She thought, then inclined her head. Then she smiled, turned into his arms, unsurprised when they immediately slid around her. Drawing his head to hers, she murmured, "So… does that mean I rule you?"

His lips, an inch from hers, curved wickedly. "That's the only mitigating factor. Love may rule me, but only because it also rules you."

Honoria closed the distance, set her lips to his, then let him take as he wished — she didn't care as long as that power still ruled, as long as love was there between them.

The essence of the present, an echo from the past, and a never-ending promise for forever.

The Calverton coach paused at the main gates of the Place, then rolled through, turning left onto the road that would eventually lead to Huntingdon. From there, they would head northwest through Thrapston and Corby, along decent roads. Lyddington lay north of Corby; Calverton Chase lay to the west of the small village.

Amelia had traveled the same road many times on visits to Calverton Chase. She assumed some of the anticipation gripping her was because the well-known destination had, mere hours ago, become her home.

The rest — the bulk — of that anticipation could be attributed to the Chase's owner. Luc sat beside her; anyone viewing him would think him relaxed. She knew better. She could feel the tension holding him, locked tight, a brittle net striving to contain some useable power.

She hadn't heard all of Devil's words, hadn't understood what she'd caught. The exchange had distracted Luc, left him thinking, far away…

Grasping his sleeve, she shook. "Did Devil guess?"

Luc turned his head and looked at her; his expression remained blank. "Guess?"

"That we arranged our marriage — that money was at the heart of it."

He stared at her for a long moment, then shook his head. "No." Resting his head against the squabs, he studied her; the light in the carriage wasn't strong enough for her to read his eyes. "He didn't guess that."

"What was he talking about, then?"

Luc hesitated, then answered, "Just the usual saber rattling your cousins enjoy. Nothing of any concern."

He paused, wondering if, given his state, given the brutal desire riding him, he dared touch her, then he reached out with one hand and cradled her jaw, savoring the delicate curve. Battling the impulse to seize — reminding himself she was already his.

Sliding his fingers farther, he curved them about her nape and drew her to him. Bent his head and brought her lips to his.

And kissed her.

Fought to hide the shudder of awareness that racked him when she offered her mouth, when she sank against him.

Succeeded well enough — grappled and clawed and hung on to enough control to keep the kiss light. To draw back, lift his head, touch his lips to her forehead. "If you're not tired — worn down with smiling, laughing, and playing the delighted bride — you ought to be."

She looked up, met his eyes, smiled.

Before he could think — reconsider — before she could speak, he murmured, "Thank you."

Her smile filled her eyes with a light — a simple joy and delight — he longed to drown in. "It went very well, I think." She spread one small hand on his chest. "It was just as I wanted it — not fussy or elaborate, but simple."

To him, there'd been nothing simple about it. He made himself return her smile. "I'm happy if you are."

She stretched up to touch her lips to his. "I am."

The feel of her in his arms, the look in her eyes… he glanced across at the green fields rolling past. Drew in a breath. "We've close to another four hours of this. We should be there by seven."

Looking down, he met her eyes, then bent his head and kissed them closed. "Rest." Lowering his voice, he murmured, "The entire staff will be waiting to greet us when we arrive, and they'll have dinner waiting."

He was reminding himself more than her, but she nodded, and, eyes obediently closed, settled her head on his chest, in the curve of his shoulder. The simple acceptance of his edict went some way to appeasing his more primitive self — that self he was becoming increasingly familiar with the more time he spent around her.

Leaning back, settling her in his arms, feeling her body ease against his, he ruthlessly focused on the argument that having her well rested on their wedding night was preferable to the alternative. Preferable to having her now.

She must truly have been as worn-out as he'd suggested; she fell into a dozing slumber within a mile.

Leaving him to stare, unseeing, out of the window, a prey to thoughts he'd never imagined he'd have, to longings he didn't fully understand — to emotions stronger and wilder than any he'd felt before.

Emotions strong enough to rule him.

The touch of Luc's lips on hers woke Amelia; she clung to the kiss until he lifted his head, then glanced around.

"We just cleared the gates," he informed her.

Which meant she had ten minutes in which to make herself presentable. Reluctantly leaving the warmth of his arms, she sat up, stretched, then straightened her bodice and shook out her skirt.

Noted that her bodice was still neatly done up; Luc had made not a single rakish move toward her since they'd been wed.

"We're nearly at the curve."

His voice gave no indication of what he was thinking or feeling, indeed, if he was thinking or feeling anything at all. But his warning had her shuffling along to peer out at a sight she'd particularly wanted to see.

To savor — the first glimpse of her new home, spread out, pale stone faintly golden in the westering sun, sheltering in a dip below a rise some way ahead. For a time, the house would remain visible from the carriage as the road ran parallel to the rise on the opposite side of a shallow valley, a vista engineered to give visitors an appreciation of the quiet beauty of the Chase — an established, elegant mansion set in a rich and luxurious landscape.

The fields around the house were a verdant green, the vibrant color slowly fading to darkness as the sun set and the light waned. The house glowed through the dusk, as if the stone was lit from within, promising warmth to the traveler, and even more to those returning to its fold.

Long and large, the mansion comprised two stories with dormers atop; the facade was classical in design with twin columns supporting a central portico. However, the facade was not straight, but a shallow inverted V, the central block containing the portico at the apex, the ends of the long east and west wings angled forward toward the valley.

There'd been a house on the site for centuries; the central block had been built and rebuilt many times before the newer wings were added.

Beyond the end of the east wing stretched the darker green of trees — the old demesne, now woodland. To the west of the house lay the fields of the home farm, the roofs of stables and barns standing out amidst the green. Presently invisible behind the house were the formal lawns and gardens. Gazing out of the carriage, Amelia thought of them — thought of all the hours she'd spent there in the past, then let the memories fade.

Turned her mind to the future, thought of her dreams, embodied in the house before her; this was where she would make those dreams come true.

Watching the same scene from behind her, Luc let his gaze dwell on the house — his home. Eyes narrowed, he confirmed the slates on the west wing had been repaired and the wall damaged by a fallen tree nearly a decade ago rebuilt. The sight unexpectedly touched him; it now looked as it had when he could first remember seeing it, in his grandfather's time.

The decay of his father's term had already been partly erased; those had been some of the urgent orders he'd dispatched the day after he'd learned of his new wealth. The day following the dawn on which he'd agreed to marry Amelia, to take her hand and see what they could make of the future.

Together. Here.

His gaze shifted to her; the possessiveness that seized him was disorienting, disconcerting. He leaned back, shifting his gaze ahead as the carriage swept on. Trees intervened as the road curved again and dipped into the valley; Amelia sighed and sat back, her gaze still on the window, her expression soft and eager.

The coach rattled over the stone bridge, then traversed the shoulder of the rise, the horses leaning into the traces for the long, sweeping approach to the house.

Five minutes later, the coach rocked to a halt before the portico of the Chase.

He'd been correct in his prediction; not just the indoor staff, but those who worked in the gardens, stables, and kennels as well, were lined up to greet them. The groom opened the door and let down the steps; Luc stepped down — a spontaneous cheer rose from the assembled throng.

He couldn't help but grin. Turning, he handed Amelia from the coach; as she stepped down and stood beside him, her hand in his, the cheers rose to new heights. Caps were tossed high — everyone was beaming. Conscious of the clouds blowing up from the west, encroaching on the summer twilight, Luc led Amelia forward. Cottsloe and Mrs. Higgs had left the Place immediately the ceremony had ended to ensure all was as it should be here, and to be ready to welcome them both to their new life.

Luc smiled as Mrs. Higgs rose somewhat shakily from her deep curtsy; with a gesture, he handed Amelia over to her. He and Cottsloe followed as Mrs. Higgs introduced all the indoor staff, then Cottsloe took the lead and did the same for those who worked outdoors.

The long line ended at the top of the portico steps where a youth struggled to hold a pair of enthusiastically eager Belvoir hounds. The animals wriggled and whined pitifully as Luc approached.