He went on, despite her strangled gasp. “He was behind Cockfosters getting your husband into debt and he used that to persuade him. It must have been a shock when you appeared in London as my widow. But when it became clear you knew nothing, as my widow you were no threat to the estate. Roker also obscured the connection that would have led to Edward Smith. Again, I have proof. As far as he knew, I was dead. It is fortunate that my first letter from Canada went astray, or he would have pursued me. Also fortunate I sent my second to Vivian in Vienna, instead of here because he would have made another attempt to have me killed.”

He curled his lip. “Not man enough to do it for himself.”

“My sons,” her ladyship said. For the first time Faith heard a note of vulnerability in her voice. “You said he paid someone to have you killed. Did he do the same for them?”

John swallowed and met her gaze directly. The dowager’s eyes gleamed with a trace of tears. “I don’t know,” he said honestly.

“Certainly Vivian’s death was an accident. I saw him slip and fall, too far from support to save himself. Stephen, I’m not so sure about. I didn’t see him fall, someone passed between him and me at the crucial moment. The storm was swift and violent, but I wouldn’t put it above him to have someone on board, waiting his chance.”

The dowager nodded. “Thank you for telling the truth,” she said quietly, once again in control of her emotions. Faith didn’t know whether to admire the dowager for her complete control, or pity her that she could not share her grief with the people she knew would not condemn her for it.

Shaken, Faith went about her duties quietly that day. She arranged for the sale of the house in Red Lion Square and performed the household tasks that were not so different to the ones she was used to, after all. At one point she lifted the old carpet bag in her room and glanced at her maid. “Have this put in storage, if you please.” It had served her well, but its time was over.

The tasks gave her time to come to terms with the fact that someone had tried to kill John. Not just someone, but her husband.

Her first husband. He hadn’t asked her if she knew anything about the matter, such was the trust between them now. He didn’t have to ask. He already knew.

* * *

The dowager wore regal purple when she attended the wedding the next day. Faith wore ivory. She could not bring herself to wear white, but she wouldn’t wear mourning on her wedding day. Today she didn’t even wear the discreet black armband.

Sophia and Charlotte, obedient as always wore grey and sat next to their mother, heads bowed, exchanging glances. But for Faith, one of them could have expected to marry John and become the Countess of Graywood. However, John couldn’t have made his choice more clear and Faith was past guilt now. He wanted her and he would have her.

The thought of how sent her knees to soft trembling. Not in fear but eager anticipation.

She barely remembered the service when she tried to recall it later. Only the cool feel of the gold ring he slid on to her finger—a new one, not the one she’d used for the last several years, first as John Smith’s wife, then as the widow of John Dalkington-Smythe.

That lay in her jewellery box, the casket not as bare as it used to be.

She wore the magnificent string of pearls that John had given her.

Robinson had brushed out Faith’s hair that morning and threaded a simple ivory ribbon through it before Turvey had reverently placed the bonnet over her curls.

Faith had no idea if John noticed the care with which she’d dressed. He only gazed at her as if she were the answer to all his dreams, which she could not help considering a foolish notion. Not that she would castigate him for thinking so.

How could she, when she could hardly concentrate for the overwhelming joy that suffused her?

They had elected to wed at ten in the morning, before most of fashionable society was about. Their ploy worked, for nobody more than the family appeared in the small but fashionable church near their home.

Their home. She ruminated on that during the short ride back to the house, this time with her hand tucked into John’s. “I never imagined I’d think of Grosvenor Square as home.”

“Wait until you see Graywood. I want it to become our real home. It’s beautiful and peaceful.” He squeezed her hand as they arrived. “Do not expect to spend long in those fine garments, my lady. I intend to make you pay for the two nights I slept in the club, cock in hand, wanting you with every inch of it.”

“John!” She turned her head to conceal her blushed, but he touched her chin and turned her back to him.

“It’s the truth. I want nothing but honesty between us from today until the day we die.”

The thought that he would be here with her until she passed her last breath gave her comfort and a kind of wonder, that he would spend that time with her.

True to his word, he barely allowed her to taste her wedding breakfast before he declared she was too tired with the recent exertions of the ball and now the wedding. He courteously drew back her chair for her as she got to her feet and faced him, almost shyly. Despite her experience, and now being married for the second time in truth, she felt like a young maiden, unsure of what lay ahead.

On the other hand, the knowledge of what had passed between them already made her sex damp. It swelled, became more sensitive, so although she should care that the dowager gave her a knowing stare, she could not bring herself to do so.

They bypassed the bedroom Faith had used for the past two nights and went straight to the one John declared would be theirs henceforth. “Every night, come here. Don’t consider using any other place. This is ours, our room, our sanctum.” He lifted her hand to his lips, brushing the knuckles with a tender kiss, the soft pressure making her shiver with anticipation.

He pushed open the door, the last one lying between them and their total intimacy. “No more barriers. You are mine, and I intend to make you happy.”

“I want to do the same for you.”

“Why?” He closed the door behind them. “Guilt, a desire to please?” But he was smiling, his words a gentle tease.

“Because I love you. I need you to be happy.”

He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again they held raw passion. For her. “My only love, come to me now.”

He cursed as he fumbled for the fastenings on her gown. He soon discovered the buttons at her neck and then down her back, concealed by a flat placket and pleats, and he undid every one.

“Why so many?”

“It makes the gown fit well. Turvey can undo them in half the time.”

He groaned. “I should have allowed her to do it for you. I want you Faith, but I want you to keep this gown. It’s a reminder of the first of our days together as man and wife.”

Finally the gown came loose and she let it fall from her shoulders, off her arms. When she lowered them, the garment slid down her body to the floor.

Why should John have all the fun? She shoved his coat off his shoulders. Because he did not wear his coats so tight it took two men to reverently ease it away from his body, he could shrug it off, allowing the finely tailored cloth to join her beautifully made gown on the floor. The floor covered with an exquisitely fashioned oriental carpet.

For all she cared they could be wearing coarse woollens and be in a country inn, or a makeshift tent. She only had eyes for the man before her, stripping off his finely embroidered waistcoat and lawn shirt, revealing his powerful chest, carved muscles inviting her touch. No need to resist. She smoothed her palms across his nipples, glorying in the sensation of the sharp points over solid muscle, reminding her of what a pure male felt like. She’d missed that touch so much that two nights had seemed endless. “I woke up several times last night and you weren’t there.”

He smiled down at her. “That will never happen again. Faith, my wife, come to bed. And say it.”

She frowned in confusion. “What should I say?” She’d already told him she loved him and she expected to say it many times tonight. Then she knew what he meant. “John, my husband.”

His broad and tender smile told her she’d discerned the truth.

“You think I didn’t notice you never called me that?”

“I couldn’t do it. Even in my mind. I meant to leave you and then, when I decided to stay, I still wasn’t your wife. I am now.”

He unfastened her petticoats, then her corset, turning her around to get at the laces. “That’s for sure. Why did you decide to stay?”

“Because it occurred to me you would be unhappy if I left.” It was that simple. Not because she loved him and wanted to stay more than she wanted her next breath, but because she’d leave him totally alone. “And I didn’t want you to touch anyone but me in this way. Look at anyone but me like this.”

“I never will.” The last of her garments disposed of, he took her in his arms and kissed her. Her breasts pressed against his chest, the heat they generated enough to set the day on fire. Sure she wouldn’t leave this room today, nor would he if she had anything to do with it. His tongue entered her mouth in carnal invitation and she returned the lavish, passionate kiss, sinking into him with wholehearted pleasure. He explored her as if he’d never kissed her before, taking her with every stroke. Reminding her of what they were about to do, his tongue imitating the action of his shaft. Faith drew away, panting. “I want you naked.” It was the honest truth.

She needed to reacquaint herself with the body of the man she’d been fortunate enough to ensnare in the net of love.