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“So you married me to punish me, Yves?” With great effort, Marianne kept the shock from her voice and hoped her face showed nothing of her inner turmoil. “I don’t have to stay here, you know.” “Oh, no, Marianne.” Yves’s gray eyes glittered at her. “You won’t leave. You like some parts of being married—very much.” His gaze swept boldly over her, and her swift rise of colour told him he was indeed right. “You like being married sometimes, too!” Marianne flung back. “As for punishing me...you don’t seem to be having much success. Perhaps you’d better try harder—” “You tempt me, dear wife,” he whispered seductively. As he reached for her Marianne trembled, knowing he touched her with desire, never love, the worst hurt of all.