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Standing there was not Ernest, but Marina. And his banyan was not tied yet, exposing his chest.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Her sapphire eyes widened before she could control them, her gaze traveling down his bare chest. Her eyes lingered on the ripped lines of his stomach, and then, as though realizing herself, she abruptly dragged her gaze back to his face.

Too late. He had seen it. Not just the brief flash of embarrassment in her eyes, but want. It pleased him to know she looked at him that way, and that the kiss on her first visit had not been a momentary lapse. She truly did not fear him. At least not his illness.

His composure fractured for a second, and a treacherous awareness grew inside him. His fingers tightened around the edge of the door. He should have stepped back and tied the banyan. Instead, he remained exactly where he was, watching the woman who had battled him over a cat at dinner the previous evening struggle to remember where she ought to look.

“Your…” she began, then stopped.

Ambrose lifted one brow, studying her. The temptation in his eyes faded, settling into deliberate calm. “My?” he prompted.

She didn’t respond immediately, glancing past him into the dark chamber, as though the room might provide her with enough courage to continue. She straightened her shoulders and tried again.

“This,” she said, spreading her hands toward the darkness with visible frustration, “is precisely why I am here, Your Grace.”

Although her voice had recovered, her eyes had not. They remained fixed on his face, but the occasional downward flicker suggested how badly she was losing that battle.

She looked around his chamber and shook her head.

“This darkness will simply not do,” she said. “We must have some light.”

Ambrose raised an eyebrow. “I believe we discussed this. I promised you more candles and fires, in every room if you must have them.”

“And I appreciate that. But candles are not the same as sunlight.”

“Unfortunately, sunlight is the one thing I cannot provide.”

“I do not think you need to provide it. We need only open some curtains in the rooms you are not in at the time.”

“I am afraid when you agreed to marry me, you agreed to marry my habits. The curtains will stay. I do not wish to wander into a sunbathed room by accident. I do not understand. Is this because of our quarrel about your cat last night?”

“Luna has nothing to do with it,” she replied, indignant.

“Then why are you bringing up a topic we have already discussed?”

She inhaled, her bosom rising again. The gown she was wearing was cut rather lower than the others he had seen and offered a glimpse of what lay beneath. Her ample cleavage almost managed to distract him from the conversation at hand, and he forced his eyes away.

“Because I just walked into Emma’s chamber and sat with her and noticed how sad the room is. Yes, the fire was burning, and it was rather quaint, and the candles give a pleasant glow, but she has no light. None at all. I think it would be good for all of us to have at least a little.”

“She goes out of doors for several hours every day,” he pointed out, for he had made sure she had light in her life. He didn’t have any intention of confining her forever.

“But that is not enough. Emma cannot be raised in darkness. It is not good for the spirit, especially in winter. I shall be thoroughly depressed, as will she. Truthfully, I am surprised you are not more depressed.”

At this, he coughed.

She knew nothing of his moods. Of course he was depressed. In fact, it was the state with which he was most familiar. He knew nothing but darkness. The most light he was ever exposed to was at sunset and the occasional sunrise, before his skin would no longer permit him to enjoy it.

“It is nice to see that you worry about my well-being and my moods,” he said.

“What gave you that impression?” she replied. “I am concerned about my own well-being and moods, and those of the child I am now in charge of. And I repeat, this darkness shall not do. We shall have to open the curtains.”

“We cannot,” he explained. “You saw what a little light did to me the evening I came to see you. You saw the rash upon my face when I first came to call on you. It was caused by a little sunlight that morning. Hours had passed, and the rash had not gone. That is what happens to me when I am exposed to direct sunlight.”

“You truly are a creature of the night,” she said. “But I do not wish to be one, nor do I want Emma to think she is one either. We can compromise.”

Her defiance was unlike anything he had ever experienced. It was rather vexing.

People were usually afraid of him. Nobody dared raise their voice to him. Ernest came close every now and again, but they had known each other for more than thirty years.