When Caroline was barely fifteen, she’d walked down the aisle at St. George’s Church in Hanover and was quite terrified about the idea of marrying a man she didn’t know at all. In the end, David Benton had been the mildest mannered gentleman of her acquaintance, and the idea that she’d ever been frightened of him had been quite laughable in the years that followed.

Now here she was at thirty-two, preparing to walk across the yellow parlor at Haversham House quite eager to marry a man with a dangerous reputation and from whom any other rational lady would run in the opposite direction. Things had definitely changed in her life and in her view of the world since she was fifteen.

And now she was going to be a mother again. That fact alone should terrify her, especially at her age and since her own mother had perished in childbirth. But she wasn’t afraid. And she wasn’t afraid of Marc’s past coming back to haunt them or anything of the like. Being afraid wouldn’t do her any good, or anyone else for that matter, so she simply refused to give any sort of credence to any of those thoughts, and instead she focused on the wonderful life they were going to share together.

She loved Marcus Gray with all her heart. Every arrogant, exasperating and…remarkable inch of him. He truly was her knight in tarnished armor, and she wanted the world to know how much she adored him.

Marc’s parlor was overflowing with their friends and family, more than she would have ever dared to hope for. Luke had been the most wonderful brother, as he’d ridden for Eton to make sure Adam could walk Caroline down the aisle, or across the room, so to speak. All of their collective children were in attendance, and Rachel even seemed happy for them. Emma and Callie were over the moon that they were to be sisters in reality. Luke and Juliet beamed at her from the far side of the parlor. And even Robert had abandoned his brood in Dorset to be there for her as well. There were so many smiling faces, she couldn’t even count them all, and Caroline couldn’t remember a time she’d ever been so happy.

“You’re sure about this, Mother?” her son Adam, Viscount Staveley, asked, glancing up at her from their spot in the threshold.

Caroline blinked back happy tears. “My darling, I’ve never been so sure about anything in my life.”

“All right, then.” Adam nodded once and then led her into the parlor, where Marc stood near the window, waiting for her with the clergyman, Mr. Bailey.

Marc smiled as she approached him, and he looked at her as though they were the only two people in the crowded parlor. Caroline almost stumbled from the promise, from the love and adoration she saw reflected in his light gaze.

And then she stood before him and his smile widened further. “Last chance to run, Caroline,” he said only loud enough for her to hear.

Ridiculous man. “I will never run from you,” she whispered as Adam relinquished his hold on her arm and then offered her hand to Marc.

Marc squeezed her fingers and Caroline grinned right back at him.

Mr. Bailey cleared his throat and said, “In Romans 12:10, we read, ‘Be devoted to one another in love. Honor one another above yourselves.’ And it is quite easy for us all to see how devoted the two of you are to each other.”

“That we are,” Marc agreed, though his eyes never left Caroline, and she felt flush all of a sudden.

Heavens, they were really doing this.

“I hope you have many years of happiness,” the clergyman continued. “Now, do you Marcus Howard Charles Gray, Marquess of Haversham, Earl of Kirkburn, Baron Saddleworth-Gray take Caroline Elizabeth Beckford Staveley to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness or in health, to love and cherish ‘til death do you part?”

“I will,” Marc said, squeezing her fingers once more, and there was such a promise in his touch.

“And do you, Caroline Elizabeth Beckford Staveley, take Marcus Howard Charles Gray, Marquess of Haversham, Earl of Kirkburn, Baron Saddleworth-Gray, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness or in health, to love, honor and obey ‘til death do you part?”

Marc’s brow went up at the word obey and Caroline narrowed her eyes slightly on him. Arrogant man. But she had no doubt, no reservations at all in her mind as she said, “I have and I will.”

“In that case, Lord Haversham, you may kiss your bride.”

And Marc wasted no time doing so. He slid his hand to her waist and drew her against him before pressing his lips to hers in front of the assembled crowd.

The room broke out in applause and a moment later, Marc lifted his head. “Lady Haversham, I look forward to many years of your obedience.”

Caroline couldn’t help but laugh. “I might have been crossing my fingers during that part.”

“Then the entire thing is null and void. Make Bailey do the whole thing again.”

She laughed even harder. “If you weren’t still recovering from a knife wound…”

“Yes?” His brow lifted. “Threatening your husband all ready? Is this how you mean to go on?”

“Indeed.” She nodded vigorously. “Are you surprised?”

“I’d be disappointed otherwise,” he said and then he kissed her once more.

* * *

There was nothing Marc would have liked more than to toss everyone from Haversham House and have his way with his wife. His wife. He still couldn’t quite believe she’d talked him into that, but he wasn’t unhappy about it. Not in the least.

Still, he couldn’t toss everyone out of the house and make love to his wife. Not because he cared what any of them would think about him. No. He couldn’t toss half of London out of his house because the hole in his back still ached like the bloody devil. So he smiled at her friends and family and resisted the urge to send her oldest brother sailing through the air when he threatened Marc’s life should he ever do anything to hurt Caroline.

But as everyone was about to head over to Astwick House for a wedding breakfast celebration, Marc tugged Caroline toward him and said, “I’ll meet you at Astwick’s in time for dessert.”

“Where are you going?” She frowned.

“Whitehall,” he said softly so no one else could overhear him. “This morning I looked in my valise and realized I still have that damned codebook. The sooner I deliver it to Galloway, the sooner we can put them all from our lives.”

“You really want to miss our wedding breakfast that badly?” she asked.

She did know him well. “All those people love you, sweetheart. They won’t care if I’m not there.” In fact, most of them would probably prefer him to miss it all together, dessert included.

“I’ll care.”

She was the only one who ever truly did. He kissed her softly. “I’ll make it up to you later.” And delivering that damn book was in the interest of her safety. It had to come before any sort of celebratory breakfast.

Marc muttered a few goodbyes to those in his path and then he went directly to his study to retrieve the book in question and then headed for Whitehall.

* * *

Being back at Whitehall made Marc’s skin nearly crawl. The sooner he delivered the damn codebook and left, the happier he’d be.

Thomas Galloway’s office was in exactly the same spot it always had been, which made it easy to find. Marc strode straight into the spymaster’s office, without even bothering to knock.

And he was not surprised in the least to find that damned Earl of Peasemore sitting in a chair opposite the Under Secretary’s desk. If Marc was the altruistic sort, he’d warn Peasemore away from his current path, but there was no point, really. When Marc was younger, when he was idealistic, he wouldn’t have listened to anyone who’d try to warn him away. Odds were Peasemore would react the same way.

And he hadn’t come to Whitehall to deal with Peasemore. He’d come to deal with Galloway.

“It is customary to knock,” the Under Secretary said.

“Yes, well, I am not customary as you’re well aware,” Marc returned. Then he slapped Staveley’s damn codebook on the man’s desk, and added, “If I even suspect for a moment that you have any agents glancing in my wife’s direction, I will kill every operative you’ve got.” He tilted his head toward the earl. “Starting with him.”

Galloway was unmoved by that threat and he frowned at the book. “What is that?”

“That is what you’ve terrorizing my wife over. Breaking into Staveley House, Benton Park, and being, quite honestly, a thorn in my bloody side for months.”

“Staveley’s book?” Galloway smirked. “My lord, you are too late. St. George gave us everything we needed to squash that little conspiracy right after we took him into custody. Feel free to keep it, if you’d like, a souvenir of sorts for your troubles.”

Souvenir for his troubles? Marc had the overwhelming urge to smash the man’s face right into his desk, but his back did still hurt like the dickens. “Then burn it for all I care. I don’t need any reminders of the Home Office other than the ones I live with on a daily basis.”

“Yes, how is your back?” Galloway asked. “I see you’re walking around so…”

But Marc was not about to pretend to have a genteel conversation with the spymaster, disingenuous bastard that he was. “You will stay away from my wife, from my family. Am I perfectly clear?”

“Agents never really retire, my lord. Look how you found that book for me even after all these years.” Galloway cast him the smuggest of smiles.

“Approach me again, you won’t live to see the sunset. And if you even glance in my wife’s direction, you will regret the day you were born.”

“Yes, you have made yourself quite clear,” Galloway said as he picked up that codebook and dropped it into a rubbish bin under his desk.

“Congratulations on your marriage,” Peasemore said. “I wish you both the best of luck. And I do apologize for any anguish my actions may have caused Lady Sta—Lady Haversham.”

So perhaps Marc might be a bit altruistic. “If you don’t want to be me in a dozen years, Peasemore, you should get out of all this at your earliest convenience.”

Then he made his way back to Mayfair and all the way to Astwick House, just in time to have dessert with his wife.