The Bride of Larkspear (Fitzhugh Trilogy #3.5)

My bride does not look at me. She is determined, as ever, to shunt me to the periphery of her existence, even on this, our wedding night.

I touch her. Her skin is as cool as marble, the flesh beneath firm and resilient. I turn her face to look into her eyes, haughty eyes that have scorned me for as long as I remember.

“Why are my hands tied?” she murmurs. “Are you afraid of them?”

“Of course,” I reply, “A man who stalks a lioness should ever be wary.”

“And what does a man do when he has caught said lioness and put her in a cage?”

I brush aside a strand of hair that has fallen before her eyes. “He teaches her that captivity can be wonderfully enjoyable."