Anne Chessley stood in the entryway of her townhouse on Regent Street. Her back and neck were tense as she fought to remain poised and cool, hoping to hide her racing heart and the creeping flush in her cheeks. Had it only been yesterday that she foolishly sought out Viscount Sheridan and convinced him to propose to her?

God, please don’t let this be a mistake. What if he didn’t come? What if he changed his mind and didn’t go through with the wedding? Anne shoved the thoughts aside, though not easily.

How much difference one day can make, she thought. Since her father had passed the week before, sleep had eluded her, but last night…she’d drifted to sleep with thoughts of Cedric and that wicked kiss he’d given her. No, not given, shared. As much as it embarrassed her to admit it, she’d kissed him back.

Anne smoothed her black crepe gown over her hips and sighed. The ripples of the stiff fabric were an uncomfortable reminder of her mourning and her grief. Her father, Archibald Chessley, was dead, and she was alone in the world.

She was too logical not to be aware that part of her still denied he was dead. She had witnessed his lifeless body when she’d found him in his chair in the library, cold as marble, after a chambermaid had rushed to her bedroom to tell her he was gone.

The emptiness of her home had cut her deeply and driven her to action. She couldn’t stand the silence anymore. A part of her still expected him to emerge from his study, cigar smoke wafting from him, or to have him join her outside and offer to go riding together in Hyde Park. It had just been the two of them since she was four when her mother, Julia, had died from pneumonia.

And mere days after his death, she’d been forced to endure suitor after suitor leaving their cards on silver trays, hoping she’d give them a chance to court her. All for her blasted inheritance. If they acted this way while she was still in mourning, the fortune hunters would become more determined to compromise her, even at the risk of scandal, in order to coerce her into marriage. Such a marriage was an unimaginable fate that she needed to avoid at all costs. She could only think of one person who wouldn’t care about her money and whom she could stand to marry. Viscount Sheridan.

She smiled faintly. He was a tall, handsome gentleman with brown hair and warm brown eyes. A stubborn jaw and aquiline nose gave him a rebellious and imperious look, but his full, sensual lips revealed his humorous streak. She loved to watch him grin. His smiles always sent her pulse dancing and erased her rational thoughts.

She’d gone to him because she knew she could be honest with him, let him know the truth about why she needed to marry with haste. What she hadn’t realized until last night, when she’d returned to an empty house, was how desperate and lonely she was. No more late-night conversations by the fire with her father, no morning breakfast chatter. Just deafening silence.

She assumed that a man like Cedric would not understand her wish to marry out of loneliness and it might not engender his sympathy. Yet he was the only man she could stand the thought of marrying. They shared a surprising number of interests, and could likely make a go of it, if he went through with it.

It was why rushing to him had seemed so natural. He always had something of interest to say, even when he wasn’t trying to shock or seduce her. Being around him, she’d never felt alone.

But seeing him yesterday had been unexpectedly painful. He’d been sitting by the fountain, hands cut and bleeding, trousers and shirt dirty all along the front. It had been obvious he’d fallen shortly before she’d arrived. Seeing the blood on his hands and the almost casual way he’d forgotten about it jolted her heart. It seemed he’d grown used to falling, to getting hurt. No one should be in such constant pain that they grew accustomed to it like that.

Anne had wanted to wrap her arms about the wounded viscount’s neck and comfort him, but she resisted. They knew so little of each other, and he didn’t know her well enough to see the difference between pity and compassion. He would despise her if he thought she pitied him. She only desired to comfort a man who had been deeply hurt. She couldn’t begin to imagine what he might have endured since he’d lost his sight.

It had been ages since she’d seen him. All the balls she attended, the dinner parties, were empty without him there. He’d closeted himself up in his house and no longer participated in life. It was as though he’d given up, and something about that made her chest tighten. A man like him should be experiencing life, not closeted at home. Perhaps if they married he could find some peace and she would ease the sting of her lonely heart by keeping him company, perhaps even easing him into some activities again.

Yes, I’ll convince him to live again. Why that mattered so much, she didn’t want to consider too deeply.

So here she stood, waiting for him to arrive so they could discuss the details of their new life together. But try as she might to focus on the future, her mind kept reliving their kiss from yesterday. In all of his seductions last spring he’d never kissed her. He’d teased and hinted about it, but she’d politely rebuffed him each time. Then yesterday he’d taken control and changed her life with one fiery meeting of their mouths. After that Anne knew she would marry him. The hunger tinged with desperation in his kiss sent her spiraling with mirrored longing. It was as though something ancient and soul deep had stirred to life, and she couldn’t deny the urge to satisfy that hunger any longer.

It hadn’t been her first kiss. Her first had been taken—stolen—by a man she despised. A man who still frightened her. And he’d stolen more than just a kiss. He’d taken something that she could never reclaim. At only eighteen years old, she’d lost any right to a marriage like her friends. Any potential bridegroom would have realized she was no longer a virgin, and the scandal it created would be unbearable.

She would have to tell Cedric, but not yet. Not until after they were married. It felt wrong to conceal such an important truth from him, but she couldn’t risk losing his agreement to their union.

She’d learned firsthand that men had but one goal, to pleasure themselves, often at a woman’s expense. But Cedric’s kiss had promised something different. It had teased, then instructed and then encouraged her to seek her own pleasure from him. He’d then said that he would only marry her if she promised to respond to him like that. He wanted a willing bed partner, a willing lover.

To Anne that meant he wanted a woman who would seek her pleasure back and not expect the man to leave when he alone was satisfied. That kiss told her Cedric would be a generous lover, one who would care for her passion in return. As nervous as she was about her future wifely duties, somehow that kiss had rekindled a fire that had died when she was eighteen. That was why she had agreed to this.

Horse hooves pounded on the driveway and the clatter of carriage wheels jolted Anne out of her musings. Cedric was here. Her heart gave a traitorous flutter, and her hands trembled.

She hastened away from the door and ran up the stairs to the parlor, where she checked her appearance in the small framed looking glass. She studied her face with a frown. Her cheeks, too sallow from her grief in the past week, made her look exhausted to the point of ghoulish. With a muttered curse she pinched her cheeks, hoping to liven up her coloring. Then she smoothed her brown hair back, relieved to see the hints of gold still there when the sunlight hit it just right. Her hair made her passably pretty, as did her eyes, but she was nothing compared to the ladies she’d seen Cedric spend time with over the years. True beauties.

She sighed, her heart stinging. Then she froze.

What am I doing? He cannot even see me.

She could probably wear a cloth sack and he’d never know unless he touched her…

But he would touch her. The very thought of how he might do that made her body flush and suddenly she was a little dizzy. Taking a seat in a wingback chair in the parlor close to the front entrance, she waited. A minute or so later a footman announced Baron Lennox and Viscount Sheridan’s arrival. As she had been expecting him, she’d given the footman orders to bring them to the parlor directly.

Lord Ashton Lennox entered first, his left arm dropping from Cedric’s side as though neither man wanted her to see he’d been guiding Cedric like a child on leading strings. Anne rose at once and smiled at them as she approached. She took Cedric’s outstretched hand and without a word led him to a chair.

“I am glad to see you are in good health, Lord Lennox,” Anne remarked.

Ashton chuckled pleasantly. “Thank you. I ought to have made my apologies again for the nature of our last meeting.” Anne had to admit, Lennox was quite dashing when he wasn’t gazing at someone with that frightening intensity she so often saw him use. It was as though he was analyzing everyone and everything around him—for what purpose, she could only guess.

“I take it you have fully recovered?” Anne asked, thinking back to last December when she’d seen Ashton at Emily’s house, bleeding from a gunshot. He’d been wounded while he and Godric had been at a house of ill-repute. Given the time of day, and the happily married status of the Duke of Essex, Anne suspected there was something more behind why the men had gone to the Midnight Garden midmorning, and it had nothing to do with bedding women.

It was an awkward thing to see Lennox again after she’d seen him bare-chested. Under other circumstances that might have been considered compromising. Thankfully, they’d been at the Duke of Essex’s house and Emily wouldn’t have breathed a word to anyone about what happened. Still, Anne wasn’t going to forget seeing Ashton’s bare, muscled chest, wound or no. It made her wonder what Cedric’s bare chest would look like…

Heat crept into her cheeks. When Ashton raised a brow, she glanced away until he spoke.

“I have, thank you. May I offer my condolences on your father’s passing?” Ashton was ever the gentleman, and Anne smiled warmly at him.

“Thank you. He is greatly missed. And how are you, Lord Sheridan?” Anne turned to Cedric, who had been silently facing her. His once vibrant and warm brown eyes were blank, but the rest of his face held the nuances of his expressions. He looked intense and focused with his brows knit together. She couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking about.

“I am well, and you?” he replied.

“Very well.” Damn, this was all too formal. But what had she expected? She had put so much effort into pushing him away the last few years that bridging that gap to form a friendship seemed almost impossible. She also feared that if she showed any warmth toward him he’d treat her motives with suspicion and not trust her when she asked for his help.

Cedric cleared his throat. “As my letter informed you, I have procured the special license and set a date at St. George’s five days hence. Is that amenable to you? I do not wish to rush you if you need time to have a gown made or…” His voice trailed off.

It was clear he had no knowledge of a woman’s requirements for a wedding. Fortunately for the both of them, she was going to wear a gown she already owned and did not desire any unnecessary amount of fanfare.

“A Saturday wedding will be lovely,” Anne assured him.

The subtle lines of tension about his mouth relaxed. “Good. That is good. Oh, I mustn’t forget. Godric has invited me to dine with him this evening, and I believe Emily will be sending you an invitation shortly. I hope you will consent to come.”

She was surprised by his eagerness, though he quickly struggled to veil it in his expression.

“I will be happy to come, of course,” she answered.

Emily St. Laurent, the Duchess of Essex, was Anne’s close friend. When Anne had been eighteen, she’d had her come-out in London and met Emily’s mother. The lovely Mrs. Parr had helped her enter society smoothly. Anne had vowed to return the favor for Mrs. Parr’s daughter when Emily’s parents had been lost at sea over a year ago.

Of course, Anne had little actual time introducing Emily to London because Godric, Cedric, and the other rogues he called his friends had abducted the poor girl on her second night coming out in London society.

None of that mattered now, however. Emily had tamed the darkly handsome Godric, and the two were so madly in love that Anne was often sad and jealous when she had to be around them. Admitting that wasn’t something she was proud of, but it was the truth. She did envy her friend for her happiness, but she was also glad Emily was so blessed.

Tonight she could dine with them and enjoy the glow of her own upcoming wedding. She and Cedric may not be in love, but they seemed to share an equal eagerness for their marriage and that in itself was a pleasant surprise.

“Oh, Cedric, I’ve just realized I’ve left my riding gloves in the carriage. I will go and fetch them.” Ashton rose quickly and departed the room, leaving Cedric and Anne alone.

“Did he just make up an excuse to abandon me?” Cedric started. Anne stifled an uncharacteristic giggle.

“I believe he did…”

“Does he think we’re too stupid to realize he came in a coach and therefore has no need for riding gloves?” Cedric stood up as he spoke and held out a hand toward her. “May I sit with you?”

“Oh. I’m in a chair. If you wish, I could come to you on the settee?” Anne offered.

“I would like that.” He sat back down and waited for her to join him.

Anne took a seat next to him and was startled when Cedric reached into his coat pocket for a small velvet box.

“This was one of my mother’s favorite rings. I would like for it to be yours.” He opened the box and Anne gasped. The ring was lovely. A stone was nestled there, a gem that seemed to change color in the light.

“It’s beautiful! What gemstone is that?” Anne asked.

“It’s a very rare gem found in Russia. It changes colors by reflecting whatever shades are closest to it. It reminded me of your eyes. I think I chose it for that reason rather than buy you a new ring. Do you like it?”

“Yes.” Her voice was a little broken. She felt her eyes welling with tears. He’d remembered her gray eyes and the odd way they reflected colors. For some reason that alone put her on the verge of crying.

“Shall I put it on for you?” Cedric offered.

“Please.” She put her hand on top of one of his and he took it, his thumb stroking the length of each of her fingers, as though counting them before he reached her ring finger. Then he plucked the ring from the velvet box and slid it on her finger. It fit perfectly, she noted with a shy happiness.

“I…” Cedric shrugged off his words and Anne had the feeling he wanted to say something more, but they were not friends, not lovers and not married. They were mere acquaintances, which felt enough like strangers for all intents and purposes, and she supposed he didn’t feel comfortable speaking freely with her yet.

“Thank you for the ring, my lord.”

“Anne, we’re about to get married…please call me Cedric.” The plaintive note in his voice made her agree.

She tried the name aloud. “Cedric.” She’d said it often enough around Emily but never in Cedric’s presence. She liked the sound of it almost as much as she liked the sound of her own name on his lips. It brought unbidden desires to her mind. Would he whisper her name hoarsely in the darkness as he came to claim her? Would he roar it like a lion? After her only experience of intimacy with a man, she’d been hurt and frightened, but now she was intrigued and excited. She was physically responding to the mere thought of Cedric bedding her.

Cedric seemed to reconsider his silence and opened his mouth to speak when a footman at the parlor door interrupted him.

“There’s an invitation for you, madam, and I have a message for Lord Sheridan from Lord Lennox. He regrets that he must take the carriage and see to a personal matter immediately.”

“He what?” The look of panic on Cedric’s face was startling. Anne realized the dread he must have felt at being forced to travel the city alone. It must be dangerous too.

“Thank you, John. I’ll take the message.” Anne quickly rose and took the offered note and the footman left.

“Is everything all right?” Anne asked Cedric as he got to his feet. His eyes stared vaguely in the direction of the door, anxiety plain on his face.

“He left me…” Cedric’s voice, although a low masculine timbre, still held the frightened waver of a little boy.

Anne’s chest tightened at the sight of him, the mighty rake fallen so low. Rather than revel in Cedric’s plight as she might have once, she felt only compassion. He’d agreed to rescue her from her situation, and it was only fair that she do the same for him. But she would have to do it in a manner that was less obvious. Anne knew enough about men to know that they hated being taken care of like children.

“If Lord Lennox does not return with your coach in a few hours, I would be most appreciative if you would accompany me in mine to the St. Laurent house for dinner. It would be most convenient. I don’t wish to trouble my lady’s maid to accompany me just for the brief duration of a carriage ride.”

Cedric looked calmer, her suggestion working wonders on his anxiety. His shoulders, which had been bunched up tight, dropped back down and he took a deep breath.

“I would be delighted, but as you can see…I am not in my evening clothes. I need to return to my house to change.”

“I do not take long to prepare. I could be ready in an hour, and we could take my carriage to your house before we continue.” Anne prayed he could hear the hope in her tone.

“That would be…acceptable,” he answered after a moment.

“I appreciate that you can offer me an escort. Now would you care to wait here in the parlor while I go and get dressed for this evening?”

“Is that the proper thing? I must confess I’m dreadful at following the rules of propriety. I would much rather stand in your bedchamber listening to the sounds of silk rustling against your skin as you slip the gown on…but I am certain that you would not allow that.” Cedric chuckled. “You might think I’ve faked my blindness these past few months just for that opportunity.” His sensual lips were parted for his laughter, and Anne could feel herself blushing madly. Thank goodness he couldn’t see her face.

“I’ve struck my fair lady speechless!” he teased as Anne scowled at him. His lady? Not yet. Lucky for him he could not see her, otherwise he would have realized he was in trouble.

“Are you always going to be so…” Anne trailed off, lacking a word that could encompass his behavior.

“Wicked?” he suggested with a cocky grin.

“Yes,” Anne replied as she started to walk past him. Cedric’s hand reached out and bumped her forearm before his hand anchored itself to her wrist.

“What are you doing?” Anne demanded as he reeled her into his embrace.

“I thought it was customary to seal an engagement with a kiss.”

Anne’s body flared treacherously to life at his words, but she resisted.

“You kissed me yesterday. Besides, kissing is only for the wedding,” Anne argued, jerking against the steely muscled arms that locked around her waist, securing her against him.

“Only the wedding? I don’t know who instructed you in the ways of desire, but they were either a fool or an idiot,” Cedric said in a husky voice.

Anne stared up at his brown eyes focused distantly on her face, as though he knew instinctively how tall she was. He shifted one of his hands from her waist and let it slide up along the black crepe gown she wore. The heel of his palm brushed the side of her left breast and she shivered.

Cedric’s eyes narrowed as he repeated the motion, moving his palm a few inches inward, stroking the crepe fabric only few inches away from the tip of her breast. To her mortified fascination her nipples hardened, as though desperate for his touch. Anne tried to pull away, but Cedric’s intense look held her in place as his hand resumed its original path up her side and along her shoulder. His fingertips ran a slow line up her throat and along the line of her jaw to reach her chin.

Anne felt as though she was an uncharted foreign land. Cedric’s fingertips were memorizing the contours of her country for his own private map. When he discovered her lips he traced them, and then parted them with the pad of his thumb. Anne reacted without thinking and nipped him with her teeth.

“Bite me anywhere, anytime, my little hellion,” he purred as his head descended toward hers.

Anne was only too aware that she was imprisoned by the strength of his arms. She was no tiny, delicate creature. Anne had a full figure with muscles and curves she’d often despised, but she’d never before taken for granted her natural strength. Being unable to escape Cedric was both infuriating and strangely arousing. He would never force her to his bed, he’d said, but it was obvious he wasn’t about to sit idly by and wait for her to come to him. He took her by surprise and established his dominance over her like a stud stallion with a broodmare. She knew he would not stop until he’d mated his body to hers. The dark turn of her thoughts was obliterated by the meeting of their mouths.

Cedric tasted her gently for the first few seconds, as though learning the shape of her mouth, before he let loose his rough passion. He dug a hand into her hair, fisting his fingers in her coiffure, and tugged, forcing her head to fall back and leave her mouth and neck at his mercy.

Anne’s hands were trapped at her sides, clenched into fists, then unclenched as Cedric’s mouth sucked on her earlobe, then moved to the sensitive skin just beneath it. She fought off a shiver as tingles shot down the length of her spine as his lips moved in slow, hot kisses.

“Melt for me, love,” he encouraged between breaths. Anne felt the instinctive need to obey, but her mind threw up a red flag in warning.

“Can’t.” Her voice was breathless as she fought the pleasure she could feel rising deep inside her.

“Yes, you can…be wicked with me, Anne.”

Cedric’s hands in her hair loosened and cupped her neck, holding her still so his mouth could wander back to hers.

“Open your mouth,” he commanded before slanting his mouth over hers again. She refused to open, and he slid his fingers around her left breast and pinched her nipple sharply. The sensation shot a fierce desire straight to her womb. She gasped. Cedric swallowed the sound of her shock with a deep growl of satisfaction as his tongue invaded her newly opened lips.

Anne jerked in his grasp, but he refused to surrender his control of her. He kneaded her breast, cupping it, shaping it with his strong hand. Anne’s knees buckled rebelliously.

Cedric released her as abruptly as he’d captured her. “I will tame you yet.”

Anne pulled away, putting several feet of distance between them. Once they were married she would have to be careful; she couldn’t allow him to paw at her and control her with her own passions. She’d vowed to come to his bed willingly, but now she feared she’d been too brave to assume she could manage it without losing herself. When Cedric kissed her it seemed to undo her from the inside out. When his lips meshed with hers she felt time rewind itself to that first night she’d seen him.

She’d been so young and foolish then, ready for love and marriage and a sweet life. Anne shook her head to clear it of sad memories and noticed Cedric flash her a mocking smile full of satisfaction.

“No doubt when we marry you think to take up the habit of hiding from me, Anne, but know this—I may be blind, but my other senses leave me quite capable of finding you. Each move you make I’ll hear the rustle of your skirt, or catch the lingering scent of your perfume. I will make you mine all the more fiercely. Now go and change for dinner before I decide to scandalize you and follow you to your chambers.”

Anne needed no second warning. She was out of the parlor and rushing up to her room in seconds, but she couldn’t escape the echo of his laughter. They’d fought a battle of wills, and she only realized now that she had lost. Cedric was far more cunning than she’d assumed. He was not outwardly a scholarly type or a businessman, but he had a wealth of carnal knowledge that had put her at a disadvantage today.

I must always be on guard, she told herself.

As Anne dressed in the sanctuary of her bedchamber, she selected a gown of russet brown that had golden embroidery on the puffed sleeves and hem. It was a gown more suited to autumn with its hues more pumpkin than like flowers, which fashion dictated during the spring. She knew she should have stayed in her mourning blacks, but the thought of a lovely evening wasted in that awful black crepe was an unpleasant one.

Her father wouldn’t have wanted her to wear black for long; he’d never approved of the conventions of mourning.

Grief attends to itself in its own time, in its own way, her father had often said. It neither expects nor desires formality. The dinner at the St. Laurent townhouse was private in nature, and Anne felt confident that Emily would not demand she wear black.

After Anne dressed she called in her lady’s maid, Imogene, who looked briefly startled at Anne’s choice of gown, but knew better than to comment on it.

“What would you like for me to do with your hair?” Imogene asked as she eyed the tangled mess of Anne’s coiffure. Anne blushed.

“Something loose perhaps?”

“That would be wise. Since I foresee much mussing in your future.” Imogene winked. The pair, close in age, had been as close as servant and mistress could be for the last four years. Imogene teased her mercilessly whenever she thought she could get away with it.

“Is it that obvious?” Anne asked sullenly.

“That your fiancé sees through that wall of manners you put up? Yes. The staff are most excited about your upcoming nuptials, if I may be so bold to say.” Imogene smoothed a hand over her dark hair that was pulled back in a subdued but still fashionable knot before she set to work on Anne’s hair.

“Bold, yes, but please continue. What do they say? About my decision.” Anne was very close to her staff here; she’d known all of them since she was a child. And she was concerned that her haste in marriage might damage their opinion of her.

Imogene began pulling pins out of Anne’s hair and started brushing it with a silver-backed comb. “Well, we know you’re supposed to wait and all, but most of us have seen those vultures circling around the house, and none of us blame you one bit for speeding things up. You couldn’t have chosen a better man. We ladies like the viscount. He’s most appealing to the eye, with a fine pair of legs on him and a smile to melt butter…”

Imogene sighed dreamily, clearly performing for her benefit. Anne bit her lip to keep from laughing.

“And the young lads admire him for reasons I’d not like to say in front of your ladyship. The older men here recognize his influence and wealth. Your father could not have hoped for a better match, God rest his soul. The viscount will do well by you, treat you like the lady you are.”

Imogene’s hands worked their magic, twisting and twining until Anne’s hair was gathered at the back to keep it out of her face, but the light brown waves still made a lovely fall of bright rich color loose enough that Cedric could still thread his fingers through it without ruining the pins holding her hair up.

“Thank you, Imogene, it’s lovely as always.” Anne patted Imogene’s hand, which rested lightly on her right shoulder.

Imogene giggled. “Are you ready? I’m sure your young buck is eager to make off with you.”

Anne laughed, despite the furious blush Imogene’s words brought forth. “Imogene, I swear!”

* * *

Cedric cocked his head while he waited in the parlor, listening to the sound of Anne’s laughter. It was light yet slightly husky, a laugh better heard in bed after her lover had pleasured her until she was limp and sated.

Cedric smiled. Soon I will be that man. The kiss he’d given her today had been unplanned, but no less satisfying. She shouldn’t have bitten him. For some reason that had made him as hard as a marble statue, and it had taken all his strength to keep from throwing her onto the settee and showing her how much he liked to bite back. She wouldn’t have fought him for very long, but she was still too resistant to him. She would have used his actions to paint him the villain.

It was better to wait, to seduce slowly. Being both parent and brother to his two sisters, he’d been exposed to the secrets of the feminine mind enough to know how Anne would react. Women were intelligent creatures, and they had to be courted and seduced properly to be won over and not merely subjugated.

Cedric ran a hand through his hair, enveloping himself in the brief memory of that last kiss. Her skin felt as smooth as satin, her hair soft as silk and her mouth—God the taste!—sweet, wet and unbelievably hot. He hoped that she would eventually put that mouth on other places, preferably below his waist. Sensation during lovemaking had intensified after losing his sight, and the thought of Anne’s hot mouth around him there… An irrepressible grin twisted his lips at the thought.

Each kiss he took from her was rich in the promise of passion yet to come. He would woo her with whispered words, sensual caresses and drugging kisses until she was no longer able to resist him. He wanted her to beg for him, to need him as desperately as he needed her.

He had once thrived on his sexual conquests, and he’d had his share of mistresses over the years, but Anne was different. Winning her seemed a different level of achievement altogether. But it was going to be so much harder to win her over when he couldn’t even see her. It was a challenge, but one he was willing to rise to.

He could track her without his sight. The scent of wild orchids left an impression in the air like the invisible essence of a fairy queen. And the sounds… His imagination dined on the whisper of her skirts on the carpets until it was as sweet to hear as a lover’s gasp of pleasure, creating a vision in his mind of her raising those skirts just for him and baring milky smooth thighs virgin to his touch.

God, I’ve been too long without a woman, he thought glumly and shifted on the settee as his groin tightened and his trousers stretched.

Instead he focused on how he was going to murder Ashton for leaving him here. He’d make that blond-haired fiend pay. Ashton was supposed to protect him and guide him, not abandon him in a house with unfamiliar terrain. It had taken him weeks to learn the lay of his own house, count all the steps and memorize the floor plans and furniture arrangements.

Being at Anne’s without his friend’s guidance was frightening. He would never forgive the man for the terror he felt when the footman had announced Ashton’s departure. The fear had practically immobilized him until Anne had spoken. Had it not been for her, he might have collapsed or lunged for the door and hurt himself again.

But Anne had assessed his panic and calmed him, distracted him. They were not even married, yet she already seemed to know how to cope with his condition. He sensed no pity, nor contempt or disgust in her tone when she spoke to him. Her reluctance to touch him or welcome his embrace had nothing at all to do with his blindness.

The same could not be said for his former mistress Portia. Just three weeks after his accident he had returned to London and summoned her, hoping to banish his sorrows in the comfort of her body. Portia had come, eager for his company as well, but when he could not praise her beauty she’d grown bored. She seemed irritated at his clumsy touch. When he’d once been powerful and mastering over her body, he now touched tenderly, hesitantly, unsure of himself. The worst part of the evening had been when he’d tripped over the edge of an upturned carpet and fallen flat on his face. Pain had exploded in his body, and she had dared to laugh. Still, he had gotten up and tried to erase the moment with a wry joke at his own expense.

When he offered her a glass of wine he’d missed her outstretched hand and spilled it on her gown. She’d shrieked like the devil’s own and slapped him. Unable to see her blow coming, he’d been unprepared for the sharpness of her hit and he’d stumbled back in surprise. This had only worsened his already teetering balance and sent him sprawling on the floor. He’d cracked his head on the baseboard of his bed and lay half-conscious at her feet, broken in every way that mattered.

And to add to his misery, she’d stood there and shouted at him. “Who could ever sleep with a broken excuse of a man like you? You can’t even see your boots to put them on! I wouldn’t let you bed me if you were the last man in all of England!” And then she’d gone. His valet had heard the commotion and rushed to his aid.

What sort of man am I? Portia had been right. He was as helpless as a babe. A man no longer. The truth of that was just as emotionally crippling as his blindness was physically. He’d wanted to die.

It was a thought he’d never spoken aloud to anyone and hadn’t acted upon because too many people he loved would be hurt by such a coward’s way out. Yet it didn’t change his feelings, or the sense of desperation and helplessness that made him wish to end everything, the pain, the shame, all of it.

Until Anne. She had come to him, hiding her plea for marriage to him behind that cool bravado she’d always had. Her bravery had been the deciding factor for him. If she was willing to give married life a try, then so was he.

Besides, how hard could marriage be?