Lord Robert’s house, what did you do?»

«I read, I played the violin, I oversaw the staff, I embroidered —»

«My God,» Wolfe interrupted. «Something useful. How did that creep into your daily regimen? Does that mean you’ll be able to repair the seams you’re pulling apart under the guise of washing my clothes?»

«Would you prefer initials, a coat of arms, or Jacobean-style flowers embroidered in your seams?» Jessica asked pleasantly.

Wolfe made a sound of disgust.

She didn’t bother to look up from the washtub and the lean-to’s widely spaced wooden slats. She knew what she would see if she looked at her husband. He would be watching her with cold eyes and an unforgiving line to his mouth. It had been that way for the three days since he had so startled her by running the tip of his tongue over her burned fingers.

And for those same three days, she had kept a smile pinned on her lips until her face ached.

Unfortunately, by now her face wasn’t the only part of her body that ached. She was as exhausted this afternoon as she had been at the end of the stage ride. When she wasn’t pumping water to wash and rinse clothes, she was carrying bucket after bucket to the stove to heat. From the stove she hauled buckets to the lean-to, poured water into the big tub, knelt, and went to work rubbing and scrubbing every piece of clothing. It usually took three or four times before the shirts pleased Wolfe’s critical eye.

«That’s about as much scrubbing as the poor shirt can take,» Wolfe said.

«I think not, my lord. It’s not perfectly clean.»

«Enough, your ladyship. That’s my favorite shirt. Willow made it for me last summer.»

The sound of ripping cloth carried very clearly over Wolfe’s last words.

«Jessica!»

«Oh, dear, look at that. One would think a paragon would choose cloth that was less frail, wouldn’t one?» Jessica dragged the ruined shirt from the water and wrung it out with real pleasure. «But all isn’t lost, my lord. It will make a wonderful rag for cleaning the privy.»

«You little witch! I should —»

Wolfe’s words ended in a curse as he leaped aside, barely avoiding the torrent of soapy water that came when Jessica upended the washtub.

«Sorry, did you say something?» she asked.

There was a simmering silence while husband and wife looked at each other. Then Wolfe smiled. Jessica smiled in return.

«I think it’s time your ladyship learned to scrub something more durable than a shirt,» Wolfe said.

«What’s that?»

«Floors.»

Jessica’s smile slipped, then was resurrected. «Ah, another quaint wifely ritual. It occurs to me, my Lord Wolfe, why Americans don’t have servants. Wives are ever so much cheaper.»

«Too bad you dumped all that hot, soapy water,» Wolfe said, turning away. «Now you’ll have to get more. You do remember where the wood pile is, don’t you?»

«Quite well.»

«Then hop to it.»

«Do I look like a rabbit?» Jessica asked beneath her breath.

Wolfe turned back. «Hurry up, my red-haired bunny. Daylight is free, but lamplight is expensive. Those of us not fortunate enough to be born into the aristocracy have to be concerned about such things.»

Standing up was easier said than done for Jessica. With an effort, Wolfe restrained his instinctive move to help her. Instead, he watched impassively while she struggled to her feet.

Despite her best effort to be silent, a groan got past her lips. Wolfe took it as a sign that he was finally winning the contest of wills. At least, he hoped he was. He didn’t know how much longer he could bear to twiddle his thumbs while the shadows beneath Jessica’s eyes deepened more each hour. The hard physical labor of housekeeping under his critical eye was draining what strength had remained after the long, strenuous trip to his home.

Even though Jessica had trapped Wolfe into marriage, he had too many good memories of times past to enjoy grinding her down in such a manner. Yet he forced himself to watch Jessica’s stiff movements without flinching. If he showed kindness, it would be mistaken for weakness, which would only prolong the process of getting Jessica to accept the futility of their marriage.

But even while he was telling himself to be strong, he was speaking.

«Just say the word and you’ll never put those delicate hands into wash water again.»

Jessica stretched her back and sighed. «The last time you made that offer, you objected to the word I said.»

Bastard.

Unwillingly, Wolfe smiled as he remembered. Jessica caught the softening of his expression and prayed that he would relent on the matter of scrubbing floors.

Wolfe saw her hopeful expression and knew he must not give in. Silently, he picked up the bucket and held it out to her. He saw both the dismay in her eyes and the straightening of her spine as she took the bucket from his hands.

Reluctant admiration grew in Wolfe. Jessica’s sheer determination was greater than that of men twice her size. But no matter how stubborn she was, her endurance was limited by her strength. In the end, he would use her own stubbornness as a weapon against her. In the end, he would win.

All he had to do was endure his own self-disgust while he wore her down.

«Jessi,» Wolfe said gently, «give it up. You aren’t cut out to be a commoner’s wife. You know it as well as I do.»

«Better your wife than Lord Gore’s.»

Wolfe’s temper slipped, for there was nothing he could force himself to do to Jessica that would equal Lord Gore’s drunken brutality, which put Wolfe at a disadvantage when it came to convincing Jessica to give up this farce of a marriage.

«Better for you,» Wolfe retorted coldly, «but not for me. There are many better wives for me than you.»

«Don’t count on it,» Jessica said, turning away. «Paragons aren’t so thick upon the ground that you can just pluck one like a daffodil in spring.»

«I don’t want a paragon. I wantawife.»

«How fortunate for the paragon Willow that she is already married. Her heart would be broken if she knew that even her astonishing perfection wasn’t enough to satisfy Tree That Stands Alone.»