Faith did not untangle the fingers she had laced about her husband’s neck as she considered his question. More importantly, what it meant to her that Hawkridge had felt strongly enough about gaining her consent to risk the possibility of her pushing him away.

His question was more than fair. As was his position. If she invited him into her bed, it would have to be as his wife. Not as a singular occurrence or some hurried rendezvous to be quickly forgotten or ignored.

Of course she wanted him. The wanting had never lessened. Him handing her the reins to control the speed of the relationship did not make her wish to flee away from them, but rather leap heedlessly into his arms.

She desired him and he desired her. They were married. There should be no question at all.

Yet nothing was that simple.

If she were a stronger woman, a wiser woman, she might find the fortitude to halt the runaway carriage of their passion until they had forced themselves to sit down and bare themselves emotionally, rather than physically. They had yet to resolve their past. Had not yet found a way to forgive each other or themselves. Faith was not certain they ever would.

What she did know, however, was that he had afforded her more control in the past few moments than that foolishly hurried night they’d shared ten years ago.

Back then, there was no discussion. She had assumed a marriage offer was imminent, and as a gentleman it certainly should have been forthcoming. But as a lady, Faith should not have put herself in an uncertain position. Things might have moved too quickly for a conversation any deeper than a few exchanged moans of pleasure, but she had not been too naïve to understand what they were doing.

He was asking her not to be naïve now. To welcome him into her arms and her bed because she wished to for herself, not because she was obliged to as his wife.

Hawkridge was more than a husband. She could not have asked for a better father figure for Christina. Seeing her little girl breathless with hiccupy laughter as she cuddled against him with a bedtime story had long since dissolved the last of Faith’s doubts.

All this time, she had been worried he would not feel the same about her. The green country girl. The daughter of a factory merchant. The outsider.

She might not have been born good enough for a lord of his class, but he’d chosen her anyway, was still choosing her right now, giving her the respect and the freedom to decide whether or not to choose him back.

The decision had been made as soon as he’d asked the question.

Faith laced her fingers higher into his hair and pulled his mouth down to hers.

“Yes,” she whispered between kisses. “You may share my bed tonight, and the next night, and the next. Now show me how well we belong together.”

Without breaking their kiss, he pulled her shoulders up off the blanket to unlace the back of her gown.

Heart thundering, she slid her fingers from his hair long enough to tug his cravat from his neck, to free the many stubborn buttons of his jacket, his waistcoat. She pushed fabric from the wide expanse of his shoulders and hurled each item forgotten to the floor.

Her dress slid from her body, her whalebone stays joining the other garments on the carpet below. He somehow managed to shuck his boots as quickly as she could kick off her slippers, and rejoined her on the bed.

With trembling fingers, she tugged the lawn shirt from the waistband of his trousers and pushed the soft material up over the hard planes of his stomach, up over the muscular warmth of his chest, over the full width of his shoulders, until it too slipped from her fingertips over the side of the bed.

Now there was nothing between them but his trousers and her thin cotton shift.

He was bigger than she remembered. Stronger. More solid. Yet as hard and firm as his muscles felt beneath her eager hands, his touch was tender, as if he wished not to ravish her but to savor every moment.

Tonight would be better than the last time, in every way. Not only because she could finally be the wife she’d always dreamed of being, with the husband she’d always dreamed of having. This time, she came to him not as a passive waif or some lesser hopeful, but as his equal. As Lord and Lady Hawkridge. Joined both in marriage and with their bodies.

She could not wait a moment longer.

As their kisses increased in hunger, their hands crashed and tangled in their urgency to divest each other of their last remnants of clothing.

She managed to fumble open the fall to his breeches, pushing them down over his narrow hips with one hand as she curved the other about his manhood.

He gasped into her mouth, shivering with pleasure even as he ripped her shift from her body. When his fingers slid inside, it was her turn to cry out in pleasure. The many lonely nights she had touched herself in remembrance of their coupling did not compare to the exquisite reality of once again having his hand between her legs.

She pushed him, not away from her, but onto his back so she could straddle him. She lowered herself onto him as slowly as she could. But much as she tried to make the splendid anticipation last, her body was too slick and ready, her need for him too great.

He was hers now. Wholly and completely. Not for one night, but forever. In victory, she sank down until she fully sheathed him, locking their bodies together. Ripping asunder the shields that guarded her heart.

“This is better than my best fantasy,” he panted, his gaze hot and locked with hers. “And all of my fantasies have been about you.”

Her muscles tightened and spasmed against him in response.

He leaned up to capture one of her bouncing breasts in his mouth, gripping her hips as he drove deeper and deeper within her. She arched her back, grinding helplessly against him as waves of pleasure took her. With him, it was not a surrender. Their bodies took what they wanted. What they needed.

As she reached her peak, his body tensed and bucked beneath her, joining her thrust for thrust and pleasure for pleasure in mutual satisfaction.

She fell forward against his chest. He cradled her to him, pressing a kiss to her hair.

“Don’t fall asleep,” he whispered. “We have ten years to make up. It’s going to be a long night.”

She laughed and punched him lightly on the chest. “Just one night? You had better cancel your engagements for the rest of the Season. I am not certain I shall even allow you to attend Parliament now that I know your talents are better served between these walls.”

His arms locked about her without further comment, but the skip of his heartbeat against her ear told her everything she needed to know.

At last, they belonged fully and completely to each other.