A few days later, Armand awoke to the quiet sound of one of his maids setting the fire in the fireplace at the other end of the room. The knowledge that someone else was in the room while he lay in bed, Lavinia in his arms, was enough to knock the sleep right out of him. He lay as still as he could, sheltering Lavinia with his body and wondering if the presence of the maid bothered her. Anyone who had lived in any sort of fine home should be used to maids slipping in and out at all hours of the day and night to do their duties, but there was something intrusive about a third person bearing witness to what was undeniably a sensitive moment. Especially when the evening before had been spent in another awkward, unsatisfying attempt at love-making. Servants had a way of guessing exactly what was going on with their masters by the way the bedcovers were wrinkled.

But Lavinia slept on, and soon the maid was gone. Armand relaxed, and his thoughts turned to how perfect his lovely, young wife felt against him. He’d had such good intentions the night before. The days since returning to Broadclyft Hall had been busy and tiring as they both settled into their roles as lord and lady of the manor. He’d intended to make love to her far more enticingly than he had on their wedding night, but they’d both been exhausted, and while things had gone more smoothly than the first time, his performance had left much to be desired. Already, he was thinking forward to when he could try again.

His thoughts had a physical effect. They’d shifted during the night so that now he lay on his back with her snuggled against him. It was a blessing, because as the blood of arousal rushed to his groin, he wasn’t poking her. Not that he wouldn’t like to be poking her. Practice made perfect, after all, and they definitely needed practice.

A rush of giddiness at the thought had him shaking with repressed laughter. Few things could be more ridiculous than lying in his bed with a swiftly-growing erection while his beautiful, accidental wife snoozed softly against him. If they knew each other better, he would have nudged her to the side, swept off her nightgown and awakened her by making love to her tenderly. As things stood, he was fairly certain that if he tried that, she would probably wake up screaming. The maids would have something to say about that.

He attempted to relax. A few more minutes’ sleep would do him a world of good. But neither sleep nor relaxation was in the cards. Lavinia stirred, her body undulating against his as she dreamed on. Her breasts pressed against him, only a few layers of cotton keeping him from touching her skin. His cock ached in response, begging him for relief. She was his wife, after all. It was only natural that the two of them should enjoy intimacy whenever the need struck.

He couldn’t do that to her. He was next door to a stranger to her, one who had inadvertently implied he regretted being forced to marry her just a few days ago. He would be the blackest sort of villain to push himself on her now. So instead, he carefully slipped away from her, trying his best not to disturb her as he crept out of bed.

With his nightshirt tented in front of him, he hobbled across the room to the painted screen, behind which sat a convenient chamber pot. As soon as he was hidden from view of the bed, he bunched his nightshirt at his waist and took himself in hand. It was far better to quickly take care of things himself than to impose on Lavinia. And while a part of him felt guilty for closing his eyes and imagining her luscious body laid bare for him, her legs parted, revealing her glistening cunny, ready for him, her nipples taut, and her eyes beckoning as she licked her lips, the vision did the trick.

He swallowed the groan of pleasure that escaped from him and stroked himself feverishly, enjoying the act a little too much. He was as bad as a schoolboy playing with himself for the first time, but the Lavinia of his imagination was a siren that had him primed and ready to come. Someday soon, he prayed, they’d be close enough for him to feel her tightness around his cock instead of his hand, and to hear her pleasured moans mingled with his panting. Adding sound to his vision of her ignited the cannon of his climax.

“Armand?” Lavinia’s soft question came just as he did. The heady relief of orgasm pulsed through him at the same time as the jolt of being caught. Of course, he hadn’t exactly been caught, not yet.

“Just a moment,” he said, his voice far too winded to be innocent. He leaned against the wall, letting his nightshirt fall back over his spent member. Sweat dripped down his back and dotted his forehead. He mopped it away with his sleeve, but the flush he was certain reddened his face wasn’t going to go away as soon.

“I’m just going to pop down the hall to wash and dress for the day,” Lavinia said.

Armand jerked straight at the sound of her climbing out of bed and padding across the carpet. He stepped out from behind the screen and attempted to greet her with a calm, unsuspicious smile.

He failed.

Lavinia blinked when she saw him. “Is something the matter?” She changed directions to approach him, touching the back of her hand to his forehead. “You’re flushed.”

“I’m fine,” he said, still not completely recovered. He took her hand away from his forehead and rested it over his heart—which wasn’t the best thing to do.

“Your heart is racing,” she said, her expression full of concern. “Are you certain you shouldn’t call a doctor?”

“I am a doctor,” he reminded her. “And I’m fine.”

She bit her lip, studying him with concern. “Perhaps you should go back to bed for a while.”

Images of her in bed with him, the two of them tangled and sweating, ignited the whole process he’d just embarrassed himself to complete minutes ago.

“There isn’t time to go back to bed,” he said, stepping away from her and heading to the window to throw it open. The burst of cold air did just what he needed it to do. “I’m going to teach you to ride today,” he said, then quickly added. “A horse.”

She watched him with puzzlement. “What else would I ride?”

Visions of her atop him, breasts bouncing as she impaled herself on him scattered Armand’s thoughts. “Nothing,” he said, feigning innocence. He needed to get his imagination under control, and he needed to do it soon. “Let me know if there’s anything you need and I’ll have Mrs. Ainsworth direct the maids to fetch it at once.”

“All right.” She smiled and started for the door, but turned back to him as she reached for the handle. “You would tell me if you were ill, wouldn’t you? Or if there were anything I could do to make you feel better?”

She could strip off her nightgown and leap back into his bed, but he wasn’t about to ask her for that.

“Of course I would,” he said instead, managing a genuine smile for her kindness. “But for now, you’ll want to pick out the most appropriate dress you’ve brought with you for riding.”

“Yes, right away.” Her smile grew excited and she opened the door, rushing out into the hall.

As soon as the door shut behind her, Armand sagged against the broad windowsill. He shook his head. He was shocked with himself for being so suddenly consumed with desire for his wife. Was it the fact that they’d escaped the meddling of Winterberry Park? The comfort of home? It wasn’t as though he’d never had lovers, though it had been a while. Or was it simply that with every new surprise Lavinia had for him, every revelation of her character and her kindness, the impulse to make her his wife for genuine reasons and not just because a dozen other people had wanted it was taking over his body? Or was that his heart? He hadn’t thought of India for days.

He stood with a sigh, heading to his washstand to clean himself up. Whatever the reasons, he owed it to Lavinia to be a steady, undemanding husband and not one consumed by lust. But that didn’t stop him from hoping that there might come a time when she was consumed by lust for him as well.

He was hiding something from her. Lavinia was absolutely certain that Armand was hiding something crucial from her. He couldn’t have been more suspicious if he’d tried when she’d awakened that morning to find him using the chamber pot. Was he ill? Was that the reason he’d been so moody at Winterberry Park? Of course, anyone would be moody if they’d had a surprise marriage sprung upon them. But perhaps he’d been willing to go along with the marriage because he knew his health was delicate and he wouldn’t be married long.

But no, that was ridiculous. Armand was as healthy as an ox. He hadn’t had the air of a sick man at all. Quite the contrary. There’d been something alluring about him, something enticing and a bit naughty. It’d left her unsettled, but in a good way. She’d surprised herself by enjoying what they’d done the night before, although it had still been frustrating and inadequate somehow. And the teasing glimpses of his chest, arms, and legs through the gaps in his nightshirt just then, the way the cotton garment was almost thin enough for her to see through, had made her want to lift up the hem and—

His hand brushed hers as he swayed closer to her on their walk down to the stables, and she nearly stumbled. It was as though an electric shock had gone straight from her hand to her unmentionables.

“Are you all right?” Armand asked, reaching out to steady her.

“I must have stepped on a stone,” she lied, sending him an apologetic smile.

“Yes, I imagine the ground is a bit uneven after those storms a few days ago,” he said, offering his arm.

She took it, highly aware of the muscle beneath his coat. She’d learned that he was forty-eight, younger than his friends by a few years, but still much older than her. Thanks to their wedding night and the night before, she was aware he had the form of a much younger man, though. But then, a doctor would know how to keep himself healthy, and if he rode for exercise as much as he’d implied over breakfast, then he would be in good shape. Perhaps it would be wise, for the sake of building healthy marital relations, if she were to become better acquainted with his form.

“Are you certain something isn’t wrong?” he asked as they approached the stable. “You seem awfully quiet. And you’re a bit flushed.”

“I can’t think of anything to say,” she admitted, ignoring his observation of her color. He didn’t need to know that what she really couldn’t think of was a proper way to ask him what he was keeping from her.

Armand smiled, resting his free hand over hers. “It’s a wise person who keeps quiet when they have nothing to say.”

His comment put her at ease. “I’d hardly consider myself wise.”

They crossed through the stable door and into a row of dim, straw-lined stalls, each occupied by a fine specimen of equestrian grace.

“You wouldn’t?” he asked, then shrugged. “In the past week, I’ve come to the conclusion that you are very wise indeed.”

Lavinia blushed at the compliment. “I’m not sure how I gave that impression.”

“Good morning, my lord,” the groom greeted them before Armand could answer her.

“Morning, Dashiell,” Armand greeted the young man. “Do you have the horses ready?”

“Yes, my lord. Mozart for you and Kitty for her ladyship,” Dashiell answered.

Any further inquiries into the mysteries of Armand were forgotten as he led Lavinia out into the yard, Dashiell bringing the horses behind them. Kitty had been outfitted with a side-saddle, and, with a minimal amount of confusion and fuss, Armand helped Lavinia to climb a mounting block and settle herself comfortably. Whereas Lavinia had been afraid she would feel nervous on top of a large, powerful animal, she was surprised to find she had no fear at all.

“She’s a sweet horse,” she said, leaning forward to stroke Kitty’s neck as Armand mounted Mozart.

“Kitty has the steadiest temperament of any of Lord Helm’s stable, my lady,” Dashiell explained. “She’s the best mare to learn on.”

“Thank you, Mr. Dashiell.” Lavinia smiled at the groom.

“We’ll go slowly,” Armand said, walking his horse over to hers and petting the mare’s neck. “I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it as we go.”

Dashiell took a quick moment to explain the basic commands needed for a woman riding side-saddle. None of it seemed too complicated to master, though Lavinia had the feeling that Kitty knew far, far more than she did and moved on instinct more than because of any command she gave.

“She likes you, I can tell,” Armand said as they rode out of the yard and onto a wide path that curved through a meadow down the hill from the main house. He cut a fine figure atop his horse. So much so that Lavinia went straight back to feeling a stir deep inside of her. The strength of his legs was particularly apparent as he rode. She remembered what the power of his thighs had felt like between hers.

“How does one tell if a horse likes them?” Lavinia asked, a slight catch in her voice, desperate to tame her thoughts. A ridiculous part of her wanted to ask how to tell if a man liked her, if he liked her.

“Her gait is smooth and easy,” Armand answered. “She isn’t pulling or shaking her head or showing any signs of distress.”

A wry grin flittered across Lavinia’s lips before she could stop herself. “Perhaps it’s because I know how she feels a little too well.”

“Do you?” he asked with an enticing half-smile.

Lavinia sighed. “It’s surprising how much the strictures one’s mother places on one can feel like being bridled and saddled and led about by the bit.”

Armand hummed, his face pinching into a frown. “If there’s one thing I’m finding I don’t regret in this whole strange business that brought us together, it’s that our marriage has managed to get you away from your mother.”

Lavinia smiled, but her gut twisted at his words. She knew he had regrets, but she wished he’d stop saying as much. “It’s a strange thing,” she said instead. “Finding yourself in a life you never set out to live.”

His sudden, ironic laugh, had both his horse and hers flinching. She tightened her hands on her reins and tensed to stay solidly in her seat.

“I know far too much about being thrust into a life I never set out to live,” he said.

Her initial burst of guilt turned to sympathy as she realized he wasn’t referring to their marriage, but to his title. Her heart seemed to swell with affection, a sensation she rather liked. “But surely inheriting a peerage is a useful thing,” she said.

He glanced at her, his frown lightening. “Useful? I wouldn’t have used that word to describe it.”

Lavinia shrugged. “I can see that you regret being forced to give up medicine, though I still don’t understand why a viscount couldn’t also be a practicing physician.”

“Gentlemen aren’t expected to work,” he answered. “And besides, as my friends continuously remind me, now that I have a seat in the House of Lords, my time must be better spent debating sanitation laws and international trade relations.”

“But surely, serving your country could be seen as healing the nation, couldn’t it?”

His brow rose as he glanced her way. “I’m surprised you care so much about the nation.”

“Because I’m a woman?” she asked, challenging him by meeting his eyes with determination.

He grinned, and a burst of heat rushed through her. It ignited sparks of longing in noticeable places. The sensations were both exciting and unnerving, reminding her of how she’d felt the night before.

“I stand corrected,” he said, his smile growing. “It shouldn’t surprise me that you care about politics at all, considering the company you keep. I’m pleased to see that my friends and their wives have had a positive effect on you. For me, on the other hand, their interference has cost me a career I loved and thrust me into a position where I feel utterly out of my depth.”

“Out of your depth?”

He rolled his shoulders uncomfortably. “Most men know when they’re destined to become a peer. They grow up with their education tailored toward learning the law of the land, how our government works. Peter deVere, for example, studied law intensively at Oxford before joining the army because he knew he would someday serve in Her Majesty’s government. I had no warning what would be required of me.”

“So you studied medicine,” Lavinia said.

“After the war, yes.” Armand nodded. “Now all that studying, all that training, has gone for naught, and I’m left in a job I’m ill-suited and ill-prepared for.”

He was bitter. Kitty could have figured that much out. “The nation is at a critical point right now,” she argued. “Especially now that the Liberal Party has regained control of Parliament. The rights of women and the working class stand on the brink of being expanded. Ireland could win Home Rule, as they’ve wanted for so long. Even the fates of the people of the colonies hang in the balance.”

A flush of color painted his cheeks at her mention of the colonies. He stared forward, avoiding her gaze.

“Are the colonies important to you?” she asked, suddenly eager to learn more about what he cared about.

“I have some contacts in India,” he began slowly. “A Dr. Maqsood, who works at a hospital in Lahore. I was thinking….”

An awkward silence fell between them. Lavinia stared at him, once again overcome with the feeling that he was hiding something from her.

He took a deep breath and glanced at her with a tense smile. “I was thinking that we could ride closer to the tenant farms on the other side of the estate,” he said. “Broadclyft Hall has a quaint village on its grounds, complete with a well-maintained cricket pitch.”

“Do you play cricket?” she asked, feeling as though he’d changed the subject deliberately. She wouldn’t call him on it. If he had a reason for not wanting to talk about India, then she wouldn’t press him.

“I did,” he said. “I still do once in a while, when the village is short a man. Mr. Bondar is widely regarded as the finest umpire in Devon.”

“Is he really?” Lavinia smiled, settling comfortably into her saddle once more. She liked it when she and Armand could talk about unimportant things as though they were friends. She wanted more of those moments, more closeness with him. Perhaps then he wouldn’t regret the way they’d been thrown together.

“Devon is cricket-mad,” he nodded, guiding them down a secondary path that cut through the meadow. “We have quite a few competitive teams that—”

The conversation ended abruptly as Kitty stepped on a loose bit of ground that turned out to be a hive of wasps. In an instant, several zipped to protect their home, stinging Kitty’s leg. Before Lavinia knew what had happened, Kitty cried out and leapt forward. It was all Lavinia could do to cling to her saddle as the poor horse tore into a frightened run. The speed with which Kitty bolted was enough to blow Lavinia’s hat off.

“Lavinia!” She barely heard Armand’s frantic cry behind her as Kitty galloped across the meadow. Her full focus was on the single task of holding on. Her muscles tensed and her hands locked around the reins and the saddle. There wasn’t even room for fear, only tight, all-consuming focus.

The meadow tore past in a blur of green and brown. Ahead, Lavinia could make out the edge of a stretching woodland and a small, thatched cottage nestled between the trees and the field. Perhaps the sight of something so human and domestic would calm Kitty, and perhaps someone lived there who could help. Without knowing what she was doing, she willed the horse to turn toward the cottage and to calm down.

Surprisingly, it seemed as though her attempt at mind-control worked. That or Kitty recovered from the initial shock and pain of being stung and slowed on her own. She came out of her run, trotted for a few more paces, walked the last few steps, then stopped entirely. The only indication Lavinia had that she was still upset was the way she shook her head and stomped her stung leg.

Lavinia was in no hurry to go for another gallop, so as fast as she could, she unhooked her leg from the saddle, let go of the reins and attempted to dismount. The ground was farther away than she anticipated, though, and instead of alighting gracefully, she tumbled to the dirt, plopping into a messy ball of skirts and arms and legs. Her left ankle tweaked uncomfortably as she did.

“Lavinia!”

Armand’s cry was closer than she expected it to be. He charged into the clearing beside the cottage where she’d fallen and dismounted so swiftly that she wasn’t sure Mozart even stopped. The sudden arrival startled Kitty all over again, and she ran toward the woods, only stopping when Mozart trotted after her.

“Lavinia, are you hurt?” Armand flung himself to the ground beside her, scrambling to pull her into his arms and right her.

“Surprisingly, I’m not,” she panted, shaking now that the ordeal was passed. Her breath came in sudden gasps, and she could feel sweat trickling down her back. But it was his proximity that kept her heart racing. All of her earlier thoughts swooped back in on her.

“Are you sure?” he asked, testing her arms and wrists, then lifting her skirt to handle her ankles and calves.

He was a doctor. She reminded herself of that as his probing hands tested her knees. But he was also her husband. Whether it was the fright of the wild ride or whether she was mad as a march hare for other reasons, she found herself wishing he’d touch her as intimately as the night before. His hands on her legs didn’t feel medicinal at all.

“Nothing seems to be broken,” he said. “You gave me such a fright. I shouldn’t have taken you on a ride in such open territory until we’d practiced in the safety of the paddock for a while. Can you forgive me?” He glanced up to her, his eyes filled with genuine regret.

“I can,” she panted. The breathless feeling of excitement wasn’t going away. It loomed larger as he inched closer, placing his hands on her sides.

“Does anything hurt?” he asked as he squeezed her. “Anything at all?”

Her ankle was tender, but she was loath to switch his focus away from the shrinking space between them, so she shook her head.

“Is there anything I can do?” he asked. “Anything to make you feel better?”

“Well,” she said, still panting, “you could kiss me.”

He froze, meeting her eyes with a look of surprise. It quickly heated to levels that had her trembling for entirely different reasons. He closed his arms around her, pulling her close, and captured her mouth with his own.