Anthony awoke the following morning with Charlotte still cradled in his arms.

Gently, he kissed her forehead. He was glad that he could do at least this much for her. To be there when she needed someone. More than that—to be the one that she needed.

Even if he wasn’t yet certain he would always be there, he could swear to never let her down for as long as he was able. He hoped it was for a long time.

It might be less than a week.

“Good morning.” She opened her eyes and smiled up at him shyly. “Thank you for calming me last night. I feel much better.”

He kissed the tip of her nose. “Good morning, yourself. Did you sleep well?”

“How could I not?” Her cheeks turned pink. “I was in your arms.”

He grinned. “We should do this again some time.”

“Every time.” A shadow flickered across her face as if she too had just remembered they might not have much time left. “Today we head toward London?”

“Toward, yes. We should rest for the night near Northampton.”

She pushed a golden curl from her face. “I feel as if all we do is ride in carriages and rest for the night.”

“That is all we do.” He stroked her cheek. “That, and I earn a bob or two sowing a few fields while you make twenty quid sipping tea with some wealthy old biddy.”

She laughed and cuffed his chest. “Mrs. Rowden was a sweet lady.”

“So sweet her own son didn’t want to speak to her?”

“Do you speak to your parents?” she shot back.

“Not as often as I should,” he admitted with a twinge. “I make certain to call every time the tables leave me flush, but Lady Fortune is not something one is capable of planning around.”

“How delightful—blame the woman,” she murmured with an arch look. “Lady Fortune isn’t even real and she’s responsible for everything.”

“Lady Fortune,” he informed her, “is right here in my arms.”

“And much prefers the close view of pillow lines upon your face to the monotony of being in a carriage,” she assured him.

He batted his eyelashes at her. “Your words… they’re like poetry.”

She nodded. “‘Romantic poetess’ shall be my reserve profession, should the current stream of wealthy old biddies come to an end.”

He clutched his heart dramatically. “Let us pray for indecisive old biddies to fall from the sky like… wealthy drops of rain.”

“You… should perchance not become a poet, either.” She gave him a consoling pat. “I hope this does not crush your dreams.”

“Not a chance. When I was young, I wanted to be a pirate.” He chuckled in remembrance. “Or a botanist. I had very eclectic tastes.”

Her eyes twinkled. “I imagine your parents had their own idea of suitable pursuits for a young man of your station.”

He shrugged rather than respond. There was little to say. His parents never thought he’d be much of anything. They had never managed to match their income to their spending. Why would their son fare any better?

Nonetheless, they were always pleased to see him. And their contentment made him happy. “What do you think about paying a call on them when we get to London?”

Her lips parted in surprise. A flicker of fear marred her brow for a moment. Then a tentative smile curved her lips.

“That sounds delightful,” she said shyly. Her eyes shone with hope. “I would love to meet your parents.”

“I am certain they would be delighted to meet you, too,” he answered automatically. He realized his mistake the moment her happy expression wilted.

“You know they won’t.” The shine in her eyes went dull. “They’ll be disappointed in me. They’ll be disappointed in you for marrying me.”

“They will not be disappointed,” he assured her. “Why should they? Have you not considered they mightn’t have the slightest inkling of your past?”

“Have you not considered that they might?” An anguished expression filled her eyes. “What if your father takes one look at me and asks if I’m the daughter of Judith Devon, the courtesan? Perhaps they shared an ‘understanding’ a decade or two ago. Perhaps they still do. What then?”

He winced. That would be… awkward, at best.

“Even if all of that happens…” He cupped her cheek and forced her to meet his eyes. “I don’t care if you came from the wrong side of the blanket or if you fell from the sky. Just focus on me, and what I like.”

“Hmm.” Her features softened. “What do you like?”

He smoothed a lock of hair away from her face. “I like this brilliant brain of yours, and I love how even perfect strangers are drawn to your compassion and logic.” He kissed her forehead. “I like how they automatically respect your opinions, and I love how proud I am of you.”

Her cheeks flushed scarlet. “My opinions mean nothing. It’s just common sense.”

He brushed his thumb along her cheekbone. “I like these gorgeous blue eyes because they can see which henwits have misplaced their common sense so you can try to help them. These eyes are also remarkably perceptive at a gaming table. If a gentleman doesn’t mind his step, he might find himself losing more than his purse.”

“Like when you offered me your ‘purity?’” Her tone was dry, but her eyes twinkled.

“A selfless sacrifice,” he assured her. “To prove I was a gentleman.”

She arched her eyebrows. “Was there any doubt?”

His heart warmed as the sparkle returned to her eyes. He leaned forward to kiss each corner of her mouth, then pressed a long kiss to the center of her lips. “I like this mouth because it hides a rapier wit. Perhaps ‘hides’ is the wrong term. I like this mouth because of the deep, grievous wounds each word makes as it cuts across my fragile ego like a—”

She burst out laughing. “I couldn’t dent your fragile ego with an anvil.”

“Fortuitously, we do not possess such an instrument, so we are spared the experiment.” He lowered his head and gave her delicious mouth a kiss heated with sensual promise. He touched his lips to the soft line of her jaw, behind the lobe of her ear, down the curve of her neck. “I love your beautiful neck because even when you try to hide your interest in my kisses, the pulse at the base of your throat gives you away… as it’s doing right now.”

Her heartbeat fluttered against his lips, sending his blood racing. She was breathtaking. He tried to control his body’s natural response. There would be other opportunities to indulge in his own release. This morning, he wanted to keep the focus on her. To give her pleasure.

She deserved no less.

Charlotte had been raised by a woman who had spent her life pleasing men. She had perhaps never been treated with respect and consideration. Her most likely future had always been to follow her mother’s path. But that was no longer necessary. Now she had him.

He gave her a long, sweet kiss. This was a new life. She needed to know that her wants and desires not only mattered—for him, they came first. She came first. In the bedchamber and out of it.

He began a torturously slow series of soft, teasing kisses along the delicate line of her collarbone, across her chest, then up the plump curve of her breast above the bodice of her night rail. Heart pounding, he paused at the neckline and touched the tip of his tongue to her bare flesh.

Desire surged through him. He tried his best to tamp it down. His finances were nowhere near stable enough to consider making love. But there were other ways to bring her pleasure. He could at least offer that much.

Her nipples strained against the thin lawn of her night rail. He ached to dispense with the slow, tantalizing game and take her breast in his mouth. He had wanted her for so long.

Slowly, he allowed his parted lips to graze one of her taut nipples.

She gasped and arched into him. The delicious contact made the exquisite yearning for a deeper physical connection that much stronger. Flames of desire licked through his veins. He reminded himself to push back his own need and focus solely on hers. If nothing else, he could at least give her one perfect memory.

He hooked the tip of his finger beneath the bodice of her night rail. “May I?”

She nodded wordlessly, her eyes dark with passion. Did she no longer think it necessary to refrain from consummating their marriage? Or was she no longer thinking at all?

Anthony pushed away his doubt. This might be a terrible idea—but he needed to do it. To prove to her how important she had become to him. He wasn’t going to take her choices away. He was going to give her pleasure.

She deserved it.

He tugged the hem of her night rail off her shoulders and below her breasts. His blood raced at the sight. She was beautiful. If she wanted him to stop, he would. But until then… Slowly, he lowered his mouth to her bare skin, reveling in the taste of each dip and curve, in her gasp as he suckled her nipple, in the gooseflesh on her skin as her body arched to meet him.

His breath caught. He loved how responsive she was. Her body was made for pleasure. His pulse thrummed as he slid his hand from the curve of her breasts down her flat stomach to her parted legs. He was consumed with the desire to possess her. Yet this moment was not for him, but for her. She was the center of his thoughts. Here, he could prove it.

Breathing ragged, he pushed the hem of her night rail up to her thighs and slid his hand beneath it.

She grabbed his wrist, her eyes wide. “What are you doing?”

He blinked. “Isn’t it obvious what we’re doing?”

“Why would it be obvious?” she stammered, then flushed as she took his meaning.

Realization dawned on him at the same moment. Dear God. He had handled the moment all wrong. “You’re a virgin?”

“You thought I was a whore?” Her eyes filled with shame and fury.

“No, I… I just assumed…” He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. Of course he hadn’t believed her a whore—but nor would he have imagined her still a maiden. He had only meant to give her pleasure. Instead, he had insulted her.

Devil take it. His mistake had thoroughly ruined the moment—and quite possibly the peace they’d found in their relationship. He’d thought she wanted the same thing he did. Never would he have believed one day he would be shocked to discover his wife was a virgin.

“Your mother is a courtesan. You grew up in the same house in which she plied her trade. It seemed reasonable to assume you might have a certain level of…”

“Experience?” she demanded, eyes glassy with hurt. “I do not. Now you know.”

He let go of her hem.

She shoved him away. One arm covering her bare chest, she lurched out of the bed and over to her valise, where she snatched up a mud-colored gown and marched behind the folding screen to don it.

He rolled onto his back and covered his eyes. Blast it all. He’d meant to make her feel better, not worse. To show her how much she mattered. Instead, he’d reinforced her belief that there was no escape from being judged by her mother’s actions. Not even with him.

If someone who cared about her could hurt her so carelessly… How much worse would it be when they reached London, and other people began to put her in her place on purpose? And how much worse would it be if he was no longer there to protect her?