Jane rose on her knees, breaking the kiss, and regarded Hugh with dazed eyes. His rich taste lingered on her tongue. How she’d relished having him at her mercy, as she’d licked and sucked him until he shook. She’d loved the physical intimacy, as she claimed him in a way she never had before. What they did in bed was wonderful, but lying beneath him, she’d always felt the possessed, not the possessor.

“Like this?” Her voice sounded rusty, and she swallowed to loosen a tight throat.

A muscle jerked in his lean cheek, and he bumped his hips up between her legs. “Ride me, darling.”

Who was she to argue? She kissed him, but didn’t linger. He was too close to the brink. She gathered her silky skirts in one hand, so she could watch as she lowered onto him. Below the pale plain of her belly, her dark red curls glistened. She was slick and ready.

His rod was large and engorged, and straight as a ruler. The head shone with moisture. Thick veins made her think of a mighty tree. A thrill ripped through her, as she recalled her tongue tracing those veins.

She shifted to find the right spot, then held him steady with one hand as she sank down. The stretching sensation was different from their other joinings because of the angle. As her internal muscles clenched, she gasped and bit her lip.

When her body closed over the head, Hugh jerked and released another of those long, hoarse groans. She stared into his face. His eyes were closed, and his jaw was set so hard that she feared it must crack. He shook as if he had a fever.

She let her skirts fall about her thighs and placed her hands flat on his powerful chest, feeling the soft friction of hair against her palms. Inhaling air that tasted of male musk, she descended. To her surprise and pleasure, he slid into her with splendid ease.

She moaned and wriggled to take him deeper. He became completely hers. To prove it, she squeezed. When he bucked, a gush of heat welcomed him. Astonished at the swiftness of her response, she felt the fluttering beginnings of a climax.

Hugh watched her. “You like this.”

It wasn’t a question. “Very much.”

She tightened her thighs and rose, relishing the stroke against the sleek inner walls of her body. The fluttering heightened to irresistible demand.

“Come for me, Jane,” he crooned.

She tensed tighter than a fist. “I don’t want this to be over.”

“We can do it again.”

“I’m starting to feel overdressed.” With no finesse at all, she tore the silk and lace garments over her head and pitched them to the floor.

“You’re magnificent,” he grated out, and she squirmed as his large hands caressed her breasts.

Jane rose and fell, then again, circling her hips. She delighted in how every time she shifted, Hugh moved, too, finding new places to stimulate. The seeking, frantic need became an unstoppable tide, and this time she swam with the rising wave of transcendent oblivion. With her next undulation, the crisis struck. She cried out as the world dissolved into luminous rapture.

As she shuddered over him, his hands slid from her breasts to her hips, holding her as she convulsed. His fingers dug into her bare bottom, and he brought her down hard. A long groan of surrender rang in her ears, as he flooded her with his essence.

Floating down from her peak, she felt the tension ease from his thighs and belly. The part of him that had delivered that unearthly experience softened. Without breaking their union, she flattened herself against his chest. He was panting, and the fresh scent of his sweat was sharp in her nostrils.

He kneaded her buttocks and gave a last, exhausted twitch inside her. “That was…extraordinary,” he said, breath emerging in jagged gasps.

She placed a kiss above his laboring heart as his powerful arms closed around her. “I like being your wife.”

The words were inadequate, but how could she express the joy she’d found? She needed to out-Shakespeare Shakespeare to do justice to the lovely things Hugh did to her.

And she did to him.

“I like being married to you, too,” he said, sleep roughening his voice. She snuggled closer and shut her eyes.

Another day gone, and still Jane hadn’t seen anything of the capital. Unless she counted a thorough inspection of her private Tower of London.

“Why are you smiling?” Hugh was standing at the sitting room window, watching dusk descend on the street. Or he had been watching the street. Now those gleaming dark eyes focused on her.

“Don’t you dare look at me like that,” she said, even as burgeoning female interest had her shifting on the chair. She’d found a place near the fire where she pretended to read an old Water Scott. The adventures of Quentin Durward couldn’t compete with her memories of what she and Hugh had done to pass the last hours.

He tried and failed to look innocent. “Like what?”

“You know.”

His lips twitched. “Like I want to take you back to bed?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I do.”

She blushed, although given what she’d done today, she’d surely lost any right to maidenly modesty. “We only got dressed an hour ago.”

His expression conveyed a world of devilry. “I’ve decided dressing is a complete waste of time. Tomorrow we won’t bother.”

The silly, flirtatious conversation made her want him even more. Before they’d married, she’d had limited contact with grown-up Hugh, and he’d always impressed her as a serious, thoughtful man. This vein of whimsical humor was a surprise—and irresistible. As was his innate sensuality. She’d entered into this marriage prepared for a pragmatic arrangement, not this voyage of sexual discovery.

“I’d like to keep my clothes on until after dinner,” she said lightly. “For the servants’ sake, if nothing else.”

He sighed and approached to drop a kiss on her sensitive nape. Goosebumps rose all over her body. “You’re no fun, Jane.”

Once she might assume he meant that, but she’d learned to recognize when he was teasing. “That’s not what you said an hour ago.”

His laugh held a note of appreciation. He drew a chair across, so he could sit close enough to take her book away. “Any good?”

Her lips quirked. “I wouldn’t have a clue.”

He set the book on the carpet. “So what were you smiling about?”

She lowered her lashes. “The Tower of London.”

For a moment he looked thunderstruck, then he burst into delighted laughter. By the time he’d settled down, she’d risen to pour them both some claret.

“Thank you.” As he accepted the wine, the brush of his fingers was a caress. He slouched back and studied her, the glass dangling from one large hand. “I thought you went dress shopping with Susan.”

As she resumed her seat, she cast a rueful glance at her gray gown. “I did.”

“By God, I hope you made a pauper of me.”

A self-derisive laugh escaped her. “Far from it. I didn’t find much that I liked.”

He looked disappointed. She could imagine he was nearly as sick of her uninspiring wardrobe as she was. “Didn’t you order anything?”

She shrugged without enthusiasm and took a sip of her wine. “An evening gown.” And wished she hadn’t. The yellow taffeta with busy black trim made her look like a wasp. “And two day dresses.”

His lips lengthened in disapproval. “Susan got a little too insistent, did she?”

Jane ignored that, although it was true. Her sister had rejected anything Jane leaned toward ordering as too fast for a young matron. “I’ll try again. I don’t want to let you down.”

The prospect of the knowing smiles when Lord Garson’s frump of a bride appeared in public made her pride cringe. She might know she was second best, but that didn’t mean she had to look like she was.

Oh, dear, she’d been so happy. Now bitter reality battered at the door and barged inside without an invitation to make itself at home. She much preferred the sugar-spun fantasy where her husband thought only of her and was overcome with joy that he’d chosen her.

“You’re a credit to me, whatever you do, Jane.”

Jane only just resisted saying how kind he was. He didn’t like hearing that, even if it was true. She made an apologetic gesture. “I thought of getting some new dresses before the wedding, but the village seamstress is as woefully ignorant of current modes as I am. I decided I’d wait until we got to Beardsley Hall and ask the local ladies where they buy their clothes. Then plans changed, and we came to London instead.”

“It’s hardly an insurmountable problem, sweetheart.” Hugh set his glass on a side table and took her hand. “We’re at the heart of a worldwide empire, and I have plenty of money. I’m sure we can lay our hands on a few bits and pieces to bring you up to scratch.”

She summoned a smile and told herself that he didn’t mean anything when he called her sweetheart. “I’ll ask Susan if she wants to come shopping again.”

“I’ve got a better idea.” When he looked so pleased with himself, like a little boy who had done his Latin translation to his tutor’s satisfaction, her heart gave a strange lurch. Briefly the room reeled around her and all she saw was Hugh’s face.

“Oh?” The odd reaction receded, but left her unsettled.

“I’ll ask Caro to help you. Or perhaps Helena. She’s Silas’s sister and married to Lord West. Helena’s always up to the minute. Most stylish woman I know.”

Jane ripped her hand free and began to pleat her plain skirts. “That won’t be suitable.”

Hugh frowned, his self-satisfaction fading. “I thought you liked Caro. You seemed to get along at the wedding.”

“Of course I liked her.” Jane bit her lip and didn’t look at him. “She’s very nice. So is Lord Stone.”

“I see.”

When the silence extended, she made herself glance at him. His austere expression told her he did indeed see.

“I know these people are your friends,” she said miserably.

To her surprise, he reached out to still the busy fingers that turned her unimpressive gown into a creased mess. “They could become your friends, too.”

Wondering how she could leap from elation to such confused awkwardness in the space of half an hour, she swallowed. She made herself speak the fatal name. “Morwenna is married to Silas and Helena’s brother.”

She braced for anger, but the eyes that studied her were thoughtful instead of condemning. “We live in a small world, Jane. You’ll have to lock yourself away in a cellar, if you intend to avoid everyone connected with Morwenna. You must have known when we came to London that you’d bump up against reminders of my previous engagement.”

She’d known. She wasn’t a fool. But that didn’t mean she had to become bosom bows with people so closely connected with her rival.

Shock shuddered through her. Her rival? What nonsense was that? With a shaking hand, she set her glass on the table near her elbow.

Morwenna had already won this particular race, whether she wanted to come in first or not. Jane was perpetually assigned to last place. A fact that grew more depressing by the day.

Hugh’s voice deepened with the compassion that was such an essential part of his nature. “I know this is difficult, but there are advantages to facing your fears.” A smile lightened his somber expression. “As I’m sure I don’t have to tell you.”

He referred to what a namby-pamby twit she’d been on their wedding night. “I suppose so,” she said reluctantly.

“You’re afraid of talk, I can understand that. If I could, I’d spare you the gossip.”

He was wrong. She was more afraid of her handsome husband making sheep’s eyes at his lost love, while he forgot he had a wife with a call on his loyalty.

When she remained quiet, he went on. “You know, the best way to counter rumors is to hold your head high and prove you don’t care a snap of the fingers for what people say. If you’re so untroubled by the old scandal that you’re ready to make friends with Morwenna’s family, the wagging tongues will have nothing to spread poison about. If you set up a silly feud with the Nashes and their circle, it will only fan the tattle.”

She wished he’d release her hand, so she could go back to fiddling with her skirt. “That’s easy for you to say,” she said, hating how sulky she sounded.

“Not really.”

Something in his tone made her rise above her worries and really look at him. A tightness around his eyes hinted that he was equally reluctant to brave the arena of public opinion with his bride. What an idiot she was. Of course he was. And it was worse for him because he loved Morwenna.

While she wasn’t quite ready to surrender, what he said made sense. “I’ll do my best,” she mumbled.

“That’s my girl.”

Despite her unhappiness, his approval made her heart swell. “Is Morwenna in Town?”

He shook his head. “She rarely comes to London. She and her husband live on an estate in Devon that once belonged to Silas.”

Jane suddenly felt ashamed of herself. Hugh must loathe speaking of his failed romance. She twined her fingers in his and mustered a smile as false as his composure in the face of irreparable loss. “I’m sorry, Hugh. I’m being silly. I’ll be very happy to ask Caro to help me.”