It was a bloody big waste of time. Alex ground his teeth in weary frustration as the hired hack carrying him home from Westminster rocked through crowded streets.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Phillips apologized from the seat facing him. In spite of the man’s bright ginger hair and almost cherubic good looks that made him appear a decade younger and far more innocent than he was, he looked as depressed as a thief on his way to the gallows. “I didn’t know it was a ruse. If I had, I never would have disturbed you and Mrs. Croydon.”

“It’s not your fault,” Alex growled.

In point of fact, it was Turpin’s fault, through and through. The blackguard had deliberately orchestrated the charade of a vote with the expressed purpose of dragging him and the rest of his friends out of bed and making them sit in the Commons chamber looking like the dog’s dinner for interminable hours of debate about sewers. Alex would have walked out—or punched the villain in the nose—but Turpin and his cronies had organized the speeches and discussion in such a way as to hint that if any of them left, the nefarious new bill would be discussed immediately.

It had all been a pointless, nasty scheme, designed to hurt and humiliate him personally, and it had worked. Alex had no idea how he would explain the whole thing to Marigold. The higher duty of politics didn’t seem half as lofty as he’d always believed it to be when faced with the reality of disappointing a wife.

“Bugger all,” he burst out as the carriage came to a stop in front of his townhouse, punching the seat beside him.

“What, sir?” Phillips sat up.

“I was going to stop by the jewelers to purchase some little bauble as an apology gift for Marigold.” Less than twenty-four hours, and he was already a miserable failure as a husband. He shouldn’t have been surprised.

“I could go for you,” Phillips suggested.

Alex shook his head and sighed heavily as Long, one of his footmen, opened the carriage door. “You’ve been up longer than I have. Go rest.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Alex stepped down from the hack and glanced up at the homey edifice of his London house. He’d chosen the property in the burgeoning new borough of South Kensington for its convenience and the modern facilities being built into the new homes, but he’d come to like the warm, orange brick façade with its fiddly ornamentation. It was a far cry from the peace and beauty of Winterberry Park, but everywhere couldn’t be Wiltshire.

It was an even greater comfort to step through the front door and have Marigold standing there, looking radiant in a light blue day dress that complimented her coloring, a bright smile on her face. She had a curious flash of excitement and determination in her eyes too.

“So?” she asked, striding across the front hall to take his hands. “Did you defeat Turpin roundly?”

He answered with a low, wry laugh and a shake of his head. “Turpin never even brought his damned bill up for debate.” He paused then added, “Sorry, that’s no excuse for language.”

Marigold’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Then why all the fuss?”

He brushed a hand across the side of her face, smiling wearily at her. “He was trying to keep me from you, and he knew that only the direst emergency would do that.”

Marigold stared at him as though he said he’d gone to fight a dragon. “Is anyone truly that petty?”

“Yes,” Alex answered without hesitation.

Marigold’s frown deepened. “I suppose that does make sense, though.” She indulged in a thoughtful look for a moment before meeting his eyes again. “I need to talk to you about Lady Stanhope’s gift.”

Alex’s brow shot up. He’d forgotten about Katya’s mischief, and, given the circumstances, it was the last thing he expected Marigold to bring up. “Could it perhaps wait until after I’ve had supper and a bath?” he appealed to her, his expression softening.

She broke into a compassionate smile. “Of course it can.” She hesitated for the barest moment, then lifted to her feet to gently kiss his lips.

After the day he’d had, nothing could have been more welcome or more wonderful. In spite of the fact that Phillips was standing right there, still not resting as he’d been ordered, and Long as well, he drew Marigold fully into his arms and kissed her with all the passion of a man who had been forced away from his bride.

“Well,” Marigold breathed, eyes bright, when he let her go. “Perhaps Ruby Murdoch can wait after all.”

Alex blinked. “Who’s Ruby Murdoch.”

Marigold laughed, hugging him, then stepping back. “Why don’t I explain while you have your supper?”

“Why don’t you explain while I have my bath?” he countered.

Marigold’s cheeks flushed a tantalizing shade of pink. “Whichever you’d like.”

He’d like not to have to worry about any of it. He’d like to be in Wiltshire, with Marigold and with James—who, blast it all, he still hadn’t had a chance to explain. But he was stuck with what was available to him. Long set off immediately to run a bath in the technological marvel that was the upstairs bathroom of his townhouse, while Phillips volunteered to head to the kitchen to inform Mrs. Clifford, his housekeeper, that he would take supper in his room.

“I trust you’re finding your way around the house?” he asked as he took Marigold’s hand and headed upstairs.

“It’s a splendid house,” she replied. “And your staff are all so accommodating. They were surprised when I showed up without you, but we made each other’s acquaintances quite nicely.”

It was a new sort of comfort to have Marigold chatter on about things he would normally never have given his attention to as he dragged his weary self up to the bedroom that he would now share with her. She helped him remove his jacket and shoes, and for a few fleeting moments, he considered forgoing the bath and just taking her to bed and making love to her for hours. But he wasn’t the young man he used to be. His stomach came first. And she would probably appreciate him bathing and possibly even shaving before bedding her.

The bath was ready before his supper tray was brought up, but only by a matter of minutes.

“Have you eaten?” he asked Marigold as he stepped into the soothingly warm water of his bath.

She took her time answering, possibly because she was too busy leaning against the doorway that led from the bathroom to the bedroom, watching him with fascination. A hungry smile curved on her lips that had nothing to do with food. Alex couldn’t help but gloat just a little. He may have been a few years past his prime, but he’d always taken good care of himself. If his wife enjoyed looking at him, then he’d have to find more excuses to be naked in front of her.

“Oh.” She blinked, coming out of her increasingly heated observations. “Yes, I ate earlier. I didn’t know when you’d be home.” Her smile grew to something close to wickedness, and she stepped back into the bedroom.

Alex missed her instantly, laughing at himself for his foolishness. He sank against the back of the tub, closing his eyes and letting the steam soothe him for a moment.

“Does Turpin ever intend to bring his bill up for a vote, or was the whole thing today just a way to vex you?” Marigold called from the other room.

Alex opened his eyes and craned his neck to try to look into the bedroom, but Marigold was out of his line of sight. “Knowing Turpin’s lot, they really are planning whatever measures they can to counteract what we’re trying to do. But the wheels of government move slowly in the best of times.” He found a cake of soap on the edge of the tub and started washing in earnest.

“But it would be nice to remove Turpin from the picture,” Marigold said.

Alex stopped mid-scrub. There was a note of cunning in her tone, as if she’d discovered something. But of course, if she’d read whatever it was that Katya sent to him, she probably had.

“After today,” he said, resuming his bath, “I’d go to great lengths to give Turpin a taste of his own medicine. Opposing me on political grounds is one thing, but today’s nonsense was purely personal.”

“And I suppose you’d like a personal way to get back at him?”

Alex frowned. Was he the sort to stoop as low as Turpin had? At heart, he had always prided himself on staying above the mudslinging free-for-all that politics often descended into. But in his current mood, considering what Turpin’s trick had taken him away from, he was in the mood for revenge.

“I might consider it,” he said, his words coming out darker than he’d intended them to.

A moment later, Marigold appeared in the doorway wearing nothing but a silk robe, her hair loose around her shoulders. Her curves were outlined to perfection, and the flimsy silk of her robe did nothing to hide the tight peaks of her nipples. Alex dropped the soap. His cock jerked to life as his pulse shot through the roof.

“Turpin will rue the day he tried to come between the two of us,” he said, hoarse with longing.

“He will rue the day for more than just that.”

There was a triumphant gleam in Marigold’s green eyes as she stepped deeper into the room, toying with the sash of her robe. She hadn’t needed to put it on in the first place, assuming her intentions were what he thought they were, but the anticipation of waiting for her to shed the useless garment only made Alex harder.

“As it turns out, Turpin may have been too much of a villain for his own good,” Marigold said as she neared the edge of the tub.

“How so?” His heart pounded with the need to reach out and pull her into the bath with him, even though he was thoroughly enjoying simply looking at her.

She reached the edge of the tub and sat. Her robe opened enough to give him a glimpse of her bare leg and thigh. Supper suddenly took second place to other activities.

“The information Lady Stanhope gave you was about a former maid of Turpin’s named Ruby Murdoch,” she said, more businesslike than flirtatious. “I haven’t had much time to study it, but from what I gather, Turpin got the maid in trouble.” She glanced down and away with a flash of embarrassment before going on. “She is in St. Pancras workhouse now with her infant, but she was sent off to work at a place called the Black Strap Club first.”

Disgust and fear for the woman he didn’t know shot through Alex, flattening his growing erection and dousing his fire. “The bastard,” he growled.

Curiosity pinched Marigold’s face. “I made Able drive me past the Black Strap Club on the way here, and—”

“You did what?” Alex sat up, sloshing water close to the edge of the tub.

Marigold had the good sense to blush and look ashamed. “Able warned me that it was worse than a brothel, and yes, the place felt sinister to me. I saw a girl in one of the windows….” She swallowed, but didn’t go on.

Alex placed a wet hand on her thigh, both to comfort her and to remind himself that she was there with him, under his protection, and that evil like the kind Lord Shayles peddled couldn’t touch her.

“It is a brothel that specializes in deviant sexual practices,” he told her, needing to be honest, even though it killed him to damage her innocence that way. “Although the man who owns the place denies it, many believe the women who ‘work’ there are not at liberty. That is part of the appeal for the wretched souls who frequent the place.”

A horrified look twisted on Marigold’s face. “You mean, that woman I saw in the window was enslaved?”

Alex’s stomach twisted. “Possibly.”

“I should have done something.” Marigold stood, in a panic. “I should have called the police or gone to her rescue somehow.”

He took her hands as she moved to wring them, pulling her back down to sit. “My darling, it wouldn’t have done any good. The police are aware of the establishment, but either afraid to do anything about it due to the influence of the men who patronize the place or are being paid off by its owner.”

“But that’s appalling.”

“It is,” Alex agreed. He didn’t like the direction the conversation had gone in, and was no longer comfortable as he twisted in the tub, digging his knees into the side, in order to continue holding Marigold’s hands. Something had to be done. “Why don’t you join me, and we can wash away the filth that you’ve had a brush with?”

Marigold’s anxious look softened as she focused on him. It was clear that she wouldn’t forget what she’d just learned about the darker side of the world, but also that she was strong enough to rise above it.

“We must do something about Ruby,” she said, squeezing his hands.

“The maid?”

“Yes. I haven’t told you the full story yet,” she went on. “Between the time she spent at that horrible club and St. Pancras, she was arrested for prostitution. Which means that even though she did find a way to escape from that place, she fell out of the frying pan and into the fire. And while the workhouse may be a step up, those places are wretched. We need to do something.”

Alex let go of one of Marigold’s hands so that he could shift back to a more comfortable position and frowned in thought. Katya had given them Ruby Murdoch’s story for a reason, not just to shock Marigold. If Turpin truly had impregnated his maid then sold her into slavery at the Black Strap Club, and if all of that could be proved and made public, a scandal would be the least that would happen. If the case were presented right, Turpin could end up in prison. But only if they were careful every step of the way. And the first bit of care they needed to take was to get Miss Murdoch and her child out of the workhouse and into safety and security.

“I’ll send Phillips to fetch her from the workhouse as soon as possible,” he said, deciding on a course of action as he spoke. He glanced to Marigold. “We can keep her here, under our employ, if that’s what she wants, while the whole matter is investigated further. And if she feels secure enough, she might be willing to share her side of the story.”

Relief burst through Marigold’s expression, her shoulders sagging. “Thank you, Alex. Even if Turpin can’t be brought to justice for his crimes, I’ll feel better knowing Ruby is cared for.”

Alex met her smile with one of his own. There was a slim chance that hiring a notorious maid would upset his staff, but if worst came to worst, he would relocate Miss Murdoch to Winterberry Park.

“Now,” he said, his hand sliding from her hand to her thigh, fingering the hem of her robe in an effort to expose more of her leg, “why don’t you take off that silly robe and join me while the water is still warm?”

Marigold’s smile turned impish, and she stood, tugging at her robe’s sash. “Don’t you like this lovely bit of frippery my sister Flora gave me as a wedding gift?”

He was so grateful the mood had shifted back to where he wanted it to be that it made him reckless. “I like what’s under it more.”

She was close enough for him to grasp one end of the sash. He tugged before Marigold was ready, the sash untied, and her robe fluttered open, giving him a spectacular view of her luscious body. The skin of her stomach and thighs was pink and creamy. Her breasts were generous but still pert, and her nipples were large and a tempting shade of dark rose. The curve of her hips had blood rushing back to his groin, and the bush of curls that hid her womanly treasure left his fingers itching to explore her.

There was still a hint of nervous excitement in her eyes as she let the robe slide from her shoulders and tossed it aside. As responsive as she’d ended up being the night before, he forcibly reminded himself that she had virtually no experience and wasn’t ready for the full fire of his passion yet. That didn’t stop him from reaching for her waist as she stepped into the tub and drawing her down to straddle his thighs.

She made a fetching sound, somewhere between a gasp of awe and a squeak of discomfort, as she settled into the water with him. “What a strange sensation.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve never had a bath before,” he teased, having a hard time focusing on levity with her breasts so close to his face. He splashed warm water, fragrant from the soap he’d used earlier, up her sides and closed his hands over her breasts.

“No,” she laughed, moving uneasily above him, almost as if she were afraid to let her cunny rub against his growing erection. “But never with someone else.”

“I think you’ll find it’s rather delightful,” he teased, circling his arms to her back and swishing more water over her. “Although I’m not as nimble as I once was, so don’t expect fireworks.”

“Fireworks in the water?” She arched one eyebrow.

Desire shot through him. She was too inexperienced to know what a simple, teasing look like that could do to him, but she would learn in a hurry. He nudged her to lean forward enough for him to kiss her while still lounging against the back of the tub. She caught on, grasping the edge of the tub as their lips met.

Her lips held so much sweetness that he closed his eyes and reveled in their touch. Between the warm water, the depth of his exhaustion, and the glow of desire filling him, he felt no need to rush. Gently, he coaxed her mouth open and began a slow exploration with his tongue while his hands smoothed down her back to her hips. He kissed her languidly, subtly urging her to relax and bring her hips into full contact with his. He would let her take the lead this time, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t impatient to feel her heat against his cock.

“I like kissing you,” she said after they’d been at it for several long minutes.

“How fortunate for us both,” he murmured. “I hope you enjoy other things as well.” He shamelessly circled his hands around her backside, guiding her to grind against him.

She drew in a quick breath and whispered, “Can you do that in the bath?”

“With enough effort, you can do that wherever you’d like,” he replied, teasing her with his most sultry grin.

Her already pink cheeks flushed deeper, and sparks filled her eyes. “Show me how,” she whispered, moving awkwardly against him.

“I’m not sure how comfortable it will be for your knees in this tub.”

“My knees are not particularly concerned at the moment,” she said.

He chuckled, adjusting to what he hoped would be the most comfortable position for her. “You’ll have to do most of the moving,” he explained, positioning her hips above him, then taking hold of himself to guide his way to her entrance. “Go slowly until you get the hang of it, then at whatever speed feels best to you.”

She nodded, excited but hesitant, until he arched into her. She sucked in a breath, her expression turning heavy-lidded with pleasure as he penetrated her. The look made him want to thrust hard and repeatedly into her until she was crying out with orgasm, but he stayed as still as he could, moving his hands back to her hips and guiding her to press down, taking him in farther.

“Oh, my,” she gasped, taking in more and more of him until he was lodged so deep he thought he might lose his mind. That feeling only intensified when she tightened her inner muscles around him, biting her lip, and clearly enjoying the sensation of sheathing him.

“You can move now,” he choked out, hands still on her hips.

“Like this?”

She pulled back, and Alex caught his breath at the friction. He stopped her just before he slipped out, shifting the pressure of his hands to show her what to do.

“Oh, I see,” she said with a shuddering breath and drew him in again.

She was a fast learner, although it was torture just to lay there, feet braced against the end of the tub, holding her hips while she slowly taught herself to ride him. He had to promise himself that, if he could just be patient now and let her have her way with him, he would make love to her the way he wanted to later, when they were in bed. Now it was her turn to find pleasure in him, and there was something sinfully sweet in letting her inexperience play itself out.

“This is nice,” she panted as she picked up her pace. She still gripped the back of the tub on either side of his head for purchase, but had leaned forward to the point where her breasts brushed his chest with each thrust. “This is exceptionally nice.”

“It is,” he agreed with a moan, not sure how long he could hold out. He didn’t think for a moment that he deserved the sensual sweetness of his young wife riding him in a way most society wives would never dream of. But as long as she didn’t mind learning to make love like a mistress instead of the way polite and stuffy advice manuals told women they should engage with their husbands, then he wasn’t going to complain.

He let her continue at her own pace until her soft moans and cries hinted she was frustrated at not quite being able to reach release. Then he tilted her back just a bit, sliding his hand between her curls, his fingers seeking out her folds. She gasped when he reached and rubbed her clitoris, and the energy in her thrusts was renewed. Suddenly, they were working for a common goal, and she arched into him, truly striving for it.

The sight of her body, wet and arched back, her breasts bouncing in the water, her nipples hard, her head thrown back with pleasure, was so potent that he almost couldn’t hold out until she came. It was a blessing when she gasped and cried out as her inner muscles contracted around him. He burst a moment later, letting out a fierce cry as the water in the tub splashed every which way in response to their combined movement.

All too soon, the magical sensation passed, and they both let go of the last of their energy, sinking into the cooling water. He grabbed the edges of the tub as she let go, sagging against him. A deep sense of contentment, like every last bit of the frustration and disappointment he’d had to deal with that day was worth it, filled him.

“And now,” he panted, stroking one hand down her back to squeeze her backside, “supper sounds like a good idea.”

She lifted herself up to stare at him, blinking. “Will your appetites never be satisfied, my husband?” She then burst into giggles that left him buzzing with happiness from the inside out.

He arched a brow, stealing a kiss. “With you as my wife? I don’t think they will.”

But he was ready to spend as long as it took attempting to find out.