On Sunday morning, Charlotte watched the rising sun with growing alarm from the bay window of the Fairfax townhouse.

The night before, Anthony had left without telling her where he was going. He’d said he didn’t want to worry her or to give her false hope, but that he would be back by daybreak—possibly with good news. Possibly not.

Well, it was daybreak. The streaks of pink through the foggy gray meant, like it or not, Sunday morning had arrived at last. Charlotte gripped a pillow to her chest. She would definitely welcome some good news. Otherwise tomorrow would be her last day with Anthony until she saved enough to set him free.

She glanced at the necklace and earrings lying next to her on the window cushion. Anthony was only willing to sell them as a last resort, and this definitely qualified. First thing tomorrow morning, if all hope was gone, she would force him to go straight to the pawnbroker. She would beg both of their mothers to sell their jewels as well. Charlotte would march to the closest barber and have him shave her cursed gold locks to make into a wig, if it would help raise a few pence.

Anything. Everything. She couldn’t lose Anthony.

She loved him.

With a little moan, she leaned the side of her head against the cold windowpane. Her heart was heavy with fear.

How had it come to this? If she lost him tomorrow, her life would still be a hundred times better than it had been a mere fortnight ago, before she had met him. Her relationship with her mother had never been better. Charlotte even had a purpose now. A trade. Society women who complimented her and pleaded for her company. It should all feel like a dream come true.

And yet none of it would matter if she didn’t have Anthony to share it with.

Wheels rumbled onto the street. Quickly, she lifted her head from the window. Her smile fell. Not Anthony. This was a fancy coach-and-four with a crest on the side, not a humble hackney cab.

Yet when the carriage stopped, who should alight but her missing husband? Her heart leaped. She scrambled off the window cushion and dashed to the front door to welcome him home.

He didn’t look up as he neared the door. Her excitement dimmed. His shoulders were hunched and his feet dragged with every step.

He didn’t look as if he bore good tidings. He looked exhausted. Resigned.

When he saw her waiting in the open doorway, however, his tired green eyes lit with pleasure. He jogged the final steps up the walkway and swung her into his arms.

“We did it,” he murmured into her hair. “We did it, darling. In a year, we may truly be free.”

She gripped his arms. “Did what? How?”

He settled her on one of the few chairs and pulled another close to sit across from her. He ran a hand through his hair and fell into his seat. His countenance was tired, but happy.

“I was at the Duke of Lambley’s,” he began.

Her breath caught in sudden understanding. “The fancy carriage!”

He nodded as he loosened his cravat. “I’ve accepted a position. It’s not precisely the apprenticeship I was hoping for, but the wages will settle my debts.”

She frowned in confusion. “The duke is your employer?”

“Indeed.” Anthony’s crooked smile did not quite reach his eyes. “I’m to be his night butler on the evenings in which he holds his masked soirées.”

“His… what?” she asked faintly.

“Lambley has agreed to settle my outstanding debts in exchange for a year of employment. I’m to replace his butler.”

Joyous disbelief rushed through Charlotte’s veins. “Butler” was no doubt far from the respectable apprenticeship Anthony had been looking for, but surely any help given to a duke would be a positive step. Especially if he would help Anthony settle his debts. “Truly? We’re free?”

“Not completely. I cannot skip a single shift and, while I am working, I cannot miss a single detail. If I do not perform to the letter of the contract, Lambley has the right to remand me to debtors’ prison at once. He will not hesitate to do so, should it be warranted.” Anthony leaned forward to take her hands in his. “It will not be easy. I’ll understand if trusting me to be responsible for that long is too much of a risk for you to take. There is another way out, but… I don’t want to annul this marriage because I don’t want to lose you. But I also cannot ask you to spend an entire year suffering the same uncertainty as you have over the last two weeks.”

“I’m still in a state of uncertainty,” she said, bewildered. Anthony’s explanation seemed contradictory… and as though he was leaving important parts out. “What exactly has happened? What will happen next?”

“I’ve just come from the Cloven Hoof. Lambley went with me after his masquerade to make good on his promise. No more debt collectors. That contract is paid.” Anthony squeezed her hands. “I’m not going to Marshalsea. Not today, anyway. I’m not going anywhere, except to work when he summons me and then straight home to you. One year from today, I’ll be truly free. Whether you’re willing to wait that long is up to you. Until my year is done, there is risk of breach of contract. I shall not blame you if you prefer an annulment.”

Her spine went weak. She wouldn’t lose him on Monday after all. They had been granted a reprieve. Yet he could not promise not to fall prey to his gambling weakness again. And the terms of his new contract were alarmingly subjective. What if they found themselves back in the same circumstances once more?

Charlotte straightened her spine. A pragmatic woman would take the annulment. A year of uncertainty would not be easy. But she was no longer powerless. She was in love. Her place was by Anthony’s side, now and forever. She threw herself into his arms and held on tight. She would cherish each day as if it were their last.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she informed him. “And neither are you.”

He covered her face with kisses.

She grinned up at him happily. They would make the best of this situation and anything else life chose to throw at them. “What kind of schedule must you keep? Will it be difficult?”

He pulled a face. “There’s no schedule. When Lambley decides to host a party, I must man the door and the books. Perhaps every week during the Season, and every month when London is less crowded.” He pressed her hands in his. “I need to make sure you understand something important. This is not… it’s not a respectable job. What standing I once had in society will be lost by this afternoon. Rumors of my scandalous new employment will be common knowledge by morning.” His eyes were haunted. “I know how badly you want to be accepted by society, but from this point forward, any association with me will worsen your reputation, rather than aid it.”

She stilled and let his words wash through her. The idea of being respected was still so new, the experience so magical. And it might already be over? Her hopes fell. The year of uncertainty now looked very bleak indeed. As did the lifetime of renewed denigration that would follow.

“I shan’t see a single shilling for a full year,” he continued. “I cannot offer you a palace, or sumptuous apparel, or nights at the opera. I can no longer even offer you my good name. It will be synonymous with scandal. Under such circumstances, I cannot force you to give up your dreams to be with me. Be honest with yourself about the future you want. We have not yet consummated our marriage. You can still get an annulment if you would be happier without me.”

Her throat grew thick. When she had felt her lowest, when Anthony had easily accepted her despite her history and faults, she hadn’t given his opinion weight because she had believed the only judges of character were those in high society. She’d been willing to chase an illusion all the way to Scotland rather than look inside herself to find her own worth and meaning.

Charlotte was horrified to think she had affected him in the same way as those who had disparaged her had hurt her.

Anthony was the only one that mattered.

She twined her arms about his neck and gazed deep into his eyes. “I don’t give a button what society says. About you, about me. The only thing I care about is us. And if the one thing keeping this marriage from being permanent is consummation…” She curved her lips into a suggestive smile. “How exhausted are you?”

“Not that exhausted.” With a growl, he swung her up into his arms and strode straight to their bedchamber.

Her heart raced as he laid her in the center of the bed. This act would prove her love and her commitment. It might also prove that she truly was a whore’s daughter. The reality of what was about to happen sent shivers of doubt along her spine. She could never control her body’s attraction to him. Perhaps it was she who was about to disappoint him.

Anthony was her husband. Wives were expected to lie with their husbands. What wives weren’t expected to do was enjoy the encounters. Marital unions were business decisions, political mergers, or even accidents of Fate. They weren’t for love, and they certainly weren’t for passion.

That’s what mistresses were for. Courtesans. Whores.

People like Charlotte.

Right now, her husband was backlit by the embers of the small fire as he tugged off his boots, his greatcoat, his cravat. He wasn’t simply an attractive man. He was handsome as sin.

She wished her hands were the ones pushing the tailored blue waistcoat off those broad shoulders. She wished her fingers were the ones freeing the laces of his undershirt, then lifting it up over his hard stomach, tugging each sleeve from his strong arms, perhaps even touching her lips to his warm bare flesh as he had done to her mere days earlier.

But these weren’t the thoughts of a wife. Such carnal desires weren’t the idle musings of a gently bred lady or a respectable debutante or an innocent bride.

These were the shamelessly indecent thoughts of a woman who knew full well what sort of blood pulsed in her veins. She took one look at her husband and was filled not with thoughts of demure submission, but with a painful yearning to know him as intimately as possible.

She wanted him heart, soul, and body. But she didn’t want him to think of her as a whore. Losing Anthony’s respect would be a worse hell than any degradation she’d ever experienced.

He met her eyes and smiled.

She tried to smile back.

Only a demure lady earned a gentleman’s respect. And only a brazen trollop without the slightest inhibitions would deserve his passion. The problem was, she couldn’t have it both ways.

She was going to have to decide whether she wanted his days—or his nights. Whether she wanted a marriage of respectability… or of passion.

Wearing nothing but his breeches, he crawled into bed beside her and touched a knuckle to her cheek. “I was so worried that this would be the last time I would ever come home to you again.”

Unable to speak, she leaned her cheek into his touch and nodded. She, too, had been consumed by the very real probability of him walking into prison and never coming out. That was why she had been curled against the cold window wrapped in a robe, waiting for him to return one last time. Afraid of losing him forever.

She pulled him to her. Having him beside her on the bed was no longer enough. She needed to feel his warmth next to her skin, and feel his weight pressing against her. She didn’t have to feel adrift any longer. He was here. He was hers. It was past time to prove that she was his.

“Kiss me,” she commanded. Her voice trembled. There would be no undoing this act.

He immediately complied, enveloping her in his strong embrace and claiming her mouth with his.

Her fingers tangled in his hair as she surrendered to the kiss. The bedchamber was suddenly over warm. He was here. She wanted him everywhere. Inside her body. Inside her heart.

She tried to wriggle out of her robe without breaking contact. Anthony seemed to realize what she wanted and peeled the garment from her shoulders without ceasing his kisses.

Charlotte was glad to be rid of the robe. Today she could not bear to have even the thin linen of her night rail or the soft nankeen of his breeches between them.

She lifted the hem of her night rail and pulled it up over her head to flutter to the floor. Never before had she bared herself so completely to any man.

Never before had she trusted anyone enough to risk being vulnerable.

“Remove your breeches,” she ordered him, breathless with the knowledge of her own nakedness.

“No,” he said as he covered her body with his. “I shall not remove them until I have pleasured you first.”

She frowned at this assertion. “I would say you always bring me pleasure.”

“I would say you haven’t the least idea what pleasure truly is.” A wicked smile curved his lips. “But you’re about to find out.”

Before she could argue, he slanted his mouth over hers and robbed her of all ability to think. Her world had narrowed to only him. His heat. His scent. The taste of his tongue against hers.

He cupped her breast in his large hand. Her nipples immediately grew taut. He took one between his fingers and teased it gently, expertly. She could not help but arch into his touch. Her body was just as drawn to him as her heart.

He broke their kiss, only to lower his mouth to her breast.

An almost painful arousal began to pulse between her legs, swelling, tightening. A longing for something she couldn’t quite define, but urgently desired.

Still suckling her breast, he slid his hand down her stomach and cupped her exactly where she had ached to feel his touch. When his fingertip slipped inside her, she realized she was slick with arousal.

There would be no concealing how desperately she wanted his touch. Already her body was writhing into his hand, forcing each stroke of his finger ever deeper with each upward tilt of her hips.

She wanted to freeze, wanted her body to behave like that of a lady instead of a strumpet, but his teeth were grazing her nipple and his fingers were driving into her and his thumb—good heavens, his thumb—was circling and flicking and teasing in such a way that she couldn’t think, she couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t stop the sudden explosion of pleasure curling her toes and sending aftershocks of delicious contractions reverberating through her body.

When at last her racing heart had calmed enough for her to realize that she had just wantonly found release on his fingers, before he’d even had the opportunity to remove his breeches, a deep flush of shame rose like fire to her skin. She had exposed her true nature.

Now he would know the truth about who he had wed. She was not a lady. Would never be anything except what she’d been born to be. She was just a—

He covered her mouth with his, each kiss more demanding than the last. Further thought failed her. His breath was as ragged as hers, his skin hot and his muscles taut. Once again, she was lost in his embrace. Swept up in their mutual desire.

“You are the most sinfully irresistible woman I have ever known,” he panted as he struggled to loosen his breeches between kisses. “I knew you were perfect before, but every day you prove it just a little more. I am truly the luckiest man alive to have you as my wife.”

Her breath caught. Warmth flooded her heart. At her most vulnerable, at her most naked, her most shameless, her most brazen, when he looked at her, he didn’t see her past. He saw her future. He didn’t see a light-skirt’s daughter before him. He saw his wife.

She pulled him to her and wrapped her legs about his now-bare hips and clutched him close as he carefully slid within her. Every thrust of his hips was a promise for the future. Now that they were finally joined as one, she would never let him go.

This was a man worth living for. Worth loving. Worth spending the rest of her life astonishing and delighting him as often as he astonished and delighted her. Anthony was more than a husband. He was the man she would never stop loving. She would never hold herself back from him again.

From this day forward, they belonged to each other—body and soul.

That was, as long as his contract with the Duke of Lambley didn’t rip them apart. Or the Courteland family. Once the duke’s will was read, the other family members would learn of her existence.

They could demand the return of their family heirlooms before she could sell them. They were also powerful enough to make her life a living hell. Perhaps even interject themselves in Anthony’s fragile, subjective new contract.

If the Courteland family wished to rid themselves of an illegitimate relation, exerting their considerable influence to drive her and Anthony from town would also send him straight to gaol.

Now that they finally had a way out of his mess, were they on the precipice of losing everything all over again?