Claire sat on the ground in the garden, pulling a red stick on a string, chuckling as Fen jumped on it and attacked it with such vigor. A week had passed since she and Westcliffe had returned from the seaside. Beth had survived her time with the duchess remarkably well. Leo had begun painting a portrait of her. Another suitor, the third son of an earl, had begun calling on Beth, although she still favored Greenwood above all others.

She glanced up as Beth flounced down beside her. “You seem so remarkably happy,” Beth said. “Are you glad you came to London?”

Claire bit her lower lip, then nodded. “I should have come long ago. I should not have accepted exile so docilely.”

“What choice did you have? A woman is supposed to obey her husband.”

Reaching over, she squeezed Beth’s hand. “Which is the reason that it is important for you to consider all suitors. You wanted a choice, and you seem to have very quickly settled on one.”

“But he’s perfect. Why do you have such a difficult time believing that?”

Claire sighed. “Perhaps because I thought if I’d been given a choice, I’d have chosen another, and now I realize that marrying Westcliffe was the correct thing to do.”

“What happened with you isn’t going to happen with me.”

“But sometimes what we think is right, isn’t. I just want you to be cautious.”

“I would rather listen to my heart.”

Claire rolled her eyes. “Oh, you are quite the romantic.”

Beth smiled. “Because I’m being courted by a very romantic man. When we take our daily walks through Hyde Park, he recites poetry. A different poem each day. Does Westcliffe read you poetry?”

Claire laughed softly. “No. Lately, we’ve been discussing how to ensure that Fenimore learns not to do his business in the house.”

Beth groaned. “That is not something to be discussed.”

“At least he is finally warming up to Fen. I had not considered that he would need time to mourn his loss. It made me like him all the more for it, though.”

“At least he finally gave you flowers.”

He had. That morning a dozen red roses had arrived for her, with a note. Simply because.

Because what? she’d wondered. Because he cared for her? Because things were right between them? She could think of a hundred things—and perhaps they all applied.

“Can you believe how many have arrived for me?” Beth said. “I think if Greenwood does ask for my hand in marriage that I might delay giving him an answer until next Season.”

Claire worried that her sister might be becoming infatuated with the wrong things. “You risk losing him altogether. What if he decides you’re not worth waiting for?”

“Then he doesn’t deserve me.”

“Wherever do you get your confidence?”

“I don’t know. But I do know that I’m not marrying old Hester.”

Claire looked up as the butler approached. Bending down, he presented a card on a silver salver. Everything within her went cold as marble when she saw the name: Lady Anne Cavill.

“Oh, my word!” Beth exclaimed, snatching up the card. “Do you suppose she’s come to invite us to her ball?”

Claire was hit with a sense of dread. Nothing good could come of this meeting. Westcliffe wasn’t here. He had matters concerning the railway to deal with. He’d been gone since early that morning. Perhaps that was the reason for the flowers—just to let her know he was thinking of her. She turned her attention back to Beth. “I don’t know why she’s here.”

“We must welcome her immediately.”

Beth made a move to get to her feet, and Claire grabbed her arm, stilling her actions. “I shall see her. Alone.”

“But, Claire, why? To be accepted by her—”

“Willoughby, on whom is she calling?” Claire asked the butler, hoping to put a swift end to further argument with Beth.

“You, my lady.”

Claire handed Beth the string. “Keep Fen occupied, please.”

Beth pouted, then shrugged. “Very well.”

With the butler’s assistance, Claire rose to her feet. She did hope Lady Anne was gone before Westcliffe returned. She couldn’t imagine what the woman wanted. Or perhaps she could imagine only too clearly because her stomach was knotting. Ridiculous really.

If Westcliffe held no affection for Claire, surely he’d not continue to come to her bed and to remain there all night so he awoke to her each morning. He wouldn’t hold her near. He wouldn’t murmur in her ear. He wouldn’t make her feel cherished. While he’d never proclaimed undying love, she couldn’t help but feel that they were growing closer.

Inside the residence, she removed her bonnet and gloves, tidied her hair, and pinched her cheeks, not that they really needed any more color. She strolled as casually and calmly as she could to the parlor, taking pride in how welcoming it felt. She had truly begun to make the house into a home.

As Claire entered the parlor, Lady Anne Cavill turned from the window. Her pale green dress was the perfect accent to her red-tinted hair.

“My lady,” Claire began, grateful that her voice did not quiver and give away her nerves, “how kind of you to call. I’ve sent for tea.”

“I doubt I’ll be here that long.” She extended a creamy white envelope. “I’m having a ball, and I wanted to personally extend an invitation.”

Claire took the invitation. “Thank you. I’d—I’d not expected such kindness. Particularly after our last encounter.”

Lady Anne blushed, her high cheekbones almost scarlet. “I must apologize for my behavior that night. I still had hope that I would be victorious. But it seems, my dear, that Westcliffe has developed an affection for you. He has informed me that there is no hope for anything between us.”

Studying her, Claire did not think she could take being turned aside so calmly, not if she truly cared for the man. Now that she knew Westcliffe, she thought she would fight for him tooth and nail. “Will it not be difficult to have us present at your ball? I know it was no secret that you were his lover.”

“And now it is no secret that I am not. But I’ve never been one to seek solace in shadows. I enjoyed his company and am grateful for the time we had together. I have little doubt that he will be reluctant to accept the invitation. As I’m sure you’re aware, he has never been one to welcome attention. But it would truly mean the world to me if you would attend my ball. I believe in time we could become friends.”

Claire thought that highly unlikely. The woman was too cold. She couldn’t see Westcliffe wanting to be with this woman. But neither was she one to run from an uncomfortable situation. Not any longer. “I shall certainly consider it, and I shall talk with West—”

“Oh, Fenimore, come back here!”

Suddenly, Fenimore was scampering into the parlor, with Beth quickly in pursuit. Claire had the sneaking suspicion that it was not by accident that the dog had escaped his leash and run into the parlor to create havoc.

“Oh, please get him away!” Lady Anne exclaimed as Fen threw his small wiggling body against her skirt. “I can’t tolerate the creatures.”

“I’m so sorry,” Claire began, bending down and picking up the excited Fen.

Clearing her throat, Beth nudged Claire’s arm, giving Claire cause to remember her manners. “Lady Anne Cavill, allow me to present my sister, Lady Beth.”

Claire thought perhaps she’d misread the earlier chill because the smile their guest bestowed upon Beth was warm and sincere. “I’ve heard quite a bit about you. You are all the talk among the gentlemen.”

Beth blushed with pleasure. “Thank you, my lady.”

“I daresay Lord Greenwood has set his cap for you. He is quite the catch. I hear he is of good fortune, three thousand a year, and when he inherits, it will be far more than that.”

Beth’s smile quivered. “It is not his potential wealth that draws me to him.”

“But it is his wealth that will keep you warm, fed, and clothed. Do not take offense at what I’ve told you. When a man is of independent means, then you can be assured that his affections for you are based solely on yourself, which was all I was attempting to convey with my feeble efforts. My husband, may he rest in peace, married me for my dowry. It was a cold, loveless marriage. Sometimes I think he even resented that I was responsible for getting him out of debt. I was not sorry to see him pass, which no doubt makes me appear heartless, but there is nothing worse than knowing a man visits your bed out of obligation rather than desire.”

Lady Anne’s parting words haunted Claire long after their guest had left.

“We are going to go to Lady Anne’s ball, aren’t we?” Beth asked.

It was early evening, and they were in the parlor sorting through other invitations that had been delivered that day. Glancing up, seeing the keen expectation on Beth’s countenance, Claire hated to disappoint her. “You have your suitor. I don’t know that it’s really that important.”

Beth gave a quick pout before smiling. “You are the one who said that I needed to explore my opportunities. This ball is supposed to be the grandest of the Season.”

Claire returned her attention to sorting the invitations. “Each week there is at least one ball that is declared the grandest of the Season.”

“Is it because of the attention she gave Westcliffe at the first ball?”

Claire snapped her head up. “You saw them?”

“They were difficult to miss.” She furrowed her brow. “I don’t know why she was licking her fan. If she was hungry, food was available in one of the other rooms.”

But Claire suspected it wasn’t hunger for food that she’d craved.

“Anyway,” Beth said, “I would really like to attend this ball.”

“I’ll speak with Westcliffe when he returns home, but do not set your heart on going.”

He arrived an hour before dinner. Claire was in her bedchamber having her hair put up after taking a relaxing bath, when he walked in, leaned against the post at the foot of the bed, crossed his arms over his chest, and studied her.

“Did you see to all your business?” she asked.

“The important business, yes.”

Seeing that her hair was as tidy as it could be, Claire dismissed Judith. After she was alone in the room with Westcliffe, she turned on the stool to face him. “What was the important business?” she asked.

“The railway.”

She was gratified that he didn’t hesitate to tell her. “Will it ever run again?”

“I’m certain it will, but we’re going to sell it to a bigger railway company.”

“Why? Because of what happened? It wasn’t your fault.”

“The larger companies have bought out many of the smaller ones. Our choice was to work to become a larger company or move on to something else. I thought the larger company that was already established could do a better job of handling the railway, so I voted to move on.”

“And you can take the money and invest elsewhere.”

He glanced down as though suddenly enamored of his shoes. “We are going to do what we can to distribute the money among those who were injured or suffered the loss of a family member.”

She’d wanted him to share with her, and as he lifted his gaze to her, she realized he wasn’t a man who cared only for money. He wasn’t like Lady Anne’s first husband. Their marriage wasn’t like hers. “It was your idea.”

“I can’t make a profit on something like this. We should have sold sooner. The larger companies have more resources. This tragedy might have been avoided.”

She could see that he wasn’t quite comfortable revealing this much about himself, his thoughts, his character. But this little peek, this little window into his soul was enough. She crossed over to him and placed her arms around him, leaning her head back and looking up into his stern, beloved face. “I love you.”

“Claire—”

“It’s all right. You don’t have to return the words; you don’t even have to feel them. It’s like Leo said. It’s enough for me that I feel them for you.”

He touched her face as though she were porcelain, easily breakable. “Pity I saw how much trouble it was for Judith to put up your hair as I’ve a mind to take it all down.”

Stretching up, she nipped his chin. “She can always put it back up.”

As his laughter echoed around them, she knew they were going to be tardy to dinner.

Dinner had been an absolutely ghastly affair, Westcliffe reflected as he lay sprawled over the bed. He and Claire had been late. Then he’d discovered that Anne had called earlier in the day to invite them to her ball personally. After a brief discussion, Beth pouted, shouted that her life was ruined, then marched off in a tantrum because he and Claire had agreed they were sending their regrets to Anne. They would not attend her ball.

He didn’t understand the girl’s behavior. What was one ball among a dozen? Claire had attended none, not a single one, before she was married, and she’d not flounced around in a fit of bad humor. At least not that he’d seen. But he couldn’t see her having done so.

Beth’s reaction had put him in a foul temper. He’d retired to his library for a brandy. He’d only just finished it off when Claire had joined him.

“Have you a moment? I need you to help me find something.”

The something she was searching for, as it turned out, was his ticklish spot.

“I’m telling you that I don’t have one,” he told her now.

“Shall I stop searching then?” She looked up questioningly from where she’d been running her tongue along his thigh.

He shook his head and grinned. “No, you should probably continue exploring.”

She lowered her head to the soft flesh at his hip, and her hair trailed over his arousal. The touch was so light, like a cloud come to earth, that he thought it should have tickled, but all it did was make him harden even more, make his breath hitch, cause his body to feel as though he were suddenly surrounded by flames.

She was such a willing partner in bed, ready to try anything he might suggest, on occasion even suggesting something wicked, like drinking his brandy from her navel. He’d also sipped it from between her breasts, licked it from her nipples. She’d squirmed, protested faintly, and when he was done, she’d had her own brandy on his skin.

She toured his body as though someone had given her a map, but she took her sweet time arriving at her destination.

Slipping her hands beneath his buttocks, she dug her fingernails into his skin. He issued a low growl of satisfaction as her mouth closed over him, her tongue flicked—

Bucking, he threaded his fingers into her hair as his back arched off the bed, and he emitted an animalistic sound that he’d barely recognized as coming from him. Whenever he’d thought of bedding a wife, he’d never considered that she might have an adventuresome streak. He’d sought to pleasure her and experience his own gratification in the process, but he’d never expected that she would take such delight in pleasuring him.

“You’re driving me mad,” he ground out.

“Laugh for me,” she said, before gliding her tongue up, then down.

Laugh? He could barely form coherent words. Every muscle was taut. Every inch of him begged for release. He thought he was skilled in the bedchamber, but she rivaled him with her wickedness. Here at last there was complete honesty between them, trust.

What surprised him the most was how desperately he wanted her. She was not forbidden, she was not illicit, she was not prohibited. The scandalous aspects of relationships he’d had with other women that had excited him before were absent with her.

She was legal. She was his wife. She was duty-bound to warm his bed.

Bedding her should have been dull, unexciting. It should have been predictable.

But inexplicably, each time was more amazing than the time that had come before it. Each passing day he learned more about her, so he enjoyed taking her to bed that much more. Each encounter was a discovery, each had him anticipating the next.

He watched her mouth, watched the swaying of her breasts …

God help him, he’d had enough.

Rising, he reached down and grabbed her beneath her arms. She laughed as he tossed her onto her back and pounced on her.

“You shall have to finish your exploring later.” Hungrily, greedily, he kissed her, relishing the saltiness of his skin coating her lips.

She drew up her legs, wrapping them around his hips. He could feel her moist entrance and heat pressed against him. She was ready, but it was his turn to torment. He kissed, caressed, taunted, and teased until she was writhing beneath him. Then he rose and plunged into the velvety hot depths of her.

She cried out, her release immediate and swift, the spasms drawing him deeper as he hammered into her. She was no delicate miss, his wife. She was fire and passion.

He roared out as the cataclysm hit him, and he slammed into her one last time, his seed scalding, his body replete.

Collapsing on top of her, burying his face in the curve of her neck, he fought to catch his breath. Another spasm, another tremor.

He wasn’t certain he’d ever experienced a moment as intense. He felt the lethargy rushing in and barely managed to roll off her before sleep claimed him.

He awoke to find her sprawled on her stomach, her face turned away from him. Not the direction he fancied. He’d spent hours watching her dream. It had become one of his favorite things to do. He lightly tickled the now-familiar spot on her side.

With a low laugh, she turned her head to gaze at him. He loved the sleepy look of her, the way her eyes only opened halfway, the way her lips curled up as though she’d had pleasant dreams. And there was something about the scent of sleep on her skin that aroused him.

It was strange that when she was in his bed, he found it difficult to remember any woman who had come before, didn’t want to contemplate any other woman.

“I think we should attend Lady Anne’s ball,” she said.

So much for arousal. He flopped onto his back, turned his head to study the canopy. “Is that what all this extra attention was about tonight? To sway me to your way of thinking?”

Her brow furrowed as she worked her way up to her elbows. “No. Using intimacy to gain favors from you would make me … well, not a very nice lady.”

“A whore, darling. That’s the word.”

She scowled. “I don’t like that word.”

He arched a dark brow, and she amended, “When applied to me.”

“And I don’t like to be manipulated.”

Scooting over, she pressed a kiss to his shoulder. It was going to take much more than that to get him thinking pleasant thoughts again.

“Earlier had nothing to do with my thoughts now,” she said. “But if we don’t go, then she’ll have won.”

“Won what?”

She shook her head as though to organize her thoughts. “She wanted you. You wanted her. You told me you wished a divorce. Now you’ve settled for me—”

“I didn’t settle for you,” he growled, interrupting her. “I’d have never walked into your bedchamber that night if I’d not wanted … more between us.”

She began swirling her finger around his shoulder. “Are you fond of me?”

Trust her, his heart screamed. Trust her with all you’re feeling.

But he couldn’t open himself up completely. Couldn’t tell her how deeply he’d come to care for her, so he settled for, “I adore you.”

Her eyes lit up. “Then we must make an appearance. We must leave no doubt that we are content with each other.”

“We are more than content.”

She began stroking him. “So we shall go?”

He growled a yes, then proceeded to tickle her senseless, to relish her laughter, before making love to her again.