“Good afternoon, Tulk,” Lionel said as he came into the house following a meeting. “Is my wife at home?”

“No, my lord. She is at the orphanage with Lady Clare.”

Lionel hadn’t realized she’d planned the excursion, but then why would he know? Just because they’d had sex didn’t mean they were now sharing information about their days.

Tulk closed the door and looked at Lionel. “Might I have a word?”

“Certainly. Come to my office.” He led the way through the drawing room and went to stand behind his desk.

“Your mail is there.” Tulk inclined his head toward the desk. “I don’t wish to overstep, of course, but since you entrusted me with the truth of your marriage, I thought I should ask if things had changed?”

Lionel had looked down at the missives stacked on his desk and now jerked his head up. “What do you mean?”

“I, ah, I couldn’t help but realize you and Lady Axbridge were together in here last night. I don’t mean to pry…”

Lionel snorted. “And yet you are.”

Tulk arched a brow, looking appropriately chastised. “Just so. Am I premature in offering my congratulations?”

“Yes, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

Tulk nodded, then took himself from the room.

Lionel stared after him for a moment before shaking his head. Tulk wasn’t the only person who’d noticed the change—Hennings had said something that morning. His evidence had been Lionel’s ridiculously jolly mood. As Hennings had put it, “It’s not too difficult to recognize when you’ve been with a woman, particularly when it’s been so long since the last time.”

Lionel had thanked him for reminding him of that and then asked how Hennings had known it was Emmaline. Maybe it had been someone else.

Hennings had looked him square in the eye and told him he knew him better than anyone—and the only woman Lionel would be shagging was his wife.

He was, of course, absolutely correct.

And Lionel could hardly wait to do it again. But would they? She’d told him she couldn’t make promises, just as she’d vowed she wouldn’t regret what they’d done. He hoped she still felt that way today.

He sat down and went through his mail, which included the invoice from Townsend’s tailor—Mullens. Lionel reviewed it with interest. It seemed Townsend liked clothing. Expensive clothing. Mullens’s rates were competitive, but the fabrics used were of premium quality.

What had happened to all of Townsend’s clothing? Lionel wasn’t sure he had the nerve to ask Emmaline. Did it really matter? Why bring up something like that when it had the potential to remind her of why and how much she hated Lionel.

Hell. Was he doomed to second-guess everything to do with her in fear that they’d go right back to where they’d started?

It’s far more than you deserve, came the haughty voice of self-loathing in the back of his head.

He refocused on the invoice, curious as to the tailor’s skills and whether he really possessed and used such expensive materials. He’d pay Mullens a visit and maybe even commission a new suit of clothing.

Tulk appeared in the doorway once more. “Mr. Forth-Hodges is here to see you.”

Lionel instantly bristled. He couldn’t think of any reason to speak with the man. “Show him in.”

A minute later, Mr. Forth-Hodges entered wearing a wide grin. The man was portly, with thinning hair. Emmaline had inherited her beauty entirely from her mother.

“Good day, Axbridge. How are things with my daughter? She’s been quite scarce since your wedding. My wife has only seen her once, and I haven’t seen her at all.”

Lionel was pleased to hear it. Just as he wondered what Emmaline could’ve had to say to her mother. Again, he missed the intimacy that would come with knowing his wife, talking with her, sharing with her.

“I can’t say I’m surprised,” Lionel drawled.

“Oh, well. Yes, I suppose.” Forth-Hodges looked mildly uncomfortable. “May I sit?”

Lionel gestured toward the chair on the other side of the desk near the corner.

Emmaline’s father sat, then adjusted his waistcoat. Lionel steepled his fingers in front of his chin as he waited for the man to get on with it.

“We’re quite thrilled with your marriage, of course. In fact, I’d say you did her a huge favor eliminating Townsend.”

“I thought you were perhaps joking when you made a similar comment on our wedding day.” Lionel fought a wave of nausea. “You aren’t really glad I killed him?”

Forth-Hodges blinked. “Glad? No, no. Relieved is perhaps a better way of stating things.”

Lionel stared at him. Before he could articulate his disgust, Forth-Hodges continued. “We also deeply appreciate your financial assistance. We, ah, had some difficulty there staving off Townsend’s creditors.”

“I am aware.” They’d been thrilled to receive payment from Lionel.

“In fact, the things we did settle caused a bit of hardship for us.” Forth-Hodges’s neck flushed, and he looked away. “Mrs. Forth-Hodges and I hoped you might see clear to reimbursing us for those payments.” He finally settled his gaze on Lionel, and it was full of apprehension. Small droplets of sweat dotted the man’s forehead.

Lionel wanted to be sure he understood. “You wish me to reimburse you for all of Townsend’s debts that you settled. And how much is that?”

“Several hundred pounds—I can send an itemization.” Forth-Hodges dashed a handkerchief over his brow.

“I would require it. Which isn’t to say I agree.” Lionel enjoyed watching the man sweat. Literally. “Are you destitute, then?”

“Oh no, no. But I have…other things I’d hoped to spend that money on.” Of course he did.

“And you think I don’t?” Lionel didn’t bother waiting for an answer—he didn’t really want one. “Was Sir Duncan prepared to do this?”

Forth-Hodges’s mouth gaped open. “Er, no.”

“And would you have asked him?”

He wiped his weeping forehead again. “Perhaps?” The word squeaked out.

“Ah, then it really is fortuitous that Emmaline married me.” He gave the man a deceptively serene smile. Inside, he was boiling with outrage. “You must realize, Mr. Forth-Hodges, that I am a man of honor. I also value your daughter more highly than I suspect you ever have. For those reasons—and those reasons only—I will reimburse you. After I receive an accounting.”

He stood and walked around the desk, stopping when he towered over the man’s chair, and he looked up at Lionel with increasing fear. “Don’t for a moment think I care what happens to you or Mrs. Forth-Hodges. From what I can see, you’ve been less than parental in your duties.”

“I beg your pardon,” Forth-Hodges sputtered as he cast his head back to look up at Lionel. “We love Emmaline. We’ve worked hard to see her settled. The gel made a colossal mistake, and we’ve done our best to fix it.”

“Your best is lacking. Being a parent goes beyond arranging a marriage that benefits you. You may think that’s love, but it is not.” Lionel couldn’t help but think of his own mother and father, of the dreams they’d had for him to grow up happy and loved—by them and some day by a wife of his own. “Send me the accounting.”

Forth-Hodges slid to the edge of the chair and stood, then quickly backed up a step. Two steps. “I will. Thank you.”

“You can thank me by showing your daughter some care. Maybe tell her that you love her and are pleased to have her as a daughter. Yes, do that. Also, Emmaline is to hear nothing of this.” She didn’t need to know that her father had no shame. “Do you understand?”

Forth-Hodges nodded. Lionel could see he was a little afraid, which meant his intimidation tactics were working. Or was it more than that? He was, after all, the Duke of Danger, and most gentlemen were careful to treat him with deference.

Distress nagged Lionel’s insides. He hadn’t ever wanted to be someone who inspired fear.

“Why are you still here?” Lionel asked.

Forth-Hodges bobbed his head. “I’ll send the accounting along.” He hurried to the door but paused before leaving. He looked back over his shoulder. “I do love my daughter. And I can see she chose very well this time. That assessment has nothing to do with your title or your wealth. She deserves a man like you.” He stared at Lionel a moment before dropping his gaze. Then he left.

Lionel didn’t want to care what Forth-Hodges thought of him, but couldn’t help appreciating the man’s words. A man like him.

A man like he wanted to be was more accurate. Lionel’s gaze darted to the portrait of his father. I’m trying.

And now he had a tangible reason—Emmaline. At the very least, she deserved someone who would love her. He was beginning to think he might just be that man.

* * *

When Emmaline stepped into the dining room that evening, Lionel was waiting for her. He stood beside the table, dressed in a crisp brown tailcoat with a dark gold waistcoat. His broad shoulders filled the garments nicely, and his pantaloons fit his legs to perfection. She realized she looked at him differently now that she’d seen him nude. Or mostly nude. She recalled he hadn’t actually removed his pantaloons the night before.

“Good evening, my lady.” His seductive tone skipped over her, provoking gooseflesh along her neck and arms. “You are a vision of loveliness.” He studied her quite thoroughly, his gaze warming with desire.

Perhaps dinner together wasn’t such a good idea. She wanted to take things slowly, but last night’s activities had done nothing to satisfy her attraction to him. If anything, she wanted him even more now.

“Good evening.” She walked to her chair, and he held it out for her.

“I was so delighted to get your note about dinner. Dare I hope this will become a regular occurrence?” He took his chair and nodded toward the footman to begin serving the first course.

“Could we discuss this after the meal?” She glanced toward the footman.

Lionel’s eyes took on a sheen of acknowledgment. “Of course.” He waited for the footman to pour wine into their glasses then lifted his in a toast. “To enjoying our evening.”

What did he mean by that? Was he hoping to repeat last night’s events?

She silently chided herself for reading anything into what amounted to an innocuous comment. She raised her glass and drank.

“I understand you visited the orphanage with Ivy today?” He cut into his duck and took a bite.

Emmaline picked up her utensils. “Yes. It was most enlightening. The children are charming.” She thought of Cecil and several others. “They’re so small and helpless. I plan to return. I am going to take some toys and books.”

“How splendid. Perhaps I could accompany you.”

He would want to do that? “If you’d like.”

“I would. It breaks my heart to think they don’t have a proper family.” His brow creased, and she knew he meant the sentiment as more than just a polite thing to say.

She swallowed a bite of duck. “Family is important to you, isn’t it?”

“It is. I’d give anything to have my father—and my mother—back.”

“I’d trade mine for yours.” She’d spoken the words without really thinking them through. “That sounded rather cold. I don’t wish my parents dead. I only meant that I wish you had yours too.” She closed her mouth before she continued to sound like a heartless daughter.

His lips curved into a slight smile. “It wasn’t cold, and you don’t need to feel bad at all. I appreciate the sentiment more than I can say.”

Since they were talking about family, she wanted to ask him about children. But she didn’t want to do so in front of the footman. Instead, she changed the subject. They discussed the warm spring weather, her horse and riding in general, and whether they liked to attend the theater—they both did, and Lionel promised to take her—while they finished the course.

After the footman cleared the plates and served the second, Lionel excused him from the dining room. He looked over at her. “Now we may speak freely. Although, I must tell you that my staff is both discreet and trustworthy.”

“I don’t doubt it. However, I know they have been speculating about us. Mrs. Wells is apparently quite concerned that we aren’t dining together.”

“Yes, I’d heard that too,” he said. “But now we are dining together—at least tonight—so that should make Mrs. Wells quite happy.”

Emmaline took a bite of boiled potatoes and washed it down with a swallow of wine. “I thought we should talk about what happened last night.”

A sparkle danced in his eye. “I enjoyed it immensely. I hope you did too.”

“Yes.” Immensely. She hadn’t slept that well since long before Geoffrey had died. “Specifically, I wished to discuss the prospect of…children. I couldn’t help but think of them today at the orphanage. And whether I might be with child.”

He set his utensils down. “That would make me immeasurably happy,” he said softly.

Her insides warmed. She’d been fairly certain he would say that, but was still pleased to hear it. “There’s every chance I’m not. I was married to Geoffrey for nearly a year and never conceived.”

“I’m sure there was good reason.”

For the last several months, yes—he’d stopped sharing her bed. He’d taken to sleeping on the settee in his office. But for the first six months, they’d engaged in sexual relations. She’d begun to worry that she couldn’t conceive and had confided such to Ivy, who’d assured her that it sometimes took time.

“We shared a bed,” she said.

“Yes, I recall you saying you’d enjoyed doing so.” His tone was dry.

She had said that. But now that she’d experienced Lionel’s attentions… Well, they didn’t quite compare.

“All this talk of children and sex… You’re increasing my hopes.” He gave her a thoroughly provocative stare. “There are many things I’d like to do.”

Heat leapt through her. “I see. As I said, I prefer to take things slowly.”

“I understand. I am very patient.” He angled toward her, his gaze traveling over what he could see of her with the table blocking his view from her waist down. “However, if you were inclined to…go faster, I might take advantage of our current privacy.” His voice had dropped to a seductive rasp.

“And what would you do?” She shouldn’t ask. Her resolve was wavering. Why was she holding back?

He sipped his wine but didn’t immediately respond. He seemed to be formulating his answer.

“I rather enjoyed kissing you, so I’d probably start there.” He narrowed his eyes a moment. “Actually, maybe I wouldn’t. I think I’d like to just touch you and…watch.”

Her breath caught. “What does that mean?” She wanted him to describe it in perfect detail.

“It means I’d move my chair over a bit. Like this.” He slid his chair toward her. He suddenly frowned. “This would be difficult. You aren’t at all in the right position. Or I’m not.” He stood and relocated to the chair on her right. He sat facing her, so that the back of the chair was on his left side.

She started to turn toward him.

“No, stay where you are. I’m working this out in my head.” He touched her knee. Lightly. She could barely feel him through the layers of her skirt and petticoat, but it was enough to make her temperature shoot through the roof. Since the day he’d walked into her house to offer his help, he’d stirred something in her—anger, despair, desire.

She thrust thoughts of that day away. She didn’t want to think about their beginnings. Nor did she wish to think of anything to do with Geoffrey. Not now.

“Let me see, I think I’d lift your skirt.” He reached down her leg and pulled the silk up until he found the hem. With painstaking precision, he revealed her leg inch by tantalizing inch.

Her heart pounded mercilessly as her breathing grew more rapid. His hand skimmed along her thigh. “Next I’d sweep through these pesky petticoats until I reached those feather-soft curls.”

He didn’t do what he said but continued to stroke her flesh.

“And?” She could barely gather enough moisture in her mouth to form the word.

“I’d touch you, glide my fingers along your sweet folds.” He brushed his hand against her, and she gasped softly.

“But you have to look at me. I want to see your eyes darken until they’re almost cobalt as I slip my finger inside you.”

She edged forward slightly, seeking what he described. But he didn’t give her what she wanted. His touch was maddeningly soft and…lacking. Frustration curled in her gut alongside the fervent need.

“Lionel.”

His eyes hooded with desire. “How I love to hear my name on your lips.”

“Lionel,” she repeated. “Is this going to be a demonstration?”

He blinked at her, his eyes wide. “Oh, you wish me to do as I say? I thought you wished to refrain.”

“I said go slow. I never said refrain.”

“Apologies. I thought that was implied. My mistake.” His hand stilled. “Are you asking me to pleasure you?”

She’d never imagined words could be so titillating. Yes, he was touching her, but it was without urgency or heat. Every bit of her arousal was due to the things he was saying. And the way he was saying them. He looked at her as if she were something to worship.

With my body, I thee worship.

He’d said those words on their wedding day. Apparently, he’d meant them. She suddenly felt quite humble. And uncertain. Again, he’d given her so much, while she…

She stood up abruptly, disrupting the tablecloth and hence her plate. “I’m going to bed.”

He rose, slowly, and her gaze dipped to the rigid outline of his hard cock. She considered unbuttoning his fall and conducting her own seduction without words, but ultimately couldn’t.

She did want to take things slow—impulsivity had never been her friend.

“Good night.” She turned from him and rapidly strode from the dining room before she could change her mind.