The satiny feel of her thigh would be forever imprinted on his hand. It had taken an unprecedented force of will for him to remove it and back away from her. But now she was sitting up and practically glaring at him, her eyes blazing, her body magnificently nude—so fair and lustrous in the candlelight.

She was the personification of the tumult inside him. Part beauty, part furor, and wholly captivating. He couldn’t leave her now.

He held himself still as she flicked open the buttons of his fall. The fabric fell open, and because he wasn’t wearing smallclothes, he was completely exposed. She wrapped her fingers around his cock. He closed his eyes and savored her touch. She moved slowly but firmly, her hand gliding over him from base to tip.

She began to move faster, and blood pulsed to his cock. He thrust into her hand, his hips moving of their own volition.

“Emmaline, if you want to finish…”

Her hand paused, and he opened his eyes. Her gaze was slitted with desire, and his body raged anew with need.

He swept her into his arms and stood, then carried her to the settee, where he laid her atop the cushions. She was so beautiful, from her dainty toes to her shapely thighs to the sweet curve of her breasts to the gilded blonde of her hair. But he longed to see it loose, and it was captured in a plait.

He knelt next to the settee and tugged at her hair. She lifted her hand and loosened the plait. He pulled the strands free, running his fingers through the silken locks. When it hung just past her breasts, he looked his fill. Then he brushed it back from her face and kissed her, driving his tongue deep into her mouth.

She opened for him, her arms coming around his neck as she kissed him back with a ferocity that curled his toes and flushed his skin. She met him stroke for stroke, and he practically shook from the wonder of it.

After a long minute of sparring with her, he left her mouth and found her breasts once more. They filled his hand, and she was so wonderfully responsive when he lavished attention there. He tweaked one nipple between his fingertips as he suckled the other. She groaned, and he couldn’t wait to feel the moisture that had certainly flooded her core.

Skimming his hand down across the smooth plane of her stomach, he found the thatch of curls that guarded the sweetest perfection he’d ever tasted. He touched her, and yes, she was wet. She moaned as he stroked her flesh, and dug her fingers into his back.

“Please.” She pulled at him.

He moved onto the settee between her legs, but was content—for now—to continue his ministrations. His cock throbbed with need, and soon he would sink into her. But a voice in his head was still surprised at this turn of events. She clearly wanted him, but would she regret it?

“Emmaline.”

She opened her eyes and looked up at him. Her expression was glazed for a moment until she blinked.

“I know you want this now, but will you have regret tomorrow?”

She didn’t immediately respond. He watched as a dozen emotions—indefinable—flashed in her eyes. “I will not. Please… I need this.” She squirmed beneath him, her hips moving against his hand, which he’d stilled between her thighs.

This. Not him, but this. But no, she’d said before that she wanted him. He needed to be sure.

“Say my name.”

Her tongue swept across her bottom lip, provoking his cock to twitch. “Axbridge.”

“No, my name. My given name. Say it.”

She stared up at him, her gaze dark with desire. “Lionel.”

“Tell me you want me.”

“I want you. Lionel.” She reached for his cock once more, her hand closing around him with delicious softness and heat. “Lionel.”

He pushed forward, wrapping his hand over hers as he guided himself to her wet sheath. She pulled him to her, and he slid inside, closing his eyes as a pleasure almost bordering pain sliced through him.

Her hand fell away, and she wrapped her legs around his hips, drawing him more deeply inside her. He paused like that for the barest moment, savoring the feel of her tight heat encasing him. Then her heels dug into his backside, and he gave in to primal instinct.

He drove into her, nearly mindless with need. Her gasps and cries filled his senses along with her scent and the tantalizing feel of her body entwined with his.

She pulled his head down, taking his mouth and adding taste to his sensual feast. The kiss was wild and hot, but quick as they both fought for air. He moved faster, snapping his hips into hers. He looked down at her body as she rose to meet his thrusts. He leaned forward and took her nipple into his mouth, insatiably hungry for every part of her.

She sucked in a sharp breath in response, her hands burrowing into his hair, holding him to her breast. Her muscles tightened around his cock, signaling her orgasm. She cried out, gripping him tightly, and he was undone.

He came in a rush of blinding pleasure, his body stiffening momentarily as his release spilled forth. He cast his head back and let out a guttural groan, unable to contain the rapture commanding his body. Then he continued to move, pumping himself into her and glorying in her response.

Gradually, they slowed, the sounds of their breathing filling the chamber. He didn’t want to crush her with his weight, so he withdrew and stood up from the settee.

He went to fetch his cravat, and when he came back, she was sitting up. He handed her the garment. “Not the best tool, but I thought you might want to clean up.”

“Thank you.”

He turned his back to her to offer a modicum of privacy and rebuttoned his fall before turning around.

She’d risen from the settee and strode forward, her nude body beyond beautiful. He bent to grab her robe, then handed it to her. “My apologies about your night rail.”

She arched a brow at him. “You said you’d buy me a hundred more.” Her lips curved into a half smile, and he realized she was having fun.

Fun?

Could things really be different between them?

She took the garment and pulled it around herself, shielding herself from him. Disappointment pierced him like an arrow to the gut.

Her gaze drifted to his left shoulder. She stepped closer and reached out, her fingers skimming over his flesh. “What’s this?”

Hell and the devil. He glanced down at where she touched him, but of course already knew what she was referencing.

“It’s a scar.”

Her mouth twisted, and she flashed him a look of frustration. “I can see that. What is it from? It looks like you were shot.”

He moved away from her in search of his shirt. “Yes.”

“When?” She followed him. “It also looks relatively new.”

He bent to pick up his shirt and pulled it over his head, his back to her.

When he didn’t answer, she grabbed his bicep and pulled him around to face her. “Did Geoffrey do that?”

He kept his expression impassive. “Yes.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

He looked away from the insistence in her eyes. “I saw no reason to.”

She stepped toward him and tugged the opening of his shirt to the side so she could see the scar once more. “This matters. He shot you. I would have liked to have known.”

“Why? Would it change anything? I still killed him.”

She flinched, dropping her hand. But she didn’t move away.

He did it for her, stepping to the side. “He shot me, I shot him. He died. I didn’t.” He prayed she wouldn’t ask for more. He didn’t want to tell her the truth of things, that her beloved Geoffrey had fired early. He wouldn’t ruin her memory of him. Nor would he attempt to improve his own lot by telling her. He couldn’t think of anything more despicable, especially when it wouldn’t matter. So Townsend had shot first? That didn’t forgive the fact that Lionel had killed him.

She turned from him and picked up her ruined night rail. “I’ll order more tomorrow—but not a hundred.”

“Emmaline.”

She pivoted but didn’t meet his gaze. The fiery woman who’d demanded his attention had gone.

“What else will happen tomorrow?” he asked.

“I’m not sure.” She lifted her eyes to his. “But it won’t involve regret.”

She left the room, closing the door behind her.

He picked up the whiskey glass that she’d set on the desk and downed the contents. His body was still warm from their exertions, still thrumming from pleasure. He could scarcely believe what had just happened, and to hear her say she wouldn’t regret it… Hope filled his chest but was quickly replaced by a shaft of ice.

There was still so much between them. Enjoying physical pleasure was only a part of a real marriage. He’d seen one firsthand, felt the love and admiration that had flowed freely and unabashedly between his parents.

Did he want that? Of course he did.

Did he want that with Emmaline?

She was his wife. If he didn’t find it with her, he never would. For he’d pledged himself to her forever.

She was his only chance for the life he wanted, even though he might not deserve it.

* * *

Lark finished pinning Emmaline’s hair and stepped back. “All ready, then.”

Emmaline surveyed herself in the glass. For the first time in months, she actually looked well rested. In fact, she maybe even looked…happy? Satisfied at least. Yes, definitely satisfied.

Last night’s events in Lionel’s office had been thoroughly unplanned and yet precisely what she needed. The question was whether they would do it again.

Lark fetched a pair of gloves and handed them to Emmaline. Her gaze was hesitant but inquisitive.

“Is there something you want to ask me?” Emmaline asked.

“I found your night rail this morning.”

Emmaline worked to keep the heat from her face. She’d brought it upstairs with her and tossed it on a chair prior to collapsing in bed exhausted. “Oh. I’m going to order a few new ones.”

Lark’s mouth curved into a small smile. “Dare I hope the circumstances of your marriage have changed?”

“Hope? I didn’t realize you had an opinion one way or the other.” Lark had been supportive of Emmaline—after the initial surprise of learning that she was to marry the man who’d killed Geoffrey. She understood why Emmaline had wanted a marriage of convenience instead of a forced union with Sir Duncan.

“I haven’t spent time with his lordship, of course, but everything I’ve heard of him recommends his character,” Lark said. “His staff is quite devoted to him.”

Yes, Emmaline had noticed that also. “I suppose things have…progressed,” she said. “But we are a long way from happily married.” She wasn’t sure that was even a possibility.

“This will please the staff, particularly Mrs. Wells. She’s been growing more distressed by the day that you and his lordship don’t even dine together.”

Emmaline drew on her gloves. “I hope they aren’t gossiping about us overmuch.”

Lark picked up Emmaline’s bonnet and set it on her head. “I wouldn’t call it gossip. They truly care for his lordship—and you—and only wish to see you happy.” She tied the ribbons beneath Emmaline’s chin.

“Mrs. Wells is eager for children.” And it was now possible she would have them. Emmaline hadn’t considered that last night. She hadn’t considered much of anything beyond how wonderful he’d made her feel and how marvelous it had been to just let go.

“Yes.” Lark finished with the bonnet and stepped back. “Are you?”

No, she was still trying to become accustomed to what had happened last night. Things had changed. She just wasn’t sure how much. If there was a child… Well, she wanted children, so there were certainly worse things that could happen. She also knew he wanted children. He’d asked about them when she’d proposed their arrangement. He’d probably be delighted.

Was there a chance he’d orchestrated last night’s activities to achieve that end? She scoffed at herself. That was absurd. She’d had to convince him to go through with it. The evening had been a surprising turn of events for both of them.

“I think it’s a bit premature to discuss children,” Emmaline said, ready to be finished with this conversation.

Lark nodded, and Emmaline left the chamber. Downstairs, Tulk opened the door for her as he normally did. Had she expected something different? Just because she felt different didn’t mean anyone else would notice. Lark had the benefit of finding the ruined night rail. Without that evidence, would she have detected the slight buoyancy in Emmaline’s step?

Emmaline climbed into the waiting coach. It took a while to reach the orphanage, which meant she had plenty of time to relive every moment of last night. By the time she arrived, she was glad to leave the warm confines of the coach.

She walked inside and found Ivy waiting for her in the entry hall. They embraced briefly.

“I’m so glad you came today,” Ivy said.

Emmaline smiled in return. “I’m so glad you invited me. What are we to do?”

“I wanted to introduce you to the headmistress, and then we will meet some of the children. I’m going to work with some of them on their reading. I thought you could read a few stories to the smaller ones?”

“I would enjoy that very much.”

Ivy led her into a large chamber with tables and seating areas where small children were reading or drawing or even writing. They ranged in age from perhaps two to eight years. There were so many—a few dozen—and to think they had no parents, no one to care for them… Emmaline’s throat burned with a sudden rush of emotion.

“Good morning, I’m Mrs. Templeton.” The headmistress greeted Emmaline with a wide smile. “We’re always so happy when Lady Clare brings a friend—or two—to help.”

Emmaline was sorry she hadn’t come sooner. “I’m delighted to be here.”

“Come, I’ll introduce you to the children.” Mrs. Templeton took them around the room, and Emmaline stepped on something small and round.

She bent down and picked up a clay marble.

With a sigh, Mrs. Templeton turned to one of the tables where a boy was seated. “Cecil, one of your marbles has gotten loose again.”

Cecil, a wide-eyed boy of about six years, came forward. “My apologies, Mrs. Temptleton.”

“You must be more careful. You don’t wish to trip anyone.”

He nodded as his shoulders drooped.

Emmaline walked over to him. “Here’s your marble.” She wanted to bring him real marbles—made from marble—and made a note to do that on her next visit. Because she absolutely planned to come again. “Perhaps we can play later.” She looked over at Ivy and Mrs. Templeton, hoping she hadn’t spoken out of turn.

“Of course,” Ivy said. “They have time for play in a while.”

Emmaline met the rest of the children, then settled herself in a chair with a handful of books to read to the youngest children, who gathered on the floor in a semicircle around her. As she read, the children edged closer, and she decided to leave the chair and sit with them. Soon they were snuggled all around her, the smallest one in her lap.

Yes, children would be nice.

Before she knew it, the children were dismissed for play. Emmaline found Cecil, and he proceeded to beat her at marbles several times.

“You’ve had fun today,” Ivy said, joining Emmaline as the children left to go to the dining hall for tea.

Emmaline stood up from the floor, brushing at the skirt of her gown. “Yes. More than I anticipated. I can’t wait to come again.”

Ivy beamed. “I’m so glad you enjoyed it. Cecil really took a liking to you. He can be difficult sometimes.”

“I’m going to bring him some real marbles next time.”

Ivy chuckled. “You’ll likely win him over for life.”

Emmaline felt a shaft of sadness. “To think that something so simple could mean so much… It’s very humbling.”

“Indeed it is. Your compassion is lovely. Thank you.” Ivy cocked her head to the side and studied her a moment. “You seem different today—more serene. Did something happen, or is it just the children making you glow?”

Glow? Emmaline instinctively raised her hand to her face. She considered saying it was just the children, but she wanted to tell someone besides her maid. “Lionel and I, er, had intercourse last night.”

Ivy stared at her. “That’s unexpected. Are you happy about that?”

The words she’d used with Lionel last night came back to her. “I certainly don’t regret it.”

Ivy grinned. “Well, that’s good to hear.”

“I’m very conflicted. I wouldn’t mind doing it again—and I’m sure he feels the same, at least about that. But anything more… I don’t think I can contemplate that yet.” Well, she could contemplate it. She just wasn’t sure she wanted more. And maybe she never would.

“Then maybe you just take things very slowly. You do have a lifetime to figure this out.”

Emmaline let out a soft, ironic laugh. “Yes, I do.”

“It’s good to hear you laugh. And see you smile. You do seem more at ease, and that has to be a good thing, doesn’t it?” Ivy linked her arms through Emmaline’s and led her to the table where they’d stashed their hats and gloves earlier.

“I think so.” Emmaline heard the doubt in her voice.

“If you wouldn’t mind a piece of advice from someone who lived with regret and anger and self-loathing for quite some time, I would say that you should try to let go of the past. If that’s the only thing hampering you from a happy future with Axbridge, maybe it’s best to forget it and move on.”

Emmaline let her friend’s words sink in. “Thank you, I’ll think about that.”

Later, as she traveled back home, she considered Ivy’s counsel. When she’d said self-loathing, something had fired in Emmaline’s mind. She’d been so angry—at Lionel, at Geoffrey, and, yes, even at herself. If she hadn’t leapt into marriage with Geoffrey in the first place, she wouldn’t be in any of this mess. Never mind the guilt she felt about her own part in Geoffrey’s death. She shoved those thoughts away and grasped at the serenity Ivy had noticed.

Who knew how long it would last?