“Papa, may I sleep with the light on?”

Seated at the side of the bed, Ambrose smiled at his seven-year-old son. “There’s no need for that. Nothing’s going to happen, I promise.”

Edward’s eyes, the same emerald shade as his mama’s, peered anxiously from his small face. “How do you know?”

“Because monsters live only in dreams, and they can’t hurt you. You have nothing to fear, lad.” Ambrose tucked the blanket around his son’s shoulders. “I’ll stay here until you fall asleep.”

“Promise, Papa?”

“I promise, lad.”

A quarter hour later, Ambrose brushed his hand lightly over Edward’s tousled dark head, extinguished the light, and headed for the master bedchamber.

Marianne was waiting in bed. Even after eight years of marriage, her beauty struck him anew. With her platinum hair loose around her slim white shoulders and her vivid eyes glowing with love, she was an angel. And he was one lucky bastard.

Setting aside her book, she smiled at him. “Asleep?”

“Aye. Poor fellow.” Removing his robe, Ambrose got into bed and took her into his arms. Settling them both against the pillows, he said, “I hope he outgrows the night terrors soon.”

“Did he ask about the monsters?”

“I told him they weren’t real.”

“Not the kind he fears, anyway.”

At his wife’s pensive tone, Ambrose turned his head to look at her. He saw the shadows in her gaze, as if she were recalling the monsters of her past. Monsters he’d done everything in his power to slay.

“Sweetheart?” he said quietly.

She touched his jaw. “I’m not thinking of my own demons, darling, but of yours.”

“Mine?” he said in surprise.

“Monsters come in all guises. Evil people, harrowing events—even something as ordinary as not being able to protect the ones you love.”

His muscles tensed. “What are you saying?”

“Ambrose, you’re a wonderful brother, but Emma is a grown woman.” Marianne’s perceptive eyes searched his face. “You cannot protect her any longer, and you must not blame yourself for those times when you could not.”

The memory of those times rose within him. Those years when he’d barely been able to feed his younger siblings ... when Emma, as the next eldest, had been forced to shoulder all the burdens of their family while he earned a living in the city. One time, she, a sixteen-year-old girl, had travelled all the way to London on her own because calamity had struck their family, and she’d had no one to turn to ...

Old knots tightened in his chest. “She’s missed out on so much. She’s never had a chance to be young,” he said roughly. “She deserves to be happy.”

“Yes, she does. But only she can decide what will make her so.”

“You can’t think Strathaven is a good decision,” he said in incredulous tones.

Marianne said softly, “Why not? Because he’s a duke? He’s rich?”

“No, because he’s a rake.”

“The gossip isn’t all true. His dead wife spread some vile rumors about him. And Annabel says that he’s got a good heart—that she and Mr. McLeod are in his debt.” After a pause, Marianne said, “I know what it’s like to be misjudged by Society.”

Ambrose tightened his arms around her. “That was different. Your actions were prompted by your desire to find Primrose. You were blameless, sweetheart.”

“How do you know Strathaven is not as well? Whatever his past, he cares for Emma.”

“What makes you so certain?”

Marianne’s lips formed a wry curve. “Why else would he concoct this plan to have her investigate the ton? He’s keeping her away from the true danger—and saving her from herself, I might add.”

That insight did not sit well with Ambrose. Even if Marianne was right, he didn’t trust Strathaven’s motives. Didn’t want a dissolute libertine entangled with his innocent sister.

Stiffly, Ambrose said, “Even if he didn’t kill Lady Osgood, he was having a salacious affair with her—a married woman. He is morally corrupt.”

His spouse made an amused sound.

“What is so humorous?” he said, frowning.

“You, darling.” Still smiling, she kissed his jaw. “By your standard, no gentleman would be good enough for Emma. What man hasn’t had an affaire or kept a mistress?”

“I haven’t,” he said.

“You are the exception. That is why I adore you.” Her hand glided down his chest, and he felt himself hardening, responding as ever to his wife’s touch. “You want to handle Emma with care. You don’t want to push her away.”

“I can’t talk about my sister when you do that,” he said hoarsely.

Marianne smiled her siren’s smile. “Will you consider what I said?”

In his work, he prided himself on considering all the evidence before drawing any conclusions. He supposed he ought to do the same in this instance. Objectivity could be dashed difficult, however, when one’s own family was involved.

“I will try,” he conceded.

“Thank you, darling.”

His wife’s lips caressed his neck, her hand wandering lower still. Fire ignited in his loins, and rolling her onto her back, he took her mouth in a hungry kiss. She sighed with pleasure, her ardor obliterating his thoughts, and for the next little while at least, all worldly troubles scattered to the winds.