She lay back down and turned onto her side as he climbed back into bed. Life had been so very joyous for the past week that it was difficult to pick out one single thing that made her happier than any other. But perhaps it was this. This lying beside him in bed, feeling the warmth of his body next to hers, hearing his breathing. This knowing that she was his wife and had the right to lie here. She was glad she had lain in his bed the very night of their wedding and every night since. She had not asked permission to lie there. She had wanted to be near when he needed her. It was why she had married him.

He had never told her to go away, to lie in her own bed. She would never go away unless he asked her to. Yes, this was the greatest joy. She smiled when he turned his head toward her, though they could not see each other very clearly in the darkness.

"I disturbed you," he said. "You were sleeping so peacefully."

"I am happy," she said. "You cannot know how happy I am, John."

He turned onto his side too, and slid one arm beneath her head. With the other he drew her closer so that her body was against his. He felt less angular and fragile man he had felt in the nights after their wedding, when she had held him in her arms.

"Are you?" he said. "Are you, love?"

She lifted her head hopefully. She loved his kisses. Especially when she was lying down and her knees were not so badly affected.

He smiled at her and kissed her. She experimented. Instead of waiting for him to prod with his tongue through the seam of her lips, she parted them for him. And when she discovered the pleasure of moist flesh caressing moist flesh, she opened her mouth. His tongue came sliding hard and deep inside and she was very glad indeed that she was lying down. She would have disgraced herself utterly by crumpling into a heap on the ground.

And then she felt alarm and pulled her head back sharply. One of her hands shot up to touch his forehead.

"John," she said. She could hear her voice shaking. "You are fevered. You should have told me."

His chuckle seemed to mock her terror. "My love," he said. "My own little innocent. I am the big bad wolf in your bed, I am afraid."

She understood instantly. She lowered her hand and was glad of the darkness. She felt mortified.

"Adèle," he said, "you married me to nurse me to my death. I know you love me, sweetheart. I know, too, that you did not expect this ever to be a normal marriage, a consummated marriage. Perhaps you never wanted it to be. And if you still do not, I will respect your wishes. I will be forever grateful for the selfless love you showed in marrying me. But if you do not want it, you are going to have to remove yourself from my bed now or sooner-and stay away. You do understand me, do you not?"

She felt such a deep stabbing of longing that she did not believe she would be able to speak if she tried. But she did try.

"Yes," she whispered.

"Or I can move to another room," he said. "There is no reason why it should be you, is there, merely because this is called the master bedchamber?''

"Don't go," she said, clutching his nightshirt. "Stay with me. Make me your wife. Oh, please, John, make me your wife."

She was frantic with need then. She had expected to die a maid. She had thought about it and accepted it as a consequence of her devotion to him. She would never marry again after he had gone. She had decided that and had never felt any doubt that it was a decision she would never want to revoke. There could never be anyone else after John. Never.

And now-there was to be John?

When his mouth came back to hers, she opened her own eagerly and waited for what was to happen. She knew-even the cold reason in her knew-that it was going to be the very happiest night in her whole life.


******************

He had woken up wanting her-and knowing that he was now strong enough to have her. But the matter was not as simple as merely reaching for her and taking her. He was not quite sure he had the right. Was he really her husband? In body certainly he was and in mind he half was-more than half. As the days went by he found himself thinking more and more as the Regency John. But the other one- the twentieth-century John Chandler-was still there. Which one was he, exactly? Which one would he be for the rest of his life?

He had just become engaged to Allison. He had had a number of women between the ages of seventeen and twenty-eight, but he had committed himself to fidelity when he had agreed to marry Allison. Was it right to sleep now with Adèle?

But she was his wife.

And he knew that if he had to go back to the twentieth century he would not be able to marry Allison after all. He thought with grim humor of the reason he would have to give her if he was going to be honest. He could not marry her because he was in love with a woman almost two hundred years old.

Adèle was a virgin. With his Regency self he had no doubt of that, even though his other self might have taken for granted that at the age of twenty-four she must have had a few lovers. Was it right that he be the one to make love to her first? Who would be doing it? But he knew the answer to that. It would be her husband. He was her husband.

But what if the other John came back as sick as he had been? Would it be better for her not to have known the consummation? And what if he left her pregnant?

But he knew that John Chandler, Viscount Cordell, had not died so soon. And he knew that the two of them had had children. Was it his own history he had learned? Or was it another man's? He felt dizzy again, realizing that he was seriously considering such a question.

It was his desire and his indecision that had driven him out of bed to pace for a while. He had decided to wait, to let more time pass, to be more sure that he was here to stay. But then he had had that brief coughing spell as he was about to slip back into bed, and she had woken up.


******************

She was small and well-shaped without being in any way voluptuous. Every part of her was nicely in proportion with every other part. He had noticed that with pleasure since the first time he woke up to her in his bed. Now he noticed it with desire.

She was virgin and innocent and totally inexperienced. He had known that from the start. She had not even known how to kiss sexually. And now she lay still and passive, obviously not knowing either what to do or what exactly was about to happen to her. But there was a willingness and a longing in her stillness, even an eagerness. He could tell that. She wanted what was to happen. With him. Because she loved him.

He was fiercely glad that it was not the other John loving her tonight. Only he could give her everything there was to give. Only he could give her the whole of himself.

He found her inexperience wholly endearing and not a little exciting. She had thought he had a fever… And then her embarrassment at realizing the truth had been almost palpable.

He undid the buttons that held her nightdress closed to the throat and opened back the edges. He touched her breasts one at a time, stroking them lightly, cupping them, rubbing his thumb very gently across the nipples, pulsing lightly against them. And while he did so, he leaned his head back from hers so that he could watch her face in the faint light from the window. She looked back until her eyelids fluttered closed and she made soft sounds of pleasure.

She was exquisitely feminine. He had to close his own eyes for a few moments in order to bring his desire under control. He did not intend to do anything with her tonight that might shock her too deeply. He intended only basic foreplay and a more lengthy union of their bodies. But he certainly did not want to rush anything. He wanted to give her pleasure, and more than pleasure. He wanted her to feel herself loved and cherished and worshiped and-married.

He kissed her mouth, her cheeks, her temples, her eyes, her ears. He closed his teeth over one earlobe and felt her shiver. He lowered his mouth to her breasts, drawing the nipples one at a time into his mouth and sucking as he wanted his child to do in nine months or so. And he took her nightgown with both hands and moved it down and off her arms and down her body until he could toss it to one side. He pulled off his own nightshirt and sent it to join her nightdress.

"Don't be embarrassed," he said, drawing her back into his arms. "You are so very beautiful, Adèle, and I did promise at our wedding to worship you with my body, did I not?"

"I am not embarrassed," she said. "I want you to see me, John. I want you to touch me. I want you to know me. I want to feel you i-inside me. That is what happens, is it not?"

He had to draw a slow, steadying breath before answering. "Deep inside," he murmured against her ear. "Where we will share bodies and beget children. Where we will be husband and wife together."

He moved his hand over her as he spoke, feeling the small waist, the feminine curve of her hip, the firm, shapely buttock. He slipped his hand into the warmth between her legs, parting the folds with gentle fingers-stroking, probing slowly, giving her time to master the shock that had been indicated by a sharply indrawn breath, and to relax again.

"Mm," he said, his mouth against hers. "Wonderful. You are warm and wet. No, don't tense. It is as you should be. Your body has readied itself so that we can unite without discomfort."

But he knew there would be pain for her. He had no experience with virgins. He hoped he could be careful enough. It would not be easy. He was on fire for her.

She did not help him. She looked up at him as he turned her onto her back and lifted himself over her. But she did not hinder him either. She let him push her legs wide astride his and she slid her feet up the bed when he whispered the suggestion to her. She watched him steadily as he positioned himself and mounted her very slowly.