Across the carriage, William's and Lady Sophia's thighs touched, and their fingers intertwined. Such marital bliss could convert the most confirmed bachelor.

Adam moved across the coach seat until he felt the warmth of Emma's legs against his. Her pressed both his hands around hers. Just getting a wisp of a whiff of his wife's rose scent reinforced Adam's new-found contentment with marriage. There was nowhere on earth he'd rather be than in this coach at this moment with this woman.

He was grateful they had been spared rain. Any delay would push them back another day on the road, an additional day away from his bank. He stopped his line of thought. The bank was no longer the most important thing in his life. Until he'd married, his business had been his life. Now, Emma was. He couldn't return to the bank until he knew she was safe.

They had left Stenson Keyes at dawn and driven beneath blue skies through pleasant countryside, with short stops along with way. He felt sorry for those who rode in the mail coaches that sped from one town to another with no concern for their passengers' comfort.

"Did you ride the mail coach to London?" he asked his wife.

"Indeed I did. It was the first time I'd ever ridden any distance to speak of in a coach, and I must say it did not compare favorably to riding in a Birmingham coach."

"Then it was an unpleasant experience for you?" he asked.

She shrugged. "I suppose it could have been unpleasant had I not been so exceedingly excited. Coming to London was the great adventure of my life. Nothing could have marred my happiness."

"Pray, Emma," Lady Sophia said, "what was the worst part about your journey in a mail coach?"

Emma giggled. "The fat man who sat next to me."

Lady Sophia also giggled. "Let us hope he was at least tidy."

"Not at all," Emma said with a slow shake of her head. "I could not determine if he smelled of rancid hog's pudding or of the labors of hard work such as . . ." She faced her husband, an amused smile lighting her face, "chopping wood."

Now Adam burst out laughing over their own private jest. "My wife ridicules me because I've never taken an axe to a log."

Lady Sophia turned to her husband. "Have you?"

"Does breaking down a door with an axe count?"

"No," his wife answered.

Emma's eyes widened as she peered at William. "When, pray tell, did you ever have to break down a door with an axe?"

"You did not know my husband used to offer his . . . services to the Foreign Office?"

"I didn't."

Lady Sophia shrugged. "I didn't either until after we were married."

William shrugged. "I'm hopelessly tamed now. I was issued an ultimatum. It was either my beautiful Isadore or my clandestine activities."

"I understand how Lady Sophia must have felt." A flicker of admiration in her eyes, Emma looked at William. "Your clandestine activities, though, sound extraordinarily exciting."

Lady Sophia glared. "There is nothing exciting about having people wanting to kill you."

"I do understand that," Emma said in a low voice, squeezing Adam's hand.

The solemnity of her words made them think of her own brush with men who wanted her dead. None of their party spoke for a few moments.

"Allow me to ask you this," Emma finally said, a pleasant lilt to her voice, "have any of you ever ridden in a mail coach?"

Each said, "No."

A while later, Emma said, "I do feel wretched that Lady Sophia, Adam, and I couldn't be in Stenson Keyes to support Nick."

"It's like the entire journey and the terrible experiences we endured were all for naught," Adam said.

"Oh, but they weren't all terrible experiences," his wife said. "Except for that one night, I've had so much fun." She sighed. "I suppose it's the most fun I've ever had."

Everyone in the coach smiled at her.

"My wife has not only led a dull life, but she's also given to speak in hyperbole." Adam smiled down at her.

"Emma's cheerful countenance is one of the things that makes her so charming."

Charming. Yes, that word did suit his wife.

"Thank you." Emma's voice almost squeaked.

"I'm very thankful you two have been so kind to my wife."

Emma started to yawn, put her head on his shoulders, and went to sleep a short time later. Her closeness and the motion of the carriage brought a contentment unlike anything he'd ever experienced.

He continued to peer out the window. Dusk fell subtly, then dusk fell away to a curtain of darkness.

They stopped for the night at the same inn they'd patronized on the northern leg of their journey. On their last visit, Nick had gone ahead and instructed his man to reserve the rooms for this date.

They were all exhausted from being cramped into their carriages for so many hours. Dinner was good and plentiful, and conversation was almost non-existent.

After dinner, they all said their good-nights and dispersed to their respective chambers.

Once Adam and Emma were in theirs, she turned around to face him, her expression solemn. She drew a breath. "I know I need practice, and I'm not very good at it, but I should love above everything for you to kiss me."

It was as if an avalanche of pent-up desires crashed down upon him. His whole body trembling, he drew her into his arms and kissed her ravenously. Her breath was as ragged as his when she stood on her tiptoes and wrapped her arms around him, giving every indication that she was enjoying this as much as he.

Letting out a deep breath, he released the pressure of his lips and nibbled tenderly at her mouth. Little whimpers of pleasure broke from her. She moved even closer. He felt as if he could explode from his want of this woman, his wife. Their mouths opened to one another—a prelude to that most intimate connection.

She did not kiss like a maiden. Even when his tongue slid into the warmth of her mouth, she did not recoil but welcomed it as greedily as a babe suckling its mother's breast.

"You need no instruction in kissing," he eventually murmured. "Your kisses are perfection." He sighed. He wanted her so much, but did she want him in the same way? He did not know how to ask. He did not want to offend her.

"I have enjoyed it very much." Her voice was as breathless as one who'd been . . . chopping wood!

He cupped his hand at her pretty little face. "I could never want any other woman for my wife." It wasn't a declaration of love, but it was close. He had never told a woman he loved her. He thought he was, indeed, falling in love with Emma, but he could never utter those words until he was certain.

Her torso pressed against him. God help me, he thought.

"Do you recall the vows we said before the priest at St. George's on our wedding day?" she whispered.

"What part?"

"The part about my body would be yours and yours would be mine."

She does want me!

Their eyes locked. He trembled so much and his breath was so labored he wasn't sure he could speak. "Does that mean you would not object if I were to . . . well, be your husband in every respect—just as the priest read?"

"I would not object."

He scooped her into his arms and carried her to the bed. Their bed.