She feigned sleep for half an hour, collecting her thoughts, blissfully aware of the man in bed beside her. She listened to the pattern of his breathing, deep and relaxed. She thought of how magnificent it had felt to be ravished by his hard male body. Dare she remove the heavy arm that he had flung across her midsection? Or did she like her imprisonment? She could make out the shape of his strong jawline and one broad shoulder in the dark.

She had not lost herself at all. He had become part of her. He was indeed a splendid lover.

Was he awake?

Should she ask?

How was she to break this profound silence? Perhaps it was best to let him speak first.

Etiquette lessons offered a young lady advice on the appropriate response when presented to royalty or to an unknown person at a party. Such instructions did not include what to say to one’s husband after a breathtaking deflowerment.

“Oh. That was lovely, your grace. Shall we do it again?”

Or, “I feel as sticky as a bun -- at sixes and sevens. May I be excused from your presence to attend to my toilette? The room has turned chilly, hasn’t it? Would you cover me in kisses to warm me up?”

The sheets rustled at her side, releasing the combined scents of lavender and sex. A sigh escaped her as Simon climbed lithely from the bed. It took a mere glimpse at his naked body to restimulate her senses. She wished the night would never end and that they would resume their nuptials. Then she realized he was reaching for the bell cord. She dove under the coverlet in panic.

“You don’t mean to summon a servant while we are still -- in bed?” she asked in a muffled voice.

He returned to her side, unclad and evidently unconcerned what the staff would make of him. “Didn’t I see a man’s robe on the dressing screen?” she asked. “Is it there for display? How could I have thought for one moment that you were reserved?”

“It’s cold in here,” he said. He perched on the edge of the bed, his natural state so engrossing that the chill in the air could not counteract her blushes. “Would you like the fire stoked?”

She stared around in dismay. Where had the pillows gone? She was surprised Simon had not brought down the silk tester curtains during their third bout of lovemaking. He had sworn to handle her with gentleness, but the fact remained that he was a physical man and had proven himself as such.

She approved. She was a vigorous woman herself.

“You’re hiding under the covers,” he noted. “Not from me, I trust. Have I wounded you in any way?”

“Deeply,” she murmured. “I’ll never be the same, you great brute.” She hadn’t worked up enough nerve to meet his gaze, as intensely curious as she was about both the details of his body and emotional state. “I’m joking, Simon.”

His brow furrowed. “I caused you pain?”

“Not as much as I anticipated. It’s a natural act, after all.”

“There isn’t always pleasure for a woman.” He leaned over the mound of bedding that hid her, his voice stark with desire. “Is there a spot on your body that I’ve neglected to adore?”

She glanced up at his face. He looked sweetly anxious and yet forbidding. For an instant she thought of David, of how different she might feel had Simon not taken his place. But it was as if the duke had already erased him. She would never know another man. No one else could compare.

Without warning he lowered his head another inch and kissed her with lingering possession. She basked in his warmth. Her body went limp. He said, “Forgive my roughness. Are you recovered enough for me to hold you, knowing what it might lead to?”

“You are demanding,” she whispered, a frisson of anticipation sliding down her spine.

“You are sublime,” he said as he settled against her. “I feel as if I’ve conquered the world.”

She smiled, curling her knees into his side. “Not just a continent?”

“I want to give you a gift to celebrate our wedding. Gems, gowns, a golden coach.”

She wriggled to fit against the hard contours of his body. “A glass of water?”

“Rest while I bring it to you.”

“I really am in need of a wash, Simon.”

“I shall attend to that, too. There is nothing more I can do to give you comfort?”

“Could you put me back in one piece?”

He expelled a sigh. “I ought to confess regret, but it isn’t in me to lie. You will feel sore for some days. I’ve never known such bewitchment. I hope you don’t resent me.”

“My recovery is imminent.”

“I can’t say the same for mine.”

She could not resist another smile. She felt possessed and replete. “Why did you avoid me the last few times you came to the castle?” she asked curiously.

He traced his fingertip from her nose to her chin. “No one could accuse me of avoiding you now. Nothing but water, you said?”

More of you, she thought ruefully, and even though she felt half-broken and indecorously pummeled, she would not refuse him what remained of her. She wished she’d understood that his virility concealed such complicated tenderness. She might have chased him to the chapel years ago.

He stirred. “You can bathe before breakfast. Whenever we decide to eat, that is. I’ll have hot water brought to the room. Or we can take tea and cake in bed.”

“I’d like that. However,” she added in embarrassment, “there is a dampness between my legs that is unsettling. It needs immediate attention.”

“It is my seed and your virgin’s blood,” he said matter-of-factly. “I’ll fetch a cloth to cleanse it from you. In the meantime you should take the chance to rest.”

Which, after his candidly disarming description of her lost maidenhead, was unlikely.

On the way to the antechamber he passed a cheval glass that cupped a pair of unlit beeswax candles. He paused to stretch his arms above his head, a beautifully fashioned and unselfconscious creature. His absence of inhibition seemed appropriate in view of the intimacies they had just shared. He was not admiring his body. But she was.

She was transfixed by the angular symmetry of his reflection. The poor light prevented her from a detailed perusal of his form. She could not distinguish his exact proportions. But she had taken him inside her. The dull pressure of their union echoed in her deepest regions. A fullness, a connection. He was agile and well-formed.

He moved past the mirror in silence and disappeared into the antechamber. She made an attempt to tidy her hair, the bedclothes, and then drifted into a daze. What a night. How would she describe her rite of passage if she recorded the experience in her diary, to look back upon when she grew old? Assuredly not in Simon’s blunt language.

Instead, she would employ flowery euphemisms, delicately embroidered half-truths such as, “He used me gently through the night,” and, “From the moment he parted the bed curtains, I became insensible to all but his will. The details are obscure. I only know that when I awoke, I was a woman without a memory.”

She grinned. How untrue. She remembered every torrid detail; every demand he’d made of her and won. There was no doubt that she’d lost a weak-willed boy in David and was married to a full-blooded man. One who only minutes later gently drew her from her repose and back into the crook of his shoulder.

She sighed. “I almost fell asleep.”

His fingers drifted down her arm. “Should I retire to the other room?”

She nestled her face in the hollow of his neck. His hair felt damp, as if he’d washed, and his skin smelled clean, of Castile soap. “Whatever for?”

“For your sake. You can barely keep your eyes open.”

“That is because I can barely keep my eyes where they belong,” she admitted. “But yes, I did stay up late last night with Jane and Isolde, discussing the wedding.”

“Ah,” he said with a knowing smile.

“And fashion,” she added unnecessarily. “Aunt Glynnis has advised me that I should begin to dress as befitting my rank.”

“You need not follow the latest fashion to please me. But if it pleases you to do so, I shall open my purse to oblige.”

“I don’t want you to spoil me. I wasn’t mollycoddled as a girl. No one expects you to indulge my slightest whim.”

“I shall if I want to,” he said with an authority she decided it would be disadvantageous to challenge.

A woman could swim against the tide or allow it to carry her to undiscovered shores. Considering her husband’s abilities, Ravenna saw no reason to question the order of things.

Simon had not gone into the antechamber solely to fetch his wife a glass of water. He had retreated to make use of the washstand and compose himself. Even so, he felt like a beast about to spring fangs as she sat up in bed to drink from the pewter goblet.

“Better?” He took the vessel from her hands and placed it on the bedside table.

“Except for the one unbecoming complaint I mentioned.”

“Do not fret,” he said. “I have a remedy for you.”

He raised the sheet she had demurely draped across her breasts. She was a sight to behold, her tumbled charm so engaging that he almost forgot the damp cloth he had brought her. “I soaked this in comfrey,” he explained as he slipped his hand between her thighs. “It should help bring down the swelling.”

Her nose wrinkled. “Comfrey? It has an odd scent for an herb.”

“And diluted champagne. The water seemed a little cold. I wanted to soothe you.”

She gasped back a laugh. “You scoundrel. Do you do this often?”

“Never.” He dabbed gingerly at her stained flesh. “My valet keeps a supply of medicinals on hand for shaving mishaps. Is that better?”

“I’m not sure,” she said and rolled onto her side, unintentionally presenting him with a view of her posterior. “You are too much. Anointing me with champagne.”

“I trust it didn’t sting,” he said, reaching back to place the cloth on the table.

“I was too overcome to notice. You are sin incarnate. To think I doubted Jane.”

He chuckled, his chin resting on the top of her head. “I should warn you that it isn’t wise to criticize a man whose chains of restraint have been unfettered.”

“What if I do?” she whispered, feeling cherished, daring, and certain she could hear the rattle of broken links.

“Then I might have to discipline you.” He dipped his head to lavish kisses on her shoulder. His mouth raised shivers where it lingered. “There’s a possibility, however, that any such action might come back to haunt me, you being such an adventurous girl.”

“You aren’t the shrinking sort yourself. What manner of discipline do you have in mind?”

He fitted his groin to her backside. His penis stood erect; the pressure branded her skin. Her body tingled as she anticipated another round of wicked bliss. He whispered, “I’ll show you once we know each other a little better.”

“You’re one of my oldest friends.”

His dark voice caressed her nape, sending another tingle down her back. “I was referring to a more basic knowledge.”

“Of course you were,” she said with a laugh of resignation. His hand slid down her spine to the seam of her bottom, dipping between her thighs to her cleft. She inhaled and slowly closed her eyes.

Her body softened, opened, acutely sensitive. His fingers parted her engorged folds and splayed, intensifying the ache that rendered her his captive. She was tender inside, and still her body clenched in response, ravenous for more of his masterful touch.

Who had she become? She was so willing to oblige his wants that she could not have been the same woman who’d only hours ago stood at the altar. Simon, however, was flagrant in what he needed. No trace of his earlier reticence was evident. He was all dark arrogance now.

He licked a path from her nape, down her spine, and to the rise of her bottom, murmuring, “I want to take a bite of you.”

“You wouldn’t.” She gasped as he held her around the waist and sank his teeth lightly into her rump. “I feel as if a fox just nipped my bum.”

“Delicious. Did you know you have two adorable dimples on your arse?”

“Dimples are the mark of the devil.”

“The devil cannot have you. As of today you are the property of a duke.”

“Does it follow that you belong to me?”

“Down to the bone,” he said without hesitation. “Deeper even.”

“And I can make similar claims on you?” she asked, turning her head slightly to his, her gaze narrowing in speculation.

A smile ghosted his face. “At any hour of the day or night. I await your pleasure. Claim me, duchess.”

Several moments elapsed. He fell silent, his fingers slightly embedded in her folds. She throbbed inside where he had filled her. “Simon?” she asked at length, drawing onto her back to regard him. “What are you doing?”

“Thinking,” he said.

“About?”

“You,” he answered, covering her with his body. “Us. This.”

She didn’t need to ask whether he was at least for the moment content. The tone of his voice allayed her doubts. With only a smile to forewarn her of his intentions, he eased his fingers from her sheathe, parted her thighs, and pushed slowly inside her.

“This?” She swallowed a cry as he ground into her. She felt unbearably swollen as her muscles closed around his shaft. She felt a sweet pain, an urge to draw him deeper. “The act of sex itself?”

“No,” he said. “The act of us together. Body and soul as one.” His back flexed; his face darkened in raw desire. His answer sent exhilaration through her blood. “Marriage to you is all that I have needed, and apparently I need it more than I could admit.”