After returning to Lady Roundtree’s town house, Nora helped the footmen settle the baroness upon a comfortable settee in the front parlor, then turned to face Heath.

His family was marvelous. He was marvelous. Her head swam at the thought of being his wife.

Now that Nora’s days of drawing Society caricatures were relegated to her past where they belonged, perhaps her future was finally open. She hated that she could not confess what she had done to save her family, but there was no sense causing trouble over something he had no need to know.

She supposed helping one’s family by any means necessary was not a worse secret than others brought to their marriages. If she wedded a rake, she certainly would not enquire names and dates of the countless women he’d bedded before her, and doubted even minimal information would be likely to be volunteered. A marriage was not about looking backward toward each other’s pasts, but rather forging a new future together.

That was the primary hurdle they would need to work out before their attachment could go further. Forging a future… where? What of Nora’s family? What of Heath’s? If one of them would be required to give up everything, she had no doubt the duty would fall upon her shoulders. He was the baron. She was the sheep maiden.

But she could not help but wish for a happy ever after.

“Stay,” she said impulsively, then turned to the baroness. “If it’s all right with Lady Roundtree.”

“He’s your suitor.” The baroness motioned for her tea set. “I wouldn’t shoo him out.”

Heath bowed. “Only a fool would turn down an opportunity to spend an evening with two beautiful women.”

“Keep your voice down.” Lady Roundtree added her evening dose of laudanum to a china teacup. “I might rest my eyes for a few moments.”

Nora glanced at Heath, then back to the baroness. “Shouldn’t you keep an eye on me?”

“Captain Pugboat is your duenna,” Lady Roundtree mumbled without opening her eyes. “And common sense, if you have any. I’m right here in the same room.”

Nora’s cheeks heated at the implication and she quickly turned back toward Heath. “Your family is a joy. I can see why you love each other.”

“They were just as taken with you,” he said with a satisfied smile. “You even set a record as the quickest honorary Grenville in history.”

Nora couldn’t wait to make all of them honorary Winfields in return.

“I’m sorry your father disappointed you,” she said softly.

A muscle twitched at Heath’s temple. “Bryony was right: Father is never present. Any disappointment is my own fault for failing to set my expectations correctly. What is your family like?”

“Wonderful,” she admitted. “My grandparents have too many age and health issues now to be much help with the crops or the sheep anymore, but they love us just as much as they love that farm. If there was anything at all they could do for us, I know they wouldn’t hesitate.”

“Us?” Heath repeated with a frown. His face cleared. “That’s right, you have a brother.”

She nodded. “Carter is a full year younger, but he might as well be my twin. We’ve been inseparable for as long as I can remember. That is, until I was sent here.” A sudden stab of nostalgia gripped her heart. “It’s been so hard without them.”

Worry filled his hazel eyes. “Wouldn’t you… Do you not want to live in London?”

Her stomach bottomed. Here it was. The moment he would realize they couldn’t suit.

“I can’t leave them to fend for themselves,” she said simply. “Carter is doing his best to make the farm self-sustaining again, but—”

“Nora, I have money.” Heath took her hands, his gaze sheepish. “It’s considered a vulgar subject to talk about, but this is important for you to hear. Even before the banns are read, I will ensure your family wants for nothing. None of you will ever have to worry about the farm again. We can send funds, servants, a lifetime supply of ostrich feathers for your grandmother’s bonnet, anything they need.”

“They need me,” Nora said, her voice scratchy with the pain of disappointing him. Of disappointing herself. She had known this couldn’t work. “I know you need to be in London. Your clients are here; your family is here. But my family is back home. I can’t spend my life here with you if it means giving them up, too.”

A sudden snore rent the parlor. The baroness had fallen asleep.

Heath lifted Noras hands to his chest. “I would never ask you to give up your family. You’re right that mine is here in London, but they’re here because of the Season. Most peers and their families come to Town only whilst Parliament is in session, and then return to their country estates.”

Nora frowned. “Where is your country estate?”

“In the West Midlands,” he said, his eyes shining. “With you.”

Her reply was barely audible. “The West Midlands?”

“We’ll build a home wherever you like. Right next to your grandparents, if you prefer. We’ll spend the Season here in London and the rest of the year near your family.”

Hope gripped Nora’s chest. Was it really possible? Might they find a compromise where everyone could win?

Or was this wishful thinking? Pretty words he could promise now, before he inherited the title and became as distant as his own father? She would have to tread lightly if she wished to discover the truth.

“Does the barony take up much of your time?” she asked.

Heath’s brow furrowed. “I don’t have it yet.”

“But…” She pulled her hands back to her lap in confusion. “Oughtn’t you to learn the ropes? Isn’t there some sort of…”

“barony apprenticeship?” Heath asked dryly. “That was Eton and Oxford. My father has a large cabinet of trusted advisors. Every year in our annual meetings, they assure me of a smooth transition in the future.”

Annual meetings to discuss the inevitable event of a parent’s death made inheriting a title sound positively ghoulish. Nora wished she hadn’t needed to broach the subject. “In the meanwhile, I’m glad you found a career that fulfills you.”

“A what?” His mouth curved and he affected a haughty accent. “No gentleman in line to a title would be caught dead anywhere near a career.”

Her neck heated. “I didn’t mean any offense.”

“You were absolutely correct. Scandal-fixing is my career.” He lifted a shoulder. “Mayhap I wouldn’t be so sensitive about it if I had chosen the path that fulfilled me.”

Lady Roundtree let out another snore and turned her face toward the settee.

Nora lowered her voice. “You don’t enjoy being a scandal-fixer?”

“I do it to help people who need it.” His gaze grew distant. “It is not how I’d prefer to spend my time.”

She leaned forward, intrigued. “What would you rather do?”

“I…” Heath cast a glance toward the baroness snoring softly on the other side of the room. “Perhaps this isn’t the right moment for confessions.”

Nora bit her lip. He was right. They would not be able to have the heart-to-heart they desperately needed if the baroness could wake up at any moment and overhear everything.

She rose to her feet. “Come with me.”

Heath looked at her quizzically but pushed to his feet without question.

She led him past the room where they had trained Captain Pugboat to the tiny parlor she used as her drawing nook. It was close enough to the front parlor to hear the baroness if she should happen to call, and not so far away as to reach the guest chambers.

The tiny parlor was too small to hold more than the single chaise, so Nora seated herself on the end with the armrest and motioned for Heath to join her.

“Is this your hideaway?” he asked as he settled by her side.

It had been her sanctuary for eight short weeks. The idea of moving into her own house… Nay, of having not one but two homes of her own, with the farm no longer a worry…

“Yes.” She tilted her face toward his. “But first, you were telling me there was something you’d rather be doing with your life. I’d love to know what that is.”

He leaned his wide shoulders back against the wallpaper. “Don’t laugh.”

“Never.” She loved him too much to treat his ideas with disrespect. “Trust me.”

After a moment, he nodded. “An art gallery.”

“You want to buy one?” she asked when he didn’t elaborate.

“I want to run one.” His eyes brightened. “I want it to be mine.”

She leaned forward. “Your art?”

“My vision.” His voice sounded far away. “I want to discover the artists, select the right works, and determine the best way to display them. I want to have seasonal themes and host traveling exhibitions and introduce all manner of art to people who would not otherwise have known where to look for it. I want to provide modern artists a venue like the Dulwich Picture Gallery has given to the masters.”

“It sounds marvelous,” Nora said, and meant it. “You have thought about this a lot.”

“Since I was small,” he admitted.

She didn’t understand. “Then why don’t you do it? Is it the money?”

He laughed humorlessly. “I wish all I lacked was money. We have plenty of that. What I cannot have is an association to a trade.”

“You can purchase unlimited quantities of art for your home, but not for a gallery?” Nora said in disbelief.

“I can own a thousand galleries,” he said, his expression defeated. “I just can’t run them. That’s work. Something other people do. I would have to pay someone else to perform the job I want for myself.”

Nora frowned. “Two of your sisters work.”

“And have lost all ties with Polite Society,” he returned with a frustrated sigh. “Besides all the other reasons why a man in my position would have no wish to lose my social standing, I also would hope to make my peers the primary market. They have the free time and the heavy purses to dedicate to it.”

“It would be a gallery for rich people?” she asked slowly.

His gaze snapped to hers. “You don’t approve.”

“It seems like there are plenty of places for the rich. White’s, Boodle’s, Almack’s,” she admitted. “But if your goal is to share art with as many people as possible, then being a ‘Vauxhall’ is better than being an ‘Almack’s.’ Your gallery would attract both sectors and triple the potential exposure for the artists.”

The corner of his mouth curved up. “Perhaps you should promote the gallery, and I shall concern myself with procuring its specimens.”

“I hope you do it,” she said, hoping he could see the sincerity in her eyes. “I think you’d be perfect at it.”

He slid his hand into her hair and cupped her cheek. “Do you know what I think is perfect?”

Heart pounding, she shook her head.

“I’ll show you.” Without another word, he lowered his mouth to hers.

His lips were familiar now. She’d dreamed of them every night. And yet his kiss moved through her like lightning streaking across a thunderstorm. Bright, powerful, electrifying. Each brush of his mouth, each lick of his tongue, sent shockwaves of pure desire through her core.

There was no need for discussion. Nora could no longer deny that she belonged to him in every way that mattered.

His kisses drugged her like wine. She laced her fingers behind his neck and pressed her body into his. There was nothing between them but a few layers of cloth, yet she did not feel close enough. She wanted more.

As if reading the direction of her thoughts, he shifted her onto his lap. The movement broke their kiss. Before she could complain, his parted lips grazed her aching nipple through the sprigged muslin of her gown. She gasped at the sensation.

When he lifted his head, she slid her fingers in his hair to stop him.

“Do it again,” she begged.

He gave a wicked smile. “I’ll do it even better.”

His warm, strong hands traced her curves over her hips and up her waist to the ribbon just beneath her bodice. With a few deft tugs to loosen the laces at her spine, the puffed sleeves of her gown tumbled down her shoulders.

Cool air sent shivers of anticipation down her skin. Nothing covered her breasts now but the thin linen of her chemise, billowing above her stays.

Her breath caught as he gently lowered the bodice and allowed her breasts to spill free. This time when his lips grazed her nipples, nothing was left between them. She gripped his hair tighter. When he opened his mouth to suckle her breast, pleasure and longing jolted through her.

This was what she wanted. This, and something more. A growing restlessness stirred within her. An ache that only he could fill.

“We should stop,” he murmured against her breast.

She had no interest in letting go. Soon the banns would be read, and they would be husband and wife. They didn’t need to hide their true feelings any longer. She could finally let herself admit how much he meant to her. Show him that she was his.

She touched his cheek. “I don’t want to stop.”

“Neither do I,” he admitted raggedly.

In relief, she arched her back to offer him her breasts once more.

As he teased her bosom with his mouth and tongue, her heart pounded in anticipation. He carefully, deliberately, ever so slowly lifted the hem of her gown. It slid up her ankle, up her calf, up her thigh, giving her every opportunity to halt him before they went too far.

Still, he lifted his mouth from her breast to ask, “Do you want—”

“Yes,” she begged, and gasped as his finger entered her.

The twin sensations of his tongue laving her stiff nipples as his fingers played between her thighs pushed her over the edge into weightless bliss. Her breath was choppy, her mind empty of everything but him as her muscles spasmed against his fingers.

When at last he pulled his hand away, her body longed for him to fill her once more. But this time, with no substitutes for the real man before her. She was his completely, and she wanted him to take her.

She lowered her hand to the flat plane of his stomach and released one of the buttons of his fall. His shaft sprang free to greet her fingers, hot and hard and ready.

He grabbed her wrist before she could do more than stroke him. “Are you certain?”

She slid from his lap in order to undo the other side of his fall, then swung her leg round to straddle him. “I’ve never been more certain about anything in my life.”

“Me either,” he whispered.

Inch by inch, she lowered herself onto his shaft until he completely filled her. He took her breasts in his hands, touching, suckling, making the sting of pain disappear into a renewed whirlwind of desire.

Slowly, she rocked against him, picking up speed and rhythm until they were both gasping for air as he gripped her hips and brought them both over the peak and sent them soaring into the heavens together. When she collapsed against him, she could still feel the occasional pulse of pleasure, as if her body was not quite ready to let his go.

“Marry me,” he murmured into her neck. “Say you will.”

She lowered her head to kiss him. “There’s nothing I want more.”

“Wife.” He held her as if they would never have to part again.

She rested her cheek against his hair and held on tight. “Husband.”

This was more than love. He was everything she had ever wanted. A part of her soul.