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Silvester eased backward, away from her, and then reached for the linen cloths hanging against the wall. “Damn right.” He returned to the bed. “Spread your legs, wench.”

“Wench? Is this what I should expect of the duke I married?” Stella cried, unable to stop giggling. But she spread her legs.

He patted her dry. “No blood.”

“Dildo!” she reminded him, giggling even harder. “Honestly, I wasn’t sure we could make it work. Because, well, because you had that Yasmin problem, and we don’t match, do we, and if I don’t have my glasses on, how am I to see what’s happening in your eyes?”

“What are you talking about?” Silvester said, pausing in his patting to frown at her.

“The pirate you,” Stella explained. “You play the placid, amiable duke very well, but the haughty, real duke is always there in your eyes. I thought I had to have my glasses to see, but I hadn’t been thinking about how close we can be, as married people.”

She slid backward and sat up. “Like this.” She reached out and cupped his face, bringing her own as close as she could without their noses bumping. “No charming duke to be seen,” she whispered.

“Half the time I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Silvester said. “Is that a problem?”

“Your mother suggested I could find a man with a better vocabulary,” Stella said, smiling so hard that her cheeks hurt.

“She would.” Silvester groaned and sprawled onto his back beside her, one arm falling above his head. “It’s not a question of vocabulary.”

Now that she was sitting up, her stomach overlapped in a way that would horrify her aunt. Not that it horrified Silvester, proven by the fact he wound his arm around her waist and hauled her against his hip.

She leaned over him and kissed his nose. “Then why don’t you understand me? I assure you that I strive for clarity.”

“‘Pirate me’?” Silvester said, not opening his eyes. “Who knows what you mean by that?”

“Mmmm,” Stella replied, dropping a kiss on his lips. “The pirate side of you illicitly buys gold.”

His eyes popped open. “Oh, God, I’m going to have to run my investment decisions by you, aren’t I?”

Stella hadn’t considered it before, but . . .

“Absolutely.”

He shut his eyes again. “Bloody hell.”

“I don’t have to be prissy, you know,” Stella said, tracing his temples with her fingers. “I can learn to walk on the wrong side of the law. I’ll be your partner in crime.”

“I told you, no law forbade my purchases.”

“On the wrong side of ethics, then,” she amended. “Why not? Perhaps we could rob the rich to give to the poor, like that old story.”

“I don’t rob people,” Silvester objected. “Are you always this chatty after an orgasm?”

“No,” Stella said brightly. “But I find that the orgasms I gave myself and those you gave me don’t deserve the same name.”

“Where did you get your dildo anyway?” Silvester said, his eyes opening again.

“The Pantheon Bazaar,” Stella said.

“I don’t suppose you were shopping with your aunt at the time.”

She shook her head. “Absolutely not. I asked a shopkeeper for a dildo. That was somewhat embarrassing, but he was most helpful.”

“Enterprising,” Silvester murmured.

“It was practical, honestly. There was pleasure to be had, it seemed, and I could not count on receiving it from a husband, if I ever had one. Just look at my aunt and uncle. They prefer not to live in the same county, let alone share a bedchamber.”

“That will never be your fate.”