Back at his town house, a sumptuous wedding feast was served, but Stephen barely swallowed a bite. The only thing he could concentrate on was Hayley. On her glowing smile, her shining eyes, and the beguiling blush that colored her cheeks every time he met her gaze across the table.

He couldn't wait to get her all to himself, and mentally congratulated himself on his brilliant plan of departing on the first leg of their wedding trip immediately after the meal. He had no intention of spending his wedding night in a town house filled with people, no matter how fond of them he was. They would travel this afternoon to his country estate, where they'd spend a week before continuing on to France. He cast a surreptitious glance at the mantel clock and tried to hide his impatience to leave. Soon. Very soon.

After two hours that felt more like two years, Stephen finally helped Hayley into his elegant black coach. She leaned out the window and threw her bouquet of roses and pansies. Stephen's very startled housekeeper caught the flowers.

He settled himself across from Hayley and signaled the driver to depart. The onlookers waved at the departing couple, and Hayley waved back until she could no longer see anyone behind her.

Stephen watched her, his heart hammering in his chest, his pulses galloping out of control. She was his. Finally.

She smiled at him, her eyes glowing, and his breath stalled. There were so many things he wanted, needed, to say to her, yet he couldn't seem to find his voice.

"The ceremony was lovely, was it not?" she asked.

He swallowed and nodded.

"And the luncheon was delicious. Everyone seemed to enjoy themselves…"Her voice trailed off and she frowned. "Stephen? Is something wrong?"

He cleared his dry throat. "Everything is perfect."

"Are you certain? You seem-"

"I love you, Hayley." The words erupted from his lips like steam escaping a boiling kettle. He drew in a deep breath, frustrated at his inability to express the feelings bubbling inside him. "When I saw you in the church, walking toward me, you were so exquisite. Everything I ever could have dreamed of." He took her hands and squeezed them between his palms. "I wish I knew the words to say to tell you how much you mean to me. How much you've changed my life. How happy you make me."

Tears misted her eyes. "I know, Stephen. You tell me every day with the loving things you do. Your actions speak your love, and your beautiful smile tells me you're happy. Words aren't always necessary."

Relief washed over him. She understood. She knew.

Never breaking their gaze, he moved to sit beside her and cradled her face between his hands. He brushed his mouth gently over hers, his heart slapping against his ribs, filled with aching love for her. When she sighed his name, he gathered her into his arms, deepening their kiss until he trembled with the effort of holding back.

Lifting his head, he gazed into aqua depths swimming with love. Love for him. Dear God, what a feeling. His entire body throbbed in response, filling him with an overpowering need to love her. Here. Now.

A vivid image of her, naked, reaching out for him, flashed in his mind and he stifled a groan. He disentangled her arms from around his neck and resolutely settled her hands in her lap. Then he moved as far away from her on the velvet squabs as he could. His bride deserved a proper bed with champagne and candlelight. He was a man of self-control. He could wait until tonight. As long as he stopped touching her.

In an effort to distract his attention from thoughts of that, he pulled a deck of cards from his pocket. "Would you care to play a game of whist?"

Her jaw dropped. "Are you angry with me?"

"No."

"Then what on earth is wrong? You said you couldn't wait to be alone with me, and now that you are, you want to play cards?"

He scrubbed his hands over his face. "Of course I don't want to play cards, but I can't continue kissing you."

"May I ask why not?"

"Because I want you so badly, damn it." The ragged admission was all but wrenched from his chest. "If I touch you again, I won't be able to stop. You deserve better than a quick tumble in a moving carriage."

Understanding dawned in her eyes, and the look she leveled on him was so full of sensual invitation, hot tingles shot through his every nerve. Sweat broke out on his forehead as he fought to retain his tenuous hold on his control. "If you keep looking at me like that, sweetheart, you'll be naked in a trice, I swear."

"Oh dear." She ran a single fingertip over his lower lip. "A trice? How long is that?"

With that single, gentle touch he lost the battle. "You're about to find out." With a heartfelt groan he plunged his fingers into her hair, scattering pins hither and yon. He crushed her lips beneath his in a desperate, aching kiss that robbed both of them of breath. If his fingers hadn't been shaking so badly, he no doubt could have divested her of her clothing in less than a minute. The two and a half minutes it took nearly killed him. In spite of his trembling hands, his own clothing was gone in thirty seconds flat.

"Hayley," he groaned, covering her body with his own. "God, how I love you." She felt so damn good. It seemed like an eternity since he'd last felt her soft skin touching his. He ravished her mouth, his tongue plundering then retreating in a dance of love that made his blood thrum in his veins.

He tried to go slowly, but he couldn't. He was too hard, too aroused, had been denied for too long, wanted her too badly. He entered her in one long, heart-stopping stroke that tore a ragged growl from his chest.

She clutched him to her, murmuring his name over and over. He felt her climax ripple through her and his passion exploded. He throbbed for an endless moment, so deep inside her he couldn't tell where she ended and he began. He collapsed on top of her, breathless, sated, and damn near dead. It was a good three minutes before he was able to lift his head and look at her.

Hayley looked up at him, her eyes glowing. "My goodness. I believe I quite like being ravished in a moving carriage."

Stephen rolled them onto their sides and brushed a tangled curl from her brow, a half-grin touching his lips. "I did warn you what would happen."

"Indeed you did."

Stephen ran his finger down the bridge of her nose. "I tried to act in a gentlemanly manner and wait until we had a comfortable bed."

"I waited three months, Stephen. I didn't want to wait a moment longer. Besides, the barn door had already been opened, if you see my point. I saw no reason in prolonging our agony."

A chuckle rumbled in Stephen's chest. "Only you would think of cows at a time like this."

A wicked gleam lit her eyes. "Actually, cows aren't what I was thinking about at all."

"No?"

She ran her hands down his chest, tickling her palms over his abdomen, then lower, until her fingertips brushed his manhood. "Definitely not cows," she murmured, running her tongue along his lower lip while her fingers encircled him and gently squeezed.

Stephen groaned, unable to believe that he was hard again so soon, but he was. He rolled her onto her back and settled himself between her thighs.

"This is only a five-hour coach ride and we have three months to make up for, wife," he said, sliding into her velvet warmth. "We'd best not waste a single second."

"No," she agreed with a heartfelt sigh. "Not a single second."

SHAPE \* MERGEFORMAT

Epilogue

Hayley's labor pains began in the morning exactly nine months to the day after their wedding. Stephen paced the carpet in the private study of his London town house and tried to focus on something, anything, other than the sick panic threatening to undo him. He glanced at the mantel clock and realized only one minute had passed since he'd last glared at it.

A knock sounded, and he snatched the door open so quickly, he nearly took it off its hinges. Pamela stood before him.

"Is it over?" he asked.

Pamela shook her head, a sympathetic smile touching her lips. "It could go on for several more hours."

Stephen plunged his hands through his hair. "Several more hours? Does it normally take so long?"

"Yes." Pamela took him by the arm and gently pulled him from the room. "Why don't you come into the drawing room? Your mother and father arrived a short time ago, and Gregory, Victoria and Justin are here as well."

Stephen stopped dead in his tracks, halting Pamela. "I really don't feel up to making conversation."

"Stephen. Listen to me. Hayley is going to be fine. Why, look at me! I gave birth only a month ago, and I feel wonderful."

"But it's taking so long."

"It's actually only been a few hours," Pamela said with a laugh, once again tugging him toward the door. "The time will pass much more quickly if you busy yourself rather than just standing about and watching the clock." She tugged on him until he moved.

Stephen stepped into the drawing room, momentarily forgetting his worries by the sight that greeted his eyes. Callie was presiding over a tea party that had been set up in the middle of the large room. Her tiny furniture had been brought from Albright Cottage, and someone had somehow managed to procure additional chairs for the set. Stephen suspected his father had done so, but the Duke refused to admit to the deed.

Seated around the small table, their large frames squashed into the child-sized chairs, sat Gregory, Justin, Marshall Wentbridge, Grimsley, Winston, and most incredibly of all, Stephen's father. Stephen stifled a bark of laughter at the sight of his indomitable father sitting on the pink chair, his legs doubled so his knees bumped his chest, sipping tea from a thimble-sized cup.