The temperatures neared freezing and the night's darkness had not fully lifted, but for a brief moment Emma felt as if she were in a sunny field of summer wildflowers. That's how being held in Adam's arms made her feel. That and so much more. Elation. Relief. Security. And overwhelming love.

She could almost forget her wretched discomfort.

She need not worry for herself, not when Adam was there. He was so supremely good at taking care of her.

He stood her up and stepped back, his gaze utterly solemn when their eyes met. Without saying a word, he removed his own huge coat and placed it over her shoulders. It came past her bare feet and dragged on the ground.

"I can't take your coat," she protested. She felt badly, too, that because of her, his coat was dirtied.

"You will." He helped her put it on and began to fasten it.

"But you'll freeze."

"You're the one who's exposed," he said gruffly. "Your teeth are chattering, and your skin's icy."

The coat felt so good. She was far too cold to argue.

He lifted her into his arms and attempted to tuck the coat around her chilled feet. "I wish I could offer you a warm fire."

"I do, too."

Though the coat helped—as did being so close to him—it would take far more than that before she could completely thaw. Now that she was less uncomfortable, she thought to see what was going on with that odious man with the eye patch.

She turned her head. At first all she saw was Nick towering over the other two men. William was on one knee, and her abductor was lying on the ground.

"My God, I think he's dead," William said. "I only meant to slow him, make him give Emma up. My knife struck his shoulder. That shouldn't be a mortal wound."

Nick shook his head slowly. "Unless he's a bleeder."

Huge amounts of blood oozed from the fallen man and pooled on the ground.

Throughout the nearly unbearable hours in the man's captivity, Emma had (most uncharitably) thought of how much she hated him, how much she wished something terrible would befall him. But she took no consolation now that something terrible had taken his life.

Adam cursed. "Now we'll never know for sure who the cur was working for, though God knows, he deserved to die."

Her insides sank. She hadn't thought of that.

"I don't know what you fellows plan to do now," Adam said, "but I need to get my wife somewhere warm. Are we not almost back at Wickley Glen?"

Will nodded. "We can't be more than two miles from it."

"Here, let me help you mount," Nick said.

Adam returned to his horse and handed her to Nick while he mounted, then Nick hoisted her onto the saddle. "She certainly is light!"

Emma wished she weren't so small. Men had a tendency to treat her like a child, and she wanted to be treated like a woman. A married woman.

"I'll need one of you to come with me," Adam said. "I can't very well carry her in like this. Someone will have to bespeak our room."

"I'll come," Nick said. "William will instruct his man on the disposition of this blackguard's body."

The three of them rode no more than ten minutes when they saw the clusters of houses signifying a town.

Nick had to awaken the innkeeper when they reached the King's Arms but he made it well worth the man's inconvenience. He requested the best available accommodations and asked that hot chocolate be brought up to the chamber for his wife immediately.

He came back outside to give Adam the key. "Everyone thinks we're twins anyway, so I said I was you. You're in Room 1, the first one at the top of the stairs. They're building a fire as we speak, and I've requested a pot of hot chocolate."

"You have paid?" Adam asked.

"Handsomely. You'll be treated like royalty."

That would be nothing new, Emma thought. The Birminghams were always treated like royalty.

Adam handed her to Nick, then dismounted and once more drew her into his arms. At least, she thought, there was one consolation for possessing very cold feet on a very cold night—and a very good consolation it was.

"I suppose we'll miss your electioneering," Adam said.

"Yes, but you won't miss seeing Verity's babe—and Mama won't let you get away without allowing her to meet your wife." Nick smiled at Emma. "I'll send William's coach back for you—with all your clothing. You ought to make Stenson Keyes by late afternoon."

"Why don't you go back with your brother?" she said to Adam. "I'll be fine."

Adam regarded her through narrowed eyes. "Right now, I don't know how I can ever again leave you."

His words were more welcome than an eiderdown quilt.

"I would feel the same if it were Fiona," Nick added, flicking his glance to the inn's door. "When you enter, you can go either left or right. If you go right, you'll find the staircase. It's pretty dark, so be careful carrying her up the stairs."

"Once I'm inside," Emma said, "I can walk."

Nick gave her a pitying gaze. "I wish I could have ordered you some woolen socks."

Adam glared. "Are you not the one who always says anything can be had if one's pockets are deep enough?"

Nick shrugged and began to mount his horse.

After entering the inn, Adam did set her down, then led the way upstairs, holding her hand as they climbed. The door to their chamber was open, and a youthful charwoman was completing her task. She looked at them. "Yer chambers will be warm as toast in no time."

Adam pulled a guinea from his pocket. "There's a guinea for you if you can find a pair of woolen socks for my wife."

"I'll be right back up, sir. Me mum knits them for everybody in our family. We got our own sheep, you see."

After she left, Adam pulled the parlor's settee in front of the fire, then from the adjacent bedchamber brought a heavy quilt. "Sit here in front of the fire. I'll help wrap this around you." After he covered her, he removed his own gloves and placed them on her icy hands. "I know they're so big you could put both your hands in one."

She giggled. Funny, an hour ago she thought she would never giggle again.

Though the chamber was still not warm, it was a thousand times better than what she'd experienced throughout the night.

Adam came to sit near her on the settee. "I'm so very sorry for what you've had to endure tonight. Other than his complete disregard for your comfort, did that man hurt you?"

She shook her head. "I thought he must mean to ravish me, but apparently that was not his intent."

"Good. Did he say anything, anything at all that gave a clue about what his intentions were? Did he say he was taking you to someone?"

"Like Ashburnham?"

"Then you've made the same deduction I have."

She nodded. "It wasn't long before I realized we were covering the same route we'd come, so I suspected his destination was London, but even before that I had guessed it was Ashburnham's scheme."

"He didn't say anything?"

"Nothing. I suppose if my mouth had not been bound, there could have been some dialogue. I most certainly would have told him my husband would pay him more than Ashburnham."

"I would have given him anything to secure your safe release." His voice was oddly gentle, almost as if he were choking back tender emotions.

Every second of discomfort she'd experienced was worth this moment. How cherished she felt, knowing he would give his fortune to save her life. How cozy she felt, being in this intimate setting with the man she adored.

The charwoman—or was it a char girl?—returned, a huge gap-toothed smile on her face, as she presented Adam a pair of gray stockings. "These be brand new," she said with pride.

"They're lovely, and we're most grateful to you." He handed her a guinea.

Adam sat on the far end of the settee, uncovered Emma’s feet, and began to place the stockings on her. "God, you feel like ice!"

"I'm sure I'll be warm soon. The fire's going strong now. "

Her breath came in staggering gusts. She was nearly unraveled from the intimacy of him slowly putting on the stockings, smoothing them up her ankles, then along her calves. It would have been embarrassing except for the fact he was her husband.

After both stockings were on, he cradled one foot within his big hands and began to massage it. "I'm very concerned about you."

She sighed. "I'm like a stray pup you've taken into your care."

"I used to think that way about you," he said with little laugh. He looked her in the eye, his gaze intense. "Not anymore. Somehow, I have come to think of you as my wife."

Her heartbeat pounded. In a good way. Their eyes still locked. "Since that day at St. George's," she said in a thin voice, "the only way I've thought of you is as my husband."

He lifted a brow. "And I thought you thought of me as your best friend."

Their eyes held. "I am told that in the best marriages, one's spouse is one's best friend."

"So my brothers say." He swallowed. It was as if what he was going to say next was difficult. "I . . . have come to think of you as my dearest friend." His hands massaged her feet even more tenderly in small, excruciatingly gentle circles. He tucked that foot back beneath the quilt, drew out the other one and began to massage it.

He drew a deep breath. "After you were taken I was sorry I hadn't told you I thought of you as my best friend." Now his voice cracked. "I feared I'd never get to tell you."

She couldn't believe this was happening to her. Her husband was being so . . . well, close to romantic. She'd always known he genuinely cared for her, but she was ecstatic to learn the object of his affections had transitioned from puppy dog to wife.

Theirs was going to be a true marriage! He would still need time to adjust his thinking, but she was more than willing to wait. Even it took a lifetime. She could think of no one with whom she'd rather spend the rest of her life.

What had been the worst night of her life had resulted in the happiest moment of her life. It had been worth every second of misery.

How many times since she and Adam had married had she thought This is the happiest moment in my life? Nearly every day with him had been more pleasurable than the one before it. She certainly could not expect the rest of her life to continue in escalating happiness.

Why was it her happiest moments had been preceded by vile occurrences? Of course, had it not been for the vile murder of Uncle Simon, she never would have met Adam, never would have wed him, never would have known what it was like to love someone as madly as she loved her husband.

She reached out to touch his hand. "You've made me very happy."

Neither spoke after that. She understood that it had not been easy for him to speak of his emotions. Apparently he had to be deep in his cups to do that. He had said enough to nearly wipe from her memory the hardships she'd endured that night.

After he finished massaging her feet, he turned his attentions to her raw wrists. He started to curse when he saw the oozing red skin there, then stopped himself. "I will not swear in front of a lady, but at this moment I'm happy the man who did this to you is dead."

"I wished him dead, but now I wish he'd only been maimed. For William's sake."

Adam nodded. "My brother will take it hard that he's responsible for another man's death." His gaze dropped to her reddened wrists. "Does it hurt badly?"

"Only when I think about it." She shrugged. "Don't trouble yourself. Only time will heal such wounds."

"I wish there were something I could do to ease the pain."

Without artifice, she slapped on a bright countenance. "Then you should continue saying those wonderful things to me. I don't think about my discomfort when you do."

An amused expression on his face, he asked, "And to what wonderful things would you be referring?"

"Being best friends . . . worrying about never seeing me again . . . and most especially, I loved it when you said you didn't know how you could ever leave me again."

He threw his head back and roared with laughter. "My dear one must be making a remarkable recovery." His face went serious. "And for that I am exceedingly grateful."

He reached across the expanse of the settee and cradled her face. "You've not slept all night. Please, my dear wife, you need to try to sleep."

"You didn't sleep, either."

"If you promise to sleep, I will."

* * *

The grueling night had left his wife exhausted. Within seconds of her closing her eyes, she was in a deep slumber. As tired as he was, he could not sleep. The rational side of him told him no one would storm into this quiet bedchamber and harm his wife. But the events of the previous night had robbed him of rational thought. He was still governed by the paralyzing fear he'd felt when he realized someone had taken Emma. He still blamed himself for leaving her, still was terrified the mortifying event would be repeated.

He could not allow himself to close his eyes—not until he had his precious wife back on well-guarded Birmingham property, property that would become even more well guarded. The Birminghams did, after all, employ their own well-trained, well-equipped army.

All he could think of was protecting Emma. For now, he meant it when he'd said he would not leave her side. Nothing, absolutely nothing, could persuade him to abandon her even for a moment.

He kept the candle burning so he could watch her pretty face as she slept. The words that had passed between them here in this room were some of the most welcome he'd ever heard. He kept recalling her sweet voice when she'd said, "Since that day at St. George's I've never thought of you as anything but my husband."

Her words had a similar effect to his horse winning the Derby. Such sheer elation!

Even besieged with worry for her, just sitting before the fire so close to Emma filled him with contentment. He had a few hours to reflect on this marriage, something he'd not consciously done before. Those initial feelings that he'd been cheated of a loving marriage vanished like the morning dew. He'd not truly wanted this marriage, but now he could not think of life without Emma. Last night had taught him how very dear she was to him.

He realized now how empty his life was before Emma. Yes, he'd had something with Maria, but that something was only physical. Her beauty stroked his ego amongst men of rank. He was ashamed now that such a thing had once been important to him.

If he could turn back the clocks of time to when he was unmarried, and if he were given the choice between taking Maria or Emma for his wife, he would not hesitate for even a second. Emma was the woman with whom he wanted to spend the rest of his life.

He thought about Nick's and Will's solid marriages and realized he had always craved a loving partnership like theirs. Deep inside, he'd craved a wife who would also be his best friend.

In Emma, he would have that. The realization made him feel complete.

There was just one aspect of their marriage that was lacking. One very important aspect. How hard it had been for him earlier that night not to draw her into his arms, kiss her with pent-up passions, and carry her to their bed.

After the ordeal of her night, he would never have put his carnal needs above her comfort. It had, though, been beastly hard not to make love to her when she looked at him as lovingly as she did, especially when she alluded to her affection for him.

He thought perhaps—after she was out of danger—theirs could become a complete marriage. The very idea aroused him.

He believed she was not averse to being his wife in every way.

But that last, final step to the completion of their marriage could not be taken quickly in a posting inn. Nor could it be stolen because of his acute desire for her.

He planned to court his wife.