“Well, then,” he said, “why are we still standing here?”

“Because we have not yet lain down,” she said. And she crossed her arms and drew her nightgown up and off over her head in one fluid motion.

He explored and caressed her naked, shapely body with his hand, his fingers, and his fingertips after they had lain down. It was only as he did so that he realized they had left the candle burning. But he let it be. He would not hide himself from her any longer. If they were to enter deeply into all the many intimacies of marriage, he must give her the whole of himself as he was and trust her to accept his deficiencies.

He explored her and aroused her with his lips, his teeth, his tongue, his hand.

He spread his mouth over one slightly swollen nipple, licking it with his tongue, sucking on it, pulsing his teeth about it while caressing her in the hot, moist secret place between her legs. She moaned and threaded her fingers in his hair. And then, when he lifted his head to feather kisses over her face, to suckle one of her earlobes, her hands found his naked erection. One hand caressed him while one finger of the other hand circled him and the pad of her thumb stroked feather-light over the tip.

He closed his eye and inhaled slowly. He let the breath out on an audible sigh.

He moved onto her then, regretting fleetingly that he did not have two arms so that he could lift some of his weight off her. But she received him eagerly, spreading her legs, twining them about his, wrapping her arms about him, moving her hips until he was pressed to her opening.

He plunged deep inside and again had to inhale slowly in order to prevent himself from spilling into her too soon, before she had had time to share the pleasure.

This was their real wedding night, he thought suddenly, and he was making love with his wife. With Anne. The wonder of it caught at his heart, and he held deep in her, savoring the knowledge that he was not just a man having sex or sharing a sexual experience with a desirable, willing woman. He was making love with his wife, with the woman whom he had married yesterday and with whom he would share the rest of his life.

He withdrew slowly and pressed inward again, withdrew and entered, setting up a slow rhythm, feeling all the exquisite pain of holding back his desire so that it could be a shared experience of pleasure.

Except that he realized suddenly that she was lying quietly beneath him, her body slightly tense-though not with the tension of sexual desire. It was all pretense, he realized-or all a valiant attempt to be a good wife to him, to treat him as if he were a normal man.

And he had left the candle burning!

Desire almost died in him.

But if it did, she would know that he knew-and how would they be able to carry on together? She was doing this for him, because she cared. She did care, he knew.

He quickened the rhythm. He shut his mind to all else but his own sexual need, and finally he held deep in her and felt the blessed release of completion. He almost despised the pure physical pleasure of the moment.

He moved off her almost immediately and tucked the blankets up over her shoulders. She was looking at him, he saw in the flickering light of the candle. He wished she had kept her eyes closed and pretended to sleep. He smiled at her. Perhaps she did not know he knew. She had been so very kind to him tonight.

“Thank you,” he said softly.

But he was alarmed to see her eyes fill with tears. Were they not going to be allowed to pretend to each other, then?

“Sydnam,” she said. She was almost whispering. “It is not you. Please, please believe me that it is not you. It is me.”

And the truth of what she had said crashed in on him like a tidal wave. But, of course, of course! He suffered from dreadful nightmares because of the unspeakable atrocities that had been done to his body.

Anne had suffered an atrocity at least equally unspeakable.

Did she suffer from nightmares too?

Or was it physical intimacy that was her nightmare-a physical intimacy that had happened twice since the atrocity, once at Ty Gwyn, and once tonight.

He gazed back at her, appalled. Had she known with her mind on both occasions that it was he but had felt with her body that it was Moore?

“It is me,” she said again. “Please believe that it is not you. You are beautiful, Sydnam, and you are sweet and gentle.”

“Anne.” He touched his lips to hers. “Anne, I understand. I do. Like a block, I did not even really consider it before now. But I do understand. What can I do? Shall I-Would you like me to go sleep in the sitting room?”

“No!” She clung to him, pressed herself to him. “Please, please, no. Not unless you cannot bear-Sydnam, I am so sorry.”

“Shh,” he said against her hair. “Hush, love. Let me just hold you as you held me earlier. Shh.”

He kissed her temple and made sure the blanket was tucked all about her. He warmed her body with his own.

And incredibly, blessedly, he felt her warm and relax within minutes and realized soon after that she slept.

He ought not to have slept too. It had been a night of turmoil.

It had also been totally exhausting.

He fell asleep only a few minutes after.

Anne woke up when something tickled her nose and a few sleepy swipes with one hand did not dislodge whatever it was that was doing it. She realized before she opened her eyes that it was a human knuckle-Sydnam’s, to be precise.

She opened her eyes.

“Good morning, Mrs. Butler,” he said. “Are you planning to get up sometime today?”

He was lying on the bed beside her, but on top of the bedcovers, fully clothed, and now that she was awake, she could hear his valet bumping around behind the closed door of the dressing room. It was unlike her to sleep late.

“You have even shaved,” she said, reaching out a hand to touch the smooth skin of his jaw on the left side.

“Are not pirates usually clean-shaven?” he asked her.

“Bluebeard?” She raised her eyebrows. “Blackbeard?”

He grinned at her.

Not for a moment had she forgotten last night-not any of it. And it was impossible that he had forgotten any of it either. But he had chosen not to begin the day with tragedy. And why should she? They both had demons to fight. Why fight each other too?

She smiled back.

“Before I came upstairs last night, I agreed to go out riding with Kit and my father this morning,” he said, “to see the farms. I was actually my father’s steward here for a few years after my recovery. Did I ever tell you that? Will you mind if I go with them?”

She minded very much. She would be left alone with his mother and Lauren and the children. But what had she expected? That she could cower in his shadow for as long as he chose to remain here? This was the family she had married into, and now she must do all within her power to fit in, to show them that she was not the unprincipled fortune hunter they must think her.

And since when had she needed anyone to cling to in abject dependence?

“Of course I will not mind,” she said. “Enjoy yourself.”

He rolled off the bed and got to his feet.

“Lauren will take care of you,” he said.

“Of course she will,” she said. The viscountess was very beautiful, very elegant, very proper. She had also been kind-even after David’s disastrous announcement.

“When Kit first brought her here as his betrothed,” Sydnam told her, “he and I were bitterly estranged. I’ll explain it all to you one day. Lauren singled me out one day, determined to have a talk with me, and it was clear I was not her favorite person in the world. But she listened to me-really listened. She was the first person during all those years of turmoil to do that and to understand my point of view. She forced a confrontation between Kit and me. Both of us were reluctant, awkward, and sheepish. But it worked. Lauren is one of my favorite people. She even kissed me here once.” He tapped his forefinger against his right cheek.

“Did she?” Anne said.

“Jealous?”

“Mortally.”

They smiled at each other, and Anne knew that one thing at least had not died last night. He was still her friend. It was not much to cling to, perhaps, when they were a married couple, but it was definitely something. And she was quite determined to begin this new day with optimism.

“If you get dressed immediately or sooner,” he said, “we can go down to breakfast together.”

It was only as they were descending the stairs ten minutes later that Anne realized there had been no nausea yet this morning. She had been too preoccupied to give it a chance, she supposed.

The rest of the day proceeded far more smoothly than Anne had feared it might. The men left the breakfast table early, and the countess addressed Anne as soon as they were out of earshot.

“We were worried for you as well as Sydnam last night, Anne,” she said. “Oh, and a little annoyed with you too for shutting the door in our faces when I daresay you have had no experience of dealing with my son after he has had one of his nightmares. But we did not hear another sound, and this morning he is as cheerful and full of energy as I have ever seen him. He is usually tired and listless the day after. How did you do it?”

“I merely wrapped him up warmly and held him until he had stopped shaking,” Anne said, feeling herself flush.

Her mother-in-law looked steadily at her without smiling.

“He was foolish,” she said, “so very foolish to go to war-just to prove that he was as brave as Kit.”

“Which he did indeed prove, you must admit, Mother,” Lauren said.

“But at such a tragic cost,” the countess said. “He was very talented, Anne. Did you know that?”