Kate was fully prepared for her wedding night. She had never been kissed, but tipsy confessions from her rowdier friends had left her well aware of the mechanics of lovemaking.

At her request, they’d also gifted her a handful of “French letters”—little fitted sheaths meant to prevent the man’s seed from entering the woman’s body. Unfortunately, the dratted things had to soak for hours before they became soft enough to be used.

With her horror of child-birthing, however, Kate would happily wait for days, if that was how long it took the French letters to be usable. Months. Years.

Perhaps she wasn’t just terrified of childbirth. Perhaps she was a tiny bit apprehensive about the creation process, as well. Who would wish to bare herself to a virtual stranger?

Even if the stranger in question was the dreadfully attractive Duke of Ravenwood. Her husband. Kate swallowed. She was now the Duchess of Ravenwood.

She didn’t feel like the Duchess of Ravenwood. She felt like an outsider playacting at someone else’s life. A world she knew nothing about.

Now that it was hers, however, she would do her best to play her role. They might not have chosen each other, but now that they were married, the only path toward happiness was to move forward together.

Somehow.

Arms crossed, she leaned against the freshly constructed armoire and stared at her new bedchamber.

It was sumptuous enough for a duchess, she supposed. The furniture, the wallpaper, the carpet—everything was new and expensive and modern. A style she abhorred above all others. It had no history. No story to tell.

The bed was twice the size of the one she’d had at home. For obvious reasons, one might suppose, except that the chamber Ravenwood had given Aunt Havens was nearly the equal to this one in terms of size, splendor, and excess.

The doorway leading into her husband’s adjoining bedchamber was of far more pressing concern.

Her lady’s maid had finished preparing the scene less than an hour ago. Candles were lit, a low blaze set in the fireplace. Kate was bathed, coiffed, and dressed in the frilliest nightrail of her trousseau.

Did Ravenwood appreciate a damsel in a frilly nightrail? Kate had her doubts. But her lady’s maid had insisted Ravenwood would only notice the nightrail’s most important features—its breathtakingly low neckline and near-transparent material.

Lord only knew what Ravenwood would be wearing. The last man Kate had seen in a nightrail had been Great-Uncle Havens, shortly before he died of apoplexy.

It wasn’t a particularly heartening image.

She tried to distract herself by planning her next project. Time would tell whether she would be permitted to continue planning events, but for now she would choose optimism. She was the one person with the passion and the connections to unite spectators of the arts with those who created it, and she would do everything in her power to make it happen.

The first step would be to rally the talent. She wouldn’t be able to search for a venue until she better understood the scope of the performance. Opera singers and classic violinists would not require a large stage, but what about dancers, acrobats, choirs, and orchestras?

A knock sounded upon the adjoining door and she jumped. Heaven help her. It was time.

She stepped away from the armoire and uncrossed her arms. Perhaps it wouldn’t be as bad as she feared. Perhaps she could simply continue planning in her mind whilst Ravenwood did as he pleased with her body. Her heart quickened.

No. She would never be able to ignore him. Every time he was near, she could think of nothing but him.

“Come in.” Did her voice tremble? She straightened her spine. Her voice never trembled.

The adjoining door eased open with nary a creak. Orange light from the candles spilled across Ravenwood’s chiseled face. She swallowed.

He was not in a nightrail. He wore buckskin breeches, a navy waistcoat, gold jacket, and a freshly pressed cravat. His chestnut curls were slightly damp, indicating he, too, had bathed moments earlier.

He looked positively delicious.

Ravenwood’s eyes locked on hers. “You’re dressed for bed.”

“You’re…not.” She wasn’t certain what to make of it.

He inclined his head. “I didn’t want you to feel forced into physical intimacy. I am your husband, but you are my wife. Your desires matter as much as my own.”

Kate gazed back at him in surprise. If he’d meant to disarm her with his thoughtful consideration, it had certainly worked. He had a right to consummation. She had expected him to execute that right and be done.

The idea that she could have a reprieve if she wished gave her the courage to welcome him in. He was giving her a chance to be comfortable with him. She would do the same.

According to her friends, plenty could happen between husband and wife prior to lovemaking.

“Come in,” she repeated.

He stepped into the room and shut the door behind him.

She expected to feel closed off. Hunted. But instead she felt oddly powerful. The Duke of Ravenwood hadn’t merely asked her opinion. He’d asked her permission. To enter a bedchamber on his own property.

He was trying to be kind. He was letting her know that as duchess, her desires did matter.

Now that she knew she would not be forced into consummation without so much as a by-your-leave, what she most desired was…a kiss.

Ever since that moment in the storage shelter, she hadn’t been able to quit the idea from her mind. She swallowed. Perhaps she’d been looking forward to some of the night’s events, after all.

She lowered her gaze from his eyes to his mouth and blushed. Kissing him would be no hardship. Now that they were out of society’s eye, his icy demeanor had melted to something far more intriguing.

Or perhaps she was the one who had warmed.

This was how he looked to all the other ladies. Wide shoulders, firm muscles, long eyelashes, inviting lips. They swooned at the thought of being wrapped in those strong arms. Of unleashing coiled passion. Being the one woman capable of tempting him to fan the flames.

Kate swallowed. If she were completely honest, she might even admit to having wondered on multiple occasions what kissing Ravenwood might be like. Of feeling her soft curves against his hard body. Just because she had never imagined herself in the position of ever finding out did not mean she was immune to his striking looks and quiet power.

She didn’t have to suppress her attraction anymore. He was an Adonis come to life. She had him in her bedchamber. The question was how to proceed from here, without risking childbirth.

“We were compromised over a tryst that never happened,” she ventured.

He stepped closer. “Yes.”

“My cousin thought you had taken liberties. Kissed me.”

“All two hundred of your guests appeared to have reached the same conclusion.” His tone was wry. “A bit galling, as I’d never before had a tarnished reputation.”

She hesitated. “A bit galling for me as well, since to this day, I’ve never been kissed.”

His green eyes met hers in surprise. “Never?”

“I thought you might like to…rectify matters.” Her heart pounded as she waited for his reply.

With an arrogant smile, he curled a knuckle beneath her chin and angled her face toward his. “It shall be my pleasure.”

Her eyes fluttered closed as he lowered his mouth to hers.

He was going to do it! Finally, they would have the kiss they’d almost shared before they were interrupted. The kiss she hadn’t been able to get out of her mind. This time, there was no one to stop them.

His mouth was warm. His lips firm, but soft. She gripped his sides, unsure where or how to hold on. Each gentle brush of his lips against hers sent waves of sensation rippling across her skin.

He stroked her cheek with the pad of his thumb. She found herself responding. Kissing back. Parting her lips. Wanting more. This wasn’t some untouchable, granite Adonis. This was Ravenwood. Her husband. And his kisses were as feverish as hers.

She pressed into him, eager. She wanted to taste him. To feel him. His body was hot against hers. Or perhaps her body was the one becoming heated.

He slid his fingers into her hair to cradle the back of her head and touched his tongue to hers.

Her pulse jumped at the wantonness. She twined her hands about his neck and rose on her toes to meet him kiss for kiss. He made her feel irresistible. Reckless. Like she could lose herself in him…and find something even better.

Her blood raced at the twin sensation of plundering and being plundered. Being known. This was her husband. Hers to kiss, to invite into her bedchamber.

Hers for much more.

The flimsiness of her nightrail allowed her to feel the lines of his waistcoat against her breasts. Under all those layers, did his heart beat as rapidly as hers? Could he feel the tightening of her nipples, sense the rush of excitement in her veins?

Her heart hammered. She wondered what it would be like to rub herself against him. The shameless decadence of naked breasts against a fully clothed chest. Would he rip his clothes from his body? Or would he allow her to divest him of each item, baring him inch by inch?

As if reading her thoughts, he lifted his mouth from hers just long enough to shuck his jacket and waistcoat. Before the garments even hit the floor, he pulled her back into his embrace and covered her mouth with his.

This time, there was naught but thin linen between the softness of her breasts and the hardness of his chest. She caught her breath at the sensation. He could feel her just as clearly as she could feel him. Every inch of her felt alive. Yet it wasn’t enough. She craved more.

With him, she could experience anything. Everything. There would be no recriminations, no risk of scandal. So long as he wore the sheath, she could indulge her desire. They both could.

He grabbed her by the waist and trapped her between the wall and his own body, pinning her in place with his hips, his kisses.

Her head spun in heady abandon. She had watched him from afar for years. Being in his arms was more than she’d dreamed. He was more than she’d dreamed.

She slid her hands up the hard muscles of his arms. Had she feared the marriage bed? They were nowhere near it and she was already breathless with desire. He was so hard, so hot. She wanted to explore him. Wanted him to explore all of her. Needed him to.

Together, the rest of the world fell away. All that mattered was the two of them.

Slowly, deliberately, he slid one of his hands up from her waist to her breast. His fingertips played with her taut nipple, driving her wild with every tug, every touch.

Her kisses grew bold. Demanding. He lifted her onto the bed and covered her body with his. She reached for him. He made her feel on the edge of…something, and she wanted to have it all. To know pleasure. To know him.

He yanked up the hem of her nightrail to expose her ankles, her knees, her thighs, her—

Cool air kissed the moist heat between her legs for only a moment. Then his wicked hand took over. Cupping her, coaxing her, dipping a slick finger inside and stroking her with her own wetness. Pleasure shot through her.

She felt helpless. Powerful. Her breath grew ragged, her thoughts incoherent. He was irresistible and she wanted more. She tangled her fingers in his hair as he brought her closer and closer to a peak. He tore his mouth from hers and pinned her with his gaze.

“Do you desire me?” he rasped as he drove his finger within her. “Do you want to feel me inside you, claiming you as my own?”

“Yes.” It was all she wanted. She was nearly delirious with the wanting. Her inner muscles clenched just from the desire in his eyes as he deliberately sank his finger in deeper.

He kissed her again, then reached below to yank down his breeches.

The thrill of anticipation raced through her. Quickly, she gestured toward the side of the bed. The sheaths would be ready. “I have a French letter soaking… over on the nightstand…”

He paused with one hand on his breeches. “A what?”

Her cheeks grew warm. “A French letter. It’s a… It’s a sheath for protecting—”

“I know what a French letter is.” He pulled up his breeches and buttoned them back into place. “Why do you have one?”

A gasp of sudden understanding escaped her throat and she shook her head wildly to dispel his confusion. A proper young lady would have no knowledge of such devices. Any man would assume the worst: that she was a whore, or diseased.

“It’s not what you think! I’ve never done…anything intimate before. I was just told it was easier for a man to place one of these on his member to prevent progeny than it is for a woman to deal with sponges or quinine rinses—”

He leaned back, his eyes hooded. “You’re saying you don’t wish to bear my children?”

The rush of familiar panic sent a wave of dizziness crashing through her. She tried to still her heart.

“I can’t think of anything more horrifying than the thought of bearing anyone’s children. It’s a panic, really. Neither child nor mother has any guarantee of survival. My heart starts pounding and my vision goes black…” She took a deep, shuddering breath and forced herself to straighten her spine. Her fears no longer mattered. “I realize I don’t have a choice anymore. I’m a duchess now. I must do my duty. But I can’t. Not yet. Eventually, I will have to do what’s required, but for now I just… I wanted to be able to enjoy it. At least once.”

He rose from the bed and scooped his discarded coat and waistcoat from the floor without another word.

She realized too late that his concern had been something else entirely.

“Wait,” she stammered, pushing down the hem of her nightrail to cover her nakedness. “I thought you wanted…”

“Of course I want you.” He paused in the open doorway connecting their bedchambers and turned inscrutable eyes toward hers. “But there are things I want more. Like a future for this dukedom. Soon. If you cannot promise that much, then our marriage will need to be annulled. Let us hope that does not need to happen.”

He closed the door behind him. No key turned in the lock.

And yet the wall that separated them was too great for either to cross.