He’d simply have to wait up and tell his mother about his marriage when she returned home, likely near dawn.

William suddenly felt a wave of relief, glad to have the house to himself and his new bride. He grinned and turned to the butler he’d known since his boyhood. “Sims, meet Lady Felicity, the Marchioness of Talbot.”

Sims who already seemed slightly off foot, turned positively slack-jawed before he coughed and bowed. “Welcome, my lady. It is an honor to welcome you.”

She smiled gently. “Thank you so much, Sims. I look forward to knowing you better and seeking your advice in the running of the household.”

Sims stood a little taller, clearly very pleased she’d thought ahead to their future relationship. “Of course, my lady. It will be my absolute pleasure.”

Having clearly conquered the old man, she nodded then proceeded towards the stairs. “I’m ready to retire. Are you, Husband?”

William stared at his wife, stunned by her self-assurance. “Yes. I am.”

She kept beaming.

William suddenly wished to see her beam like that every damn day for the rest of his life. “Is there anything you wish?”

She turned towards Sims. “Might we have wine and biscuits?”

“Of course,” Sims, replied as if he might be willing to go all the way to France to pick the grapes and make the wine himself which was saying something because Sims loathed Frogs.

With remarkable self-confidence, she started for the stairs.

William realized he was still planted, standing next to Sims. When she turned halfway up the stairs, her dark hair was haloed by candlelight.

She smiled slowly. “I do not know the way. Will you show me, Husband?”

For a solid moment, he lingered, transfixed by the sight of his very attractive, very clever wife, glancing down on him like a goddess giving her grace to mere mortals. Then he blinked, brought back to reality.

Such flights of fancy were not something he was given to. So, he drew in a breath and strode after her. “Nothing would give me more pleasure.”

When he met her on the stairs, she leaned in and whispered. “Nothing?”

He laughed. “Hyperbole, Marchioness. Hyperbole.”

And then to his furthering shock, he slipped his hand around hers and began to take her up the wide stairs and down the west hallway.

Night had long since fallen and with his sisters and mother gone, the house was silent.

As he savored the feeling of her small hand in his, it struck him that in all the years he had been a man, he had never held a woman’s hand as they walked.

He was a rake. He’d enjoyed the ladies. But he’d never done something so simple or so surprisingly intimate with a lady.

When they came to what would become her room, he turned the handle and entered.

Now, she was quiet. Her confidence seemed to waver ever so slightly as he took her towards the table beside the bed. A candle waited, unlit.

Loath though he was to do it, he let go of her hand and took up the flint and lit the wick. A small flame licked to life barely illuminating the large room. However, the soft light felt perfect. As if there was nothing else in the world but the two of them

He wanted her. He wanted her now. But he was not a beast.

He turned to her, cupped her chin with his hand and gazed down into her eyes.

There was no fear in her gaze, but at long last there was the first glimmer of her uncertainty.

“We don’t have to do this tonight,” he whispered.

She blinked, her long dark lashes two shadows against her pale skin before she drew in a shaking breath. “I wish to. I wish us to be man and wife.”

Of course.

Of course, she longed for surety in a space where everything must have seemed interminable to her.

There was a soft knock then the door swung open.

Ruth, one of the maids, entered bearing the light repast that Felicity had requested.

“Am I to stay and help my lady with her things?” Ruth asked.

“No, thank you,” Felicity replied softly. “Lord Marksborough can assist me.”

Ruth’s eyes rounded into twin saucers but then she put the tray down by the banked fire, curtsied and hurried out of the room.

“Oh dear,” his wife said softly. “I think I have shocked your maid.”

“She is your maid, too, and, to be frank, I think you shall be doing a great deal of shocking in the near future.”

Her eyes rounded. “Shall I?”

“Oh yes. We are quite boring here.”

“You?” Her brow furrowed. “Boring?”

“Well, I am typical if not boring.”

She grew quiet.

Wordlessly, he went to the tray and poured the wine. He offered her the plate of biscuits but she shook her head and, instead, took the glass.

“Should I try to be less shocking?” she asked quietly.

He replied honestly, “I don’t know.”

She nodded then sipped her wine.

“Felicity, I wish you to be happy.” He did. Oh, how he did. He barely knew her, but he knew that’s what he wished for her. Happiness.

“I will be,” she said confidently.

He wondered. He’d saved her from ruin but could he make her happy? Would being his wife be enough for the daughter of the greatest poet of their time?

“Come,” he said holding out his hand to her.

She floated towards him, her long skirts dancing about her legs.

She was an enigma, his new wife. For one moment she seemed afraid that her life had taken a strange turn and, in the next, she was as confident as a queen.

When she stood before him, he noted that she didn’t cast her gaze down but rather looked him squarely in the eye.

Many men would have found it disconcerting. He did not. He found it thrilling.

Had he found a mate who would truly be a mate? Someone who was his equal?

He shoved the strange thought aside. Whoever and whatever she was, she was his wife and that was all that mattered.

“You’re certain?” he asked. “I can wait.”

“I’m certain.”

So, he drew her to him slowly, circling her waist with his arms. Her light summer cloak was a barrier he suddenly loathed and, so, he slipped his hands up to her throat and pulled the silken tie.

The cloak whooshed to the floor.

She let out a soft breath in surprise.

“You are wearing too many clothes, Felicity.”

And to his delight, she shivered with anticipation under his touch.

Chapter 9

Felicity felt like a traveler lost in a beautiful place with very strange weather. She had no idea if the sun would shine, the wind would blow, or the rain might fall. From one moment to the next, she, in turns, felt brazen, capable, hungry for him and then afraid, unsure, terrified that he would dislike the real Felicity.

She knew what a wise woman would do. She would pretend at absolute missishness. At knowing nothing of bedplay. But she did know, had long been curious, and desired her husband with an intensity that stunned her.

When he’d offered to wait, she knew she should have been grateful for his kindness. While she felt gratitude, she also felt a twinge of apprehension.

Should she accept his offer to appear like a proper lady?

Well, by all respects she was a lady. She was born to it and should never even have given it a second thought. The last year had given her pause. She wasn’t like the other young ladies of her sphere.

Her father and his radical views had ensured that.

But then, her husband knew that, too. What was the point of pretending she was anything other than what she was? So, now, her cloak having fallen to the floor, she stood absolutely still.

For now, she wasn’t sure what to do.

Because for all the theorizing, hypothetical knowledge she had acquired and general easiness she felt with the idea of love making, now she was about to have reality thrust upon her. It suddenly felt very different than theory.

His strong, capable hands now moved to her gown. He worked the ties and fastenings free, clearly familiar with ladies’ frocks, then slipped her sleeves from her shoulders. Her gown followed her cloak.

Her stays then fell.

She stood before him in naught but shoes, stockings and chemise.

He traced his fingertips along her arms, then drew them slowly over her collarbones, then down to her breasts. He cupped the mounds lightly in his hands, his thumbs teasing over her hardening nipples.

She trembled. Her actual inexperience then felt like a gulf to her. She knew what was to come. She even knew there were things that could be done beside the act itself which would bring them pleasure. But she wasn’t entirely certain what she was supposed to do.

So, she stood still.

He lowered his hands to the edge of her soft chemise, carried it up her body and whisked it over the top of her head.

Her heart slammed against her ribs.

In all her life, only her sisters and maids had seen her naked. What would he think? Would he find her favorable? She’d always felt quite good about her person. But now, standing before this beautiful man who had seen many naked women, she felt trepidation.

“I want to kiss every part of you,” he said, his voice a rough growl. “I want to make you mine.”

Those words sent a thrill through her, leaving every inch of her skin feeling as if it were on delicious fire.

“I am yours,” she replied then she licked her lips. “And I should like you to be mine.”

The words seemed to take him by surprise, but then he pulled her to him and took her mouth in a hot, powerful kiss. The kiss seemed to claim her, to storm her gates, to lay waste to any doubts between them.

He swept her into his arms and carried her to the bed.

The beat of her heart nearly deafened her as the big, powerful man who was now her husband stretched her out on the counterpane then crawled onto the mattress to join her.