The voices in the corridor drew nearer. Men laughing and singing. Anne could not make out the words, though the few words she had been able to distinguish through the door had made her face heat. Soon, the men would be at the door, bringing with them her new husband.

“I hadn’t expected this to be so ... medieval.”

Her mother ran an ebony-handled brush through her unbound hair, tugging hard enough to make Anne wince. “Traditional, Anne.”

“And will everyone be back in the morning to examine the bedclothes?” Pain. There was going to be pain, and very soon. Her heart felt ready to detonate within her chest.

Her mother made that soft grunting noise she always made when annoyed. “There’s no need for such vulgarity.”

“Since the men outside seem to be taking care of that well enough.”

Another grunt from her mother. “You might have spared yourself this. I have heard it is the modern fashion for newly wed couples to embark on a bridal journey immediately following the wedding breakfast.”

“Leo did not suggest it.” And as he was paying for everything else, from her garters to the wine, Anne had been loath to ask. Hearing the rowdy male guests approaching now, she began to question her diffidence.

“She looks beautiful, Eleanor.” Aunt Louise sailed over to where Anne stood in the middle of the bedchamber and idly toyed with the sleeve of Anne’s silk nightgown. “How I envy you, child. There are few excitements in a woman’s life like her first taste of her womanly duties.”

“And how many times did you first taste them, Louise?” asked Lady Byton from her position on a footstool in the corner.

Before Aunt Louise could spit out a reply, Anne’s mother said, “They are nearly here. To the bed, Anne, with haste.”

Anne was herded to the bed, amidst much giggling from the women in the chamber. Her mother flipped back the heavy silk counterpane and pristine white sheets, and all but threw Anne between them. She arranged Anne’s hair so that it covered her breasts. Anne supposed her mother’s eagerness to see the marriage consummated stemmed from the desire to ensure no annulment. Once Anne became Leo’s wife, she was no longer Lord and Lady Wansford’s problem. The responsibility and cost of her upkeep fell to Leo.

Still, it was highly disturbing, contemplating her mother’s eagerness to have Anne couple with a man. And she could not help but feel like a sacrificial animal, tied to a stake and bleating its distress before the inevitable doom. Was it going to hurt very much?

The door to the bedchamber slammed open. A crowd of men shoved Leo forward, though Anne could not see any of the Hellraisers amongst their numbers. Leo managed to keep his footing, despite the crowd’s rough treatment of him. The song the men sang reached its conclusion, and between the presence of everyone in the bedchamber, the lyrics of the song, and the knowledge of what was about to happen, Anne had never blushed so furiously in her life.

Leo smiled and laughed, but Anne had the feeling he merely made the necessary adjustments to his face and voice so that people would believe him in a good humor. Yet even across the room, Anne saw impatience in his gaze. As though he merely tolerated these antique practices, and wanted to get on with the business at hand.

The business being the taking of Anne’s virginity.

“Your bride awaits you,” said Anne’s mother.

In the doorway, Anne’s father coughed.

At least someone was as discomfited as Anne. But it did not give her much solace.

Leo’s gaze moved to her, knowing and astute. She dropped her own gaze to her hands folded on the counterpane. She wondered if he could see her heart pounding against the silk of her nightdress, like a trapped moth. He would touch her soon. She would know the weight of his body on hers.

“My thanks, madam.” His deep voice sent tremors of fear and excitement through her. “And now, good night.” There was no denying it: her husband was dismissing everyone in the chamber as though they were servants.

There were a few mumbles of disappointment. Clearly, the guests wanted to draw out the rather public embarrassment a bit further, but Leo was having none of it. Anne kept her gaze on her hands picking at the coverlet, but she heard the sounds of many feet exiting the bedchamber, some more ribaldry, and feminine giggling.

Then the sound of the door closing. And locking. Music and laughter faded on the other side of the door as the guests resumed their revelry without the bride and groom.

Now, for the first time, she and Leo were truly alone. Silence stretched out, interrupted only by the popping sounds of the fire.

Just look at him, Anne. He’s only a man.

More than that, he was her husband. Therein lay the crucial difference.

Go on. Look at him.

Slowly, Anne lifted her gaze. She started a little when she saw that Leo stood at the foot of the bed. She hadn’t heard him move. Perhaps he had removed his shoes? She fought the absurd urge to peer over the side of the bed and see whether he was merely in his stockings or shod.

They stared at each other. More surprising than finding him standing so close was the glimmer of trepidation in his eyes. In the brief time she had known Leo, not once had he looked anything less than confident. It was a shock to see this extremely hale and potent man uncertain.

Was he ... as afraid as she?

He started to drag his hand through his hair, then stopped and stared at it in disgust.

“I hate powder.” He stalked away and through the door that led to a closet. Anne had seen the small chamber earlier, and noted it contained a copper bathing tub, a close stool, and a few other items for one’s toilette.

She now heard the unmistakable sounds of clothing being removed. Velvet coat first, followed by the embroidered waistcoat. Was that the rustle of his shirt?

All of this disrobing was being done without the assistance of a valet. But this detail was unimportant compared to the very real truth that Leo Bailey was undressing in the very next room. With the door open.

Heat suffused her face, her limbs. Good Lord, he was taking off his breeches. She tried to picture him, his arms and legs being revealed as each garment came away—and found that she couldn’t. Her mind simply shied away, protective. Anne had seen her brothers and their friends when they went for a bathe in the pond on their country estate. She had seen statuary and paintings, as well. She possessed a reasonable understanding of what the male body looked like without clothing. Like all girls, she was as fascinated as she was terrified by the idea.

How would such a body feel, so different from her own? Would it be soft? Hard? Certainly hairier. And the male body underwent ... changes ... in order to have sexual congress. A married woman would doubtless be witness to those changes.

But that had all been theory. This was real, and not twenty feet away.

The sounds of splashing water trickled out from the closet. He was bathing. A pulse of arousal throbbed through her, unexpected and sudden.

As she waited, Anne tried to distract herself, and studied the bedchamber. Painted red paper covered the walls, the design depicting thickly knotted and thorny vines surmounted with carnivorous-looking flowers. The fabric comprising the bed hangings and window curtains must have been specially made, for its pattern matched the wall coverings. Two wing-backed chairs stood before the fire, and there was a large mahogany clothespress and an escritoire. Everything in the chamber revealed itself to be the finest quality. Expensive, and new.

But as for hints of the man who slept in this room, who he was, what he thought, if he had any interests or pastimes. . . Anne found none.

Perhaps she might discover books in one of the nightstands. She often had several books by her bedside—though she would never sleep in her bed at her parents’ home again. She could not remember if she had packed those books in preparation for removing to Leo’s house. The thought panicked her. She hoped the books were here, somewhere. As though finding an unanticipated friend in a far-distant land.

But surely Leo had a book or two at his bedside. The need to locate one such volume overwhelmed her. If she could find one, then perhaps it might give her the smallest intimation as to who this man was, this stranger she had married.

She leaned over and started to open the drawer on the nightstand.

“What are you looking for?”

She jerked up, gasping. Leo stood beside the bed, wrapped in a banyan of green-and-black silk, his damp hair loose about his shoulders. Anne had but a moment to take in a few details—his long, bare feet, the hollow of his throat, a sprinkle of dark golden hair across his chest—before the anger in his gaze blocked out all other impressions of him.

“Nothing, nothing.” She didn’t like the panic in her voice, or the way she pushed back into the pillows propped against the headboard. “Books, in truth.”

He raised a brow. “Planning on reading?”

“I like to read before ... bed.” Her voice was thin, thready. Frightened.

Anger faded from his eyes. Replaced by something very like compassion. “This is all very strange for you.”

“I imagine it is strange for you, as well. Unless ... you have been married before?”

His laugh was unexpected, and genuine, and its warm contours helped soften the edges of her anxiety. “A new venture.”

She imagined that marriage might be one of the few things he hadn’t experienced.

The bed shifted as he sat down on the edge, his profile to her. He drew a breath, as if steadying himself. “Tell me, Anne. What do you know about what happens in the marriage bed?”