He smiled, a little gloating. "I hope you're right," he said. "I want to be a good Earl. I want people to give me that chance, and not just think of me as that odd tallfolk fellow that odd countess married."

"You are the Earl, for good or ill, and nothing can change that. And I love you. As for being a good Earl, we can teach you how to do that. Hark you, they plucked me out of some field on the outskirts of Teamhair-na-Ri, stuck a dress on me, taught me a little law and I made a more-than-passable countess, and you're much more clever than I am."

"Not so," Marcello replied, tapping her nose. "You are just as clever, only we are clever in different ways. And I have the distinct disadvantage of being a head taller than everyone else and covered with hair, alas."

Niabheara let out a tired groan. "Is this more fishing for compliments? I like your hair." She huffed briefly, then closed her eyes and steeled herself. "A confession: just before I decided that I really really was going to make love with you eventually, I had a very long serious conversation with myself about whether or not I was going to be able to get past the fur. It was, in fact, the very last obstacle I had to o'ercome before getting into bed with you, other than . . . well. You know. The act itself."

Marcelo burst out laughing. "Even though the first time we did it, I was a Tuatha woman and completely hairless?" he asked cheerily. "Was it before or after that? How did you stand being in the same bed with me?" He kissed her cheek. "Bram told me this morning that I ought to remove it all, that it was disgusting and no one wanted to see it. So it's not so much fishing for compliments. He didn't hurt my feelings, exactly, but I am actually concerned that other people might feel the same."

Niabheara was slowly turning redder and redder. She crossed her arms over her breasts and squeezed her knees tight, then seemed to realize that a pillow provided even more concealment; she snatched one up and hugged it to her chest. "After. Much, much after." She scowled at him from behind the safe shield of her pillow. "Unless you really do plan on going about naked, it's none of anyone else's business. The only time it's warm enough to take one's shirt off in anything like public is after midsummer's; if anyone's offended, they can keep their ugly mouths shut for two months."

Niabheara's discomfort did not go unnoticed. "What's wrong, love?" Marcello asked, brushing at Niabheara's bare arm. "You're covering yourself up."

She turned a darker red, but made a point of putting aside the pillow. Not too far aside though. "Nothing, love. I'm just . . . I'm silly and self-conscious, is all. And I can't believe I just told you that. I thought that was one of those things I would take to my grave."

He smiled and put his arms around her. "I love you and you're beautiful and there's no reason to be embarrassed " he assured her. "I am grateful you'll have me even with all my imperfections."

Niabheara brushed him away. "The point of that story was supposed to be that by the time we actually went to bed, it was the last thing on my mind, and then I felt rather stupid for e'en spending so much time thinking about it. And now I rather like it." She brushed her fingers up his arm. "So. There's that."