"Which would you wear if you wanted to look ravishing to your husband—if you had a husband?" Emma asked Therese.

Her maid flung aside a soft woolen night shift, walked straight to Emma's smart new valise, and plucked out a night shift of snowy white linen nearly as thin and soft as gossamer. "You will be most beautiful in this, madame, and Mr. Birmingham, he will be captivated by your beauty."

She obviously embellished to please her mistress. Emma drew a deep breath. She was still trembling in anticipation of sharing this chamber with Adam. "Then please help me to dazzle." A pity I will never be as desirable as Maria.

After she was dressed for sleeping and Therese had departed, Emma climbed onto the bed and buried herself beneath the blankets. In spite of the fire that warmed the chamber, her thin linen shift offered little protection against the chills seeping into the room from the multi-paned window.

She would not blow out the candle. Once he made his way to their bed, he could do so. Their bed. The very thought of it was more intoxicating than bubbling French champagne. Her breasts felt heavy, and there was a tingling low in her torso—alien yet surprisingly pleasing feelings.

Should she happily greet him when entered the chamber? Or should she pretend to be sleepy? Because he had given her his word, she knew he would not initiate any intimacies this night.

Would it be possible for her to ignite feelings of passion in him? She gave a bitter laugh. One who looked as youthful as she was hardly likely to induce passionate feelings in any man who was accustomed to lying with a . . . practiced mistress.

Adam was certain to say good-night, roll over, and go to sleep. She smiled when she recalled that first night when he'd dropped to her chaise and promptly fallen into a brandy-aided slumber. She could still hear his snores.

A man's snoring had shocked her that first night. Now she craved to be able to hear Adam's.

Her heart hammered when she heard a man's footsteps coming along the corridor. They stopped at their door. He entered the parlor, then lightening his footfall, came into the bedchamber.

She sat up.

"Oh, you're still awake."

She giggled. "It's only been ten minutes! I'm incapable of falling into an instant sleep—like someone I happen to know."

He came to the other side of the bed, sat on it with his back to her, and began to remove his boots. "Will you always remember me as that debilitatingly stupid drunk?"

"Of course. He was very nice to me."

"I could have badly tarnished your good reputation."

"One only has a reputation when one knows people. I didn't know a single soul in London."

"You would never have allowed your anonymity to relax your morals, nor would I have allowed it." He came to his feet. "I'm going to blow out the candle, remove my breeches, and climb into the bed."

* * *

She'd been partially right about his ability to fall asleep instantly. Normally—even without brandy—he fell asleep within seconds of lying down. But not tonight. He'd turned his back to her in an attempt to diminish her effect upon him. For in spite of his vow, he kept thinking about her in the most provocative way.

A full fifteen minutes after he had lain down, she whispered, "You're not asleep yet?"

"Nor are you." He kept picturing her ivory shoulders and the trace of her nipples beneath the soft linen of her night shift. How lovely she had looked in the dim glow of their room's only candle. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to weigh her breasts within his hands. He wanted to feel himself within her.

" I know it's not exciting for an experienced man like you, but I'm so excited to be sharing a bed with my husband that I cannot go to sleep."

"Pray, what's so exciting?"

She sighed. "The intimacy, I suppose. I've never before been close to another as I am with you. Would you mind terribly if I said you're my best friend?"

The notion warmed him in the same way his mother's caress did when he was a feverish lad. He could not help but to recall Nick telling him that Lady Fiona was his best friend as well as his lover, then William telling him the same thing about Lady Sophia after they had wed.

"Of course I wouldn't mind. I'm flattered." A pity he couldn't tell her he felt the same. The fact was he had only thought of her in a rather paternal sense. But these past two days she had become much less of a child and much more of a woman to him.

And she had become the object of his desire.

His present arousal was evidence of that. He throbbed with his need for her. But it was a need he would not act upon. He feigned a yawn.

"Good-night, my dearest," she said.

God, but he wanted to draw her into his arms. "Good-night, dear one."

It was many hours before he fell asleep. Because her breathing never changed, he knew she, too, was unable to sleep.

They would feel as if they were at death's door tomorrow.

* * *

Nick had informed them the previous night that they would leave the inn just as the sun was rising. Emma wasn't alone in stifling her yawns as the carriage sped through the murky dawn. She was well aware that Adam also had difficulty falling asleep. Unlike her, whose every thought had been about him, he was probably worrying about how his bank was managing without him.

Though she'd been exhausted and had craved sleep all through the night, she would gladly repeat the night to once more share the cozy bedchamber with Adam. How fortunate were married couples who could sleep each night with their loved one.

It did not escape her notice that Lady Sophia's hand, swathed in red gloves today, rested in William's. Both of them looked so utterly content.

“How many nights will we be at Lord and Lady Agar’s?” Emma asked.

William’s brows lowered. “You didn’t know?”

“Know what?”

“Nick’s decided he can’t be away from the Exchange for that long,” William said.

She wondered how he would manage attending Parliamentary sessions, but Adam had said those typically did not start before four in the afternoon. “The aristocrats, I am told, seldom rise before noon,” he told her. She thought sleeping a terrible waste of daylight.

Adam touched her forearm. “I hope you’re not too disappointed.”

“While I am disappointed, I’m grateful that I’ll be able to meet your mother and Verity.” Emma's eyes narrowed. She faced her husband. “I shall be obliged to address her as Lady Agar instead of Verity, will I not? What do you fellows call your sister?”

“Verity,” they both said at once.

“Do you never say to other people my sister, Lady Agar?” Emma asked.

Both brothers laughed. “It sounds . . . pompous, I suppose,” Adam said. “I’ve never been one to crave connections with the aristocracy.” He turned to Lady Sophia. “Not to disparage your class, my dear lady. I am very happy to be connected to you.”

Lady Sophia started to giggle.

“I picture Verity in much the same way I picture Ladies Fiona and Sophia," Emma said. "Impeccable taste and manners with a confident and gracious air about her.”

The brothers locked gazes. William’s brow rose. “Do you think your wife’s off the mark?” he asked Adam.

Adam nodded. “Most certainly. Verity is . . . Verity. She’s not at all like her brothers.”

Lady Sophia raised a hand. “Except she is possessed of an unerring eye—as are all the Birmingham brothers.”

“True,” William agreed. “But our sister is shy. She is the anomaly of a woman of very few words.”

Lady Sophia poked her husband in the ribs.

“And despite that she’s pretty, always beautifully dressed, and highly intelligent, she gives the impression that she lacks confidence,” Adam said.

William nodded at each word Adam had said. “You have perfectly described our sister.”

Emma understood. Despite all the advantages of the wealth she was born into, Verity would naturally have felt self-conscious among the nobility. Even if she had joined their ranks.

“The Agars and your mother will join us at the electioneering assembly?” Emma asked.

“Yes. Verity’s keen for us to see her baby,” William said.

“And our mother, who neither expresses herself nor shows emotion, wouldn’t miss the opportunity to see Nick standing upon the stage.”

William agreed with Adam. “She would never speak of how proud she is of Nick, but don’t think that she’s not! I’ve always thought she had a soft spot for her firstborn.”

“I have, too,” Adam said, “but she’ll never admit it.”

Lady Sophia directed her attention to Emma. “Don’t be put off by the woman's chilliness. That’s just her way.”

That comment was met with more nods.

“Actually we’re to assemble in Stenson Keyes, at the assembly rooms there tomorrow morning,” Will said. “That’s where Mama and the Agars will come. For them, it is only a two-hour ride."

"Nicks says we should make the town’s inn around nine tonight—if the roads stay good,” Lady Sophia added.

Another night at an inn! Emma would love it.

* * *

The inn in Stenson Keyes was vastly different than the Golden Fleece. It was much larger and much newer. No half-timbered walls or thatched roof here. The u-shaped building of gray stone offered a huge livery stable, and the tavern area of the Blue Roost comprised several chambers, each with a blazing wood fire.

They ate good and plentiful food in their own private chamber on the ground floor before the exhausted travelers walked up the wooden staircase to their rooms. First was Nick’s and Lady Fiona’s, then Adam’s and Emma’s, then William’s and Lady Sophia’s.

Because they had all come up at the same time, it would have been awkward for Adam to hold back until his wife got dressed for bed. When they entered the chamber, he dismissed Therese.

When she was gone, he said, “I will turn my back while you prepare for bed.” He then turned around and faced the door they had just entered.

As Emma removed her stockings, she kept telling herself he wasn’t going to see her bare legs or her bare anything, but she was still embarrassed to be disrobing just feet away from a man. Even if that man was her husband.

It was also beastly cold.

Her heart thumped erratically and a chill surged through her like icy water when her dress and shift sifted to the floor and she stood there in only her stays and drawers. She attempted to unlace the stays in the back, but it was impossible. What was she to do?

She could ask Adam to help. It wasn’t as if he had never done such a thing before. She would wager that her husband had frequently taken off Maria’s garments. The thought of Adam removing her own clothing made Emma’s breath ragged.

Until Maria intruded on her thoughts. How she detested the woman!

She fiddled with the same night shift she’d worn the previous night. She was trying to summon the courage to ask for Adam’s help.

“What the devil is taking you so long?”

She cleared her throat. “I have a problem.”

“Oh, God. It’s your stays.”

“Yes.”

Now he cleared his throat. “I can help. You mustn’t be embarrassed. I’ll stay behind you. I won’t look at your . . .” He stopped himself. “I’ll just stay behind and unlace you.”

“I trust you.”

He turned.

Their gazes met. His gaze dropped to skim over her.

She coloured. In a good way. As embarrassed as she was, she felt womanly, and that was most certainly to be desired.

He jerked his gaze away. “Well, if you’ll just turn around, I shall get about my business.”

She presented her back to him, and he moved to her. As the laces began to loosen, it suddenly occurred to her that when it released her breasts, they would be completely exposed.

If he were in front of her.

She began to tremble.

The stays lowered. Her breasts sprung free. She swallowed.

“There now.” He spoke as if he’d just fed his dog.

How could he be so casual when she felt as if she would explode with all these strange-but-wonderful feelings that threatened to overpower her?

Her hands trembling, face flaming, she quickly disrobed, snatched her night rail and shimmied into it. "You can turn around now."

He slowly turned. His gaze flicked to her, then he diverted his attentions to the other side of the bed from her. He sat on the bed, his back to her as he began to remove his boots.

"Do men not wear night shirts?" she asked.

One boot thumped to the wooden floor. He turned to face her. "Some do. My mother made all of us when we were lads, but as we grew older . . . well, I suppose men tend to get hot when they're beneath blankets. We don't wear . . . much."

"Like last night? I noticed you only slept in your breeches. No shirt. I would have been cold."

"The breeches were for your benefit."

"I don't un-," she stopped, her eyes widening. "Do you mean . . . ?"

"This subject is not fit for a maiden's ears."

She wanted to cry out that she was a wife, a married woman, but she was too timid. She slipped beneath the covers.

Moments later, he did the same, dousing the candle as he did so. "I shall sleep like the dead tonight."

"It was very difficult to keep one's eyes open throughout the coach ride today," she said. "It seemed that every churn of the wheel was contriving to make me sleepy."

"I felt the same. I will have no problem sleeping tonight."

"I believe I should like to have a good-night kiss from you."

He groaned. "Absolutely not."

His words could have shattered her, but there was a lightness in his tone that surprised her. "Then you don't wish to be my best friend."

"Best friends don't kiss."

"Then what about wives?"

"It's not as if you're actually . . ."

"Your wife." She pouted. "I promise I will endeavor to learn to be a good kisser. I know I was mammothly disappointing that first time."

"I don't wish to discuss kissing. I want to sleep."

His words wounded. She wouldn't even say good-night to him if he was going to be such an ogre.

* * *

She was in a deep sleep when a pounding sound awakened her. Her brain was too foggy to determine what the noise was or where it came from. Cursing, Adam left their bed, stumbled to the door, and cracked it open.

Who would be disturbing them at this hour? She bolted up in her bed, gathering the blankets to cover her shoulders.

"So sorry to be disturbing you, sir," a woman said, "but a gent in the tavern says it's prodigiously important that he speak to you at once."

"You must have the wrong room."

"Yer Mr. Birming'am? Mr. Adam Birming'am?"

"That's right."

"'E said 'e's come from Lunnon. Something important about yer bank."

Adam cursed again. "I'll be right down."

Judging by how much the logs in their hearth had burned, she would estimate it must be around midnight. The candlelight flickered on Adam's lean torso as he slipped his shirt over his head.

"Can I be of any help?" she asked.

"No. Try to go back to sleep." He sat on the bed and attempted to put on his boots.

She got up, came to him, then kneeled on the floor in front of her husband. "Here, let me help."

A moment later, he was donning his coat. His hand on the door knob, he turned back to her. "I'll be right back."

She had just slipped back into their bed when the door to their chamber opened.

"You're certainly back - -." She saw that it wasn't Adam. A strange man with a patch over his left eye stormed into her room.

"You have the wrong room!"

He closed the door behind him and came closer to her. "No I don't, Mrs. Birming'am."

Terror shot through her. Did the man mean to ravish her? She leapt from the bed and backed herself into a corner.

Not the brightest move.

He moved to her. Not tall like Adam, this horrid man was extremely muscular. And menacing. And she did not know how she could protect herself against him. If only she had a weapon.

By the time she remembered Anne Fortescue's brothers' advice about kneeing in the groin, the man with the eye patch had completely backed into the corner with her. She couldn't have placed a book between them. Heartbeat stampeding, she fought him when he tried to tie a large sash around her mouth. He didn't want anyone to hear her scream. Her strength was no match for his. Her cries were successfully muffled.

Good Lord, is he going to kill me? She suddenly remembered about all those mad men Aunt Harriett had told her about in wicked London. She fleetingly thought of the man on the horse who had followed them that day they went to Madame De Guerney's. Had he followed her to Yorkshire?

He lifted her body off the floor and flung her over his shoulders. She tried to scream, but the cloth muffled her sounds. Hadn't Adam said he'd be right back? She prayed he'd come storming through that door and save her.

"I'm getting you out of 'ere right now before yer 'usband gets wise and comes back."