Stone crept into his wife’s room hours after their exchange in the library. His intent to come to her had been thwarted by the arrival of a messenger from London. The poor soul had ridden deep into the night to ensure the urgent message was delivered. He’d read the contents of the missive and swore the fates were against him. His solicitor had good news on his acquisition of the majority shares of the London and Southwestern Railway. It had positioned him to take over as the chairman of the board for the company, but now it seemed there was a labor dispute he needed to address. Since he was interested in seeing how this growing mode of transport could be leveraged and made profitable, he needed to attend to the matter immediately.

Theo’s excitement about taking the train versus the coach all the way from London had pleased him no end. Many women in her position would have turned their nose up at such common travel and insisted on a coach with all the trappings. As he reviewed the missive and the resulting plans for his quick return to London, the hour had grown late. He had assumed his wife would be asleep, and he was not wrong. What had surprised him was finding her nude in her bed and clutching the sapphires, as though she had contemplated wearing them, but somehow couldn’t decide to. Or, perhaps she had worn them but removed them in a fit of pique?

The simple idea that she had considered his naughty suggestion sparked new, more dangerous ideas. Again he reminded himself she was no trollop, or even a welcoming widow, to play out such depraved ideas with. She was a lady, an innocent. She deserved to be treated and bedded with respect. Not manhandled in her parents’ drawing room or paraded around nude bearing the mark of his possession.

Disgusted with himself, he turned down the bedside lamp and retreated to his own cold, lonely bed. He would have to redirect his lustful nature to other pursuits. Exhaust himself so he could scarcely collapse next to her, let alone soil her with his filthy needs.

He stripped down to his skin and lay in bed trying to banish the image of Theo wearing his gift and naught else. An impossible task.

---

Theo awoke in the dark of night. The lamp by her bed had been doused. As she turned up the light, another low, agonized moan pierced the fog that still clung to her. She rose and donned her robe before carefully grabbing the handle of the lamp to head in the direction the horrible sound had emanated from.

She pushed the door open that connected her room to Stone’s and held the light aloft. With a few steps inside, she found her husband sprawled on his bed, sheets twisted about his hips and legs like the twisting tendrils of a jungle vine. He moaned again, a sound full of such anguish, it brought tears to her eyes.

What had he endured to draw such a horrific sound from him? His legs flailed about as he attempted to escape the bonds of his bedding.

“No! The women,” he sobbed, and as Theo neared his bed, she could see the tears that escaped from beneath his closed lids. “The children.” His voice broke on the last word as he shook violently.

Distraught but afraid to wake him, Theo set her lamp down and eased onto the bed next to him. Tentatively, she reached out to stroke his sweat-damp brow. With a light touch of her fingertips, she smoothed his furrowed brow. He mumbled more words, but his thrashing seemed to calm. She continued to soothe him with her touch. As he settled back into a deeper sleep, she hovered in case the nightmares returned.

Half an hour later, she unwound the sheets from his legs and covered him against the chill of the night. He had remained peaceful while she fussed over him. Confident that he would sleep the rest of the night undisturbed, she retrieved her lamp and slipped back to her own bed.

However, sleep proved elusive. Unsure of what might have caused such anguish in a man she had come to know as staunch and, at times, stoic, she could not stop the cogs from turning. Could something have occurred during his military service? Perhaps some childhood trauma that followed him into adulthood? She had a cousin who could not abide small spaces due to an afternoon spent locked in a steamer trunk as a girl. Even in the dead of winter, she rode only in an open carriage.

At some point after the first pink rays of dawn chased away the night, Theo drifted off to a restless sleep.

---

Theo entered the breakfast room to find her husband awake and looking refreshed despite the ordeal she knew he’d suffered during the night. He read the local newspaper while drinking his morning coffee. The bitter aroma of the strong brew drifted from across the room, and to her surprise, she found it perked her up. Mayhap she would try it in lieu of tea this morning.

“Good morning, Stone.” Had her voice warbled?

“Good morning, Theo. I trust you slept well?” He turned the page of the news.

“As well as could be expected.” She refused to mention his absence from her bed or her discovery of his nocturnal torment. She settled down at the table and poured herself a cup of coffee, and then asked the footman to bring her a piece of ham and a coddled egg for breakfast.

In silence, she lifted her cup to her lips, inhaled the bracing scent of the coffee and sipped. Sputtered. Choked. And coughed. In that order. Her husband slapped the paper down and rose to aid her. He patted her back as she regained her capacity to breathe.

The humiliation of the moment overwhelmed her. Crawling under the table to hide seemed a perfectly rational solution at the moment.

“Are you well?” he asked as he hovered over her.

“Yes.” Her voice came out raspy from the abuse of choking on a hot liquid.

“Have you ever had coffee before?” One brow lifted toward his hairline.

“No.” She stared at her plate and willed the tears of mortification back. “It smelled so delicious when I came in, and Mother had banned the drink from the house, calling it uncivilized. I was curious to taste it, but the stuff is vile.”

“Many find it to be upon first tasting it. You also might try it again after treating it much as you do tea. Perhaps a bit of cream and sugar might make it more palatable?” He nudged the sugar and creamer set in her direction and then returned to his seat and lifted the paper up to cover his face.

Suspicion crept past her embarrassment and bedeviled her until she rose and peeked over the paper her husband perused so intently. The hidden tableau sparked her outrage. The man was laughing at her.

“You odious man, I cannot believe you are laughing at my distress,” she pouted, only slightly serious about her indignation.

“I watched the entire evolution, and with such a violent and unexpected outcome, I couldn’t help but chuckle a little. You are adorable in your curiosity and your eagerness to try new things. It is also the reason you wind up in such predicaments. If you had simply asked for my guidance, I could have offered the cream and sugar from the start and spared you the experience.”

She laughingly glared at him as she spooned sugar into her cup, followed by a dribble of cream. Her late-night foray into nursing her husband was quickly forgotten. “I have found most experiences are best had uncolored by anyone else’s perceptions.”

“While that can be true”—a shadow flitted across his beautiful eyes—“such an approach can also lead to foolish mistakes that might get a countess in trouble.” His gaze narrowed meaningfully.

“I shall consider your advice in the future when appropriate, Stone.” Then she addressed the breakfast plate a footman had fortuitously delivered. With food to consume, she could cease having a pointless conversation. He would not be allowed to control her experiences. That point was tantamount to the success of their arrangement.

“Very well. Since you are already put out with me, I am afraid I have some bad news.”

“Oh?” She paused in cutting her ham.

“Yes, it seems I shall have to return to London tomorrow morning first thing.”

Her heart pounded. Things between them had been progressing well, or so she thought. But then he’d not come to her that night as he’d said he would. Had she done something to displease him in bed? “What time shall we leave?”

“No, no. I wouldn’t want to drag you back so soon after we arrived. Besides, I know you have much to do here to take the reins. I shall hurry back alone and hopefully be able to return in a few days’ time.”

“I see. Well then.” She laid down her fork and knife and rose from the table. “I believe I should be about those very duties you mentioned.” And with that, she departed the room lest he witness her utter dismay.

---

Later that evening, after reminding herself that they were in fact married and that he was simply returning to London for a few days, she determined to be naught but cheerful at dinner.

She appeared in the dining room dressed in a beautiful light-blue silk gown made by none other than the House of Worth. It was an elegant confection with simple lines and subtle detailing around the neckline. The perfect dress for an evening meal in the country with her new husband.

However, she sat alone for nearly an hour before she resigned herself to his disappearance. Once she’d eaten, she headed back to her chamber by way of the library. She spotted the light beneath the door, hesitated, and then decided to continue on to her room. There was little point in making an issue of his absence. At the bottom of the stairs, she stopped one of the maids.

“Please ask Mrs. Hedley to see that a dinner tray is sent to the library for Lord Stonemere.”

“Yes, my lady.” The girl bobbed a curtsy and headed toward the kitchens.

Content that she could be sure he at least would not starve, she retired to her room, where Mary helped her undress.

“Which nightgown will you wear tonight, my lady?”

“The regular cotton, please.”

Mary looked at her queerly but provided the requested gown. Then her maid brushed out her hair until it shone like spun gold. “Thank you. That will be all, Mary.”

Alone, she slipped into bed and picked up the book she had selected from the library earlier that evening. The copy of Wuthering Heights was as good as new. All evidence suggested it had never even been opened. She settled in to read one of her favorite stories of tormented love. It seemed apropos in light of her current situation. She found herself infatuated with her husband, despite the arranged union, and he seemed to be continuing on about his life as though nothing had changed.

Perhaps tomorrow morning she could rise early enough to see him off. Content with that plan, she settled in to read.

---

Just shy of midnight, Stone found himself once again lingering over his wife’s sleeping form. This time, however, there were two notable differences. As opposed to her nude state the night before, tonight a cotton sack some women might call a nightgown covered her from neck to toes. The second difference was that instead of clutching his gift to her, she lay grasping a book. The sapphires were nowhere to be seen.

I am undoubtedly the biggest fool in England.

He leaned over to slip the book from her grasp, but she woke up. “Stone, what are you doing here?”

Her sleepy little question caught him up. “Where else would I be?”

“Your library, on the way back to London, and in your own bed are all places that come to mind.” She sat up.

He lowered himself to the edge of the mattress. His wife sat with her hair peeking out of a lace monstrosity that he knew women were prone to wearing at night. But beneath that distracting frill, her blue eyes held a soft, sleepy quality that brushed too near the look of desire she’d worn on their wedding night as he thrust into her body. The need to taste her lips again crashed over him like a wave swamping a ship. “But you see, you are here. So how would any of those locations allow me the opportunity to do this?” Then he gave in and kissed her.

Despite the hideous nightgown she wore, her sleep-hazed response fired his blood. She kissed him sweetly and then, when he delved deeper, she opened to him with a little moan. Her arms slipped up over his linen-shrouded shoulders to tangle in the hair at his nape.

God, how he wanted to be in her arms. The idea of leaving for London was both horrific and a boon to his drowning soul. He’d tumbled arse over boots, unsure how to right himself in the maelstrom that one woman created with a simple kiss.

Lost in the storm, he pushed the ugly cap off her head, drew the covers down, and cupped her breast over the cotton barrier she wore. He kissed down her neck and sought out the buttons of her sleepwear, swearing in his head when he found the row of tiny buttons—thousands of tiny buttons. One by one, he released them. The task seemed endless until the material parted to expose the pink-flushed flesh of her chest and breasts.

He tongued one nipple and then the other as he left her arms trapped at her sides by all the material. “Stone, please. Take the thing off. I want to touch you.”

He groaned. If she were allowed to touch him right now, this would be over before it began. “No,” was all he could manage as he worked to unfasten his trousers. The need to bury himself in her heat rode him the way Aries charged into battle, with fierce determination and unstoppable power.

Freed from its entrapment, his cock rose up long and hard between his thighs. He shifted, shoved the covers down, and then found the hem of the ugly night dress. He pushed it up until the hem doubly entrapped Theo, leaving her lower half exposed. Then he loomed over her and notched his prick at her opening. “So beautiful.”

A shiver of anticipation racked his body, and then he pushed inside her. She groaned and rose up to meet him as best she could, tangled in the yards of cotton fabric. “That’s it, pe— Love. Take me.” He groaned as he pumped into her heat and gave them what they both seemed to want.

Her head thrashed restlessly while she lay practically helpless beneath him. Her hips rose to take him over and over again as he thrust into her, and then she groaned. “More. Stone, I need… I need more.”

And his restraint snapped. He pounded into her with a brutal rhythm that seemed to answer her demand while sating the raging beast within. He fucked her hard and long until she shattered around him, helpless to do anything but take what he gave. He stamped her with an indelible imprint of him, or so it seemed in his mind’s eye. Even if she didn’t wear the sapphires every day, her body would know who she belonged to and who its master was.

It would be enough. It must.

With a growl, he exploded as he emptied his seed into her quim. Mine, he roared in his head. Mine.

And then they fell asleep still joined together, while her arms remained tangled in the fabric at her sides.