The air around Marce was warm, bordering on hot and confining, but not in a bad way. Her hair teased her cheek, making her long to push the curl aside to do away with it; however, something held her arm at her side while the other was trapped beneath her. As she stirred, awakening fully, she realized that it was an arm—a very male arm with a dusting of ebony hair—lying across her midsection…her very overheated, naked torso.

She should feel alarmed, shocked, terrified.

However, none of those things filled her. Her stomach fluttered as memories from the previous night invaded her: Rowan speaking with such softness and caressing her with even greater tenderness, his hands exploring her every curve while hers did the same to him, and his fiery, firm mouth traveling from her swollen lips to her neck and then lower.

Together, binding themselves as one, they’d stripped away the many years of lies, the many years of unfulfilled expectations, and pledged never to return to their tortured past—all without saying a word. Their bodies had come together as if it had been meant to be from the moment Rowan stepped into her life.

A tingling sensation began at the juncture of her thighs. It should be foreign to her.

But their hours entwined with one another during the early morning hours had made the tingling awareness far from unfamiliar. No, it was something she would now desire every day of her life because she knew that when the longing was satisfied, she would find her contentment, her fulfillment.

Rowan’s arm around her did not hold her in place and make movement impossible, but brought her a sense of security. No man had ever made her feel secure and safe before. It went against everything she’d believed to be true between a woman and a man. Her mother had used intimate contact with men as a commodity, a way of securing whatever she needed at that moment—yet, none of it had lasted long.

However, here she was with Rowan’s arm slung over her, his naked chest pressed against her back as he held her close, and their legs tangled in the blankets after their night of lovemaking. Something about it all felt unbreakable, though she knew it was foolish and naïve to believe that could be true.

She’d been utterly honest when she’d spoken of her desire to be nowhere else the previous night.

Had this connection between them always been there, lingering just under the surface and waiting for the perfect time to bring them together in such a manner? But why now?

Marce longed for the answer to those questions…and so many more. There was no doubt a connection—an unexplainable pull—had always existed between them; however, she’d thought it was due to the negative aspects that continued their association: his need for retribution and her need to save her family.

Rowan had been a mystery to her for so many years, but last night, he’d allowed his guard to fall and had spoken of things so private, so intimate, so innately him, that a part of her understood every action from his past—their past.

And she forgave him.

She glanced about the room. The drapes were drawn so tightly, she was uncertain if the sun was still lingering on the horizon or if they’d languished in bed long past the noonday meal. Either way, Marce wasn’t ready to depart Rowan’s bed as his soft breathing caressed the nape of her neck.

The coals in the hearth had long since turned to ash in the grate.

Rowan sighed, pulling her closer to him.

Protective even in his slumber.

She couldn’t help but smile, remembering the way he’d delicately taken her in his arms and carried her from the study to his private chambers, their eyes focused on one another the entire time. He’d asked her if she was certain, said that it was not too late for her to return home as if nothing had occurred between them.

To deny their intimacy would have been to negate everything they’d spoken of…and Marce wanted to remember both.

The mask of the arrogant, severe lord had fallen away the moment she’d set her lips to his. The ever-in-control man had been undone by a simple joining of mouths. It was almost as if he’d been waiting—for years—for the moment he could relinquish his firm hold on life and simply enjoy a night of raw, pure passion.

Or perhaps it was her own longing she was projecting onto him.

Either way, Marce remained still, relishing the final moments in his arms before the reality of their situation returned.

He was still a duke, still the man who’d convinced himself that punishing an innocent woman would give him the power to put his father’s betrayal behind him.

Yet, that did not mean those two things went hand in hand. It did not make it impossible for change—both inside and out.

On the other side, she was still the forgotten daughter of a marquess…the madame of a famed London brothel.

Neither of them was foolish enough to think that this one night could entirely change everything about their pasts. She would return to Craven House, collect her belongings, and await the solicitor’s word that the property in Kent had been secured. Rowan would depart for Scotland or another business engagement, leaving London and Marce behind him.

“Good morning,” he whispered, brushing the curl from her cheek. “Or is it afternoon?”

“I wondered the same thing,” she said with a light laugh. “I should rise, gather my things, and be on my way.”

She attempted to wiggle toward the edge of the bed, but his arm fell across her once more, and her legs were hopelessly tangled in the bedcovers.

“I will ring for a meal. There is no hurry.” He pressed his lips, dry from sleep, to her neck.

Her body responded instantly to his touch, as if they’d spent a thousand nights before entwined with each other. Her body tensed with the promise of the pleasure to come…if only she’d allow it. If only her feelings of security were not clouded by her doubts from the past. She’d remained guarded and skeptical for so many years, questioning everything Rowan said and did, it would be nearly impossible to alter her way of thinking so quickly.

“Rowan…I—”

He lifted onto his elbows as she shifted to her back, gazing up into his sparkling eyes, enhanced by his tanned skin and ebony brows.

“Shhhh.” He silenced her by pressing his finger to her lips. “There will be plenty of time to talk. Allow me a few moments to gaze upon your beauty.”

The hardening of his length pressed into her stomach, but his eyes never left hers.

“Gaze upon my beauty?” she asked, her trepidation fading.

“Yes. However, one need look no further than your enchanting, wide eyes to witness your immense loveliness.” Her cheeks flushed, and he leaned down, their noses touching. “I cannot fathom how I went so many years without you in my arms.”

She longed to agree with him, make light of their sordid past, but a thump at the door stopped her.

Her back stiffened, and she scrambled for anything to cover her naked body from view if Rowan’s guest should enter the room.

“Your Grace, Your Grace!” The frantic call was only highlighted as the man continued to pound on the thick, wooden door. “Your Grace.”

“What is it?” Rowan growled.

“Word arrived from your estate,” the voice lowered as if relieved to have located the duke. “You are needed. Immediately. At Hadlow. Your driver, Charles, awaits you in the drive.”

“I have yet to leave my bed,” Rowan called back, the cords in his arms tensing. “What is so urgent that I need rise and depart with such haste?”

“It is the duchess…“ The voice paused. “The missive said you must come as quickly as possible. That is all that was written.”

Rowan leapt from the bed, his gaze darting around the room, finally settling on his clothes from the previous night. The hurried movements drowned out whatever the servant said next.

Following suit, Marce climbed from the bed, locating her shift, dress, stockings, and shoes lying haphazardly over a chair near the hearth. She focused on dressing herself as Rowan collected a fresh pair of trousers and donned his shirt from the day before. Next, he slipped on his Hessians and ran his hands through his hair before turning to assist her.

“Not the way I pictured acting as your lady’s maid for the first time,” he breathed against her exposed back as he latched the pearl buttons and called out, “Inform Charles that I will be ready to depart in five minutes.”

“Certainly, Your Grace.” Footsteps sounded as the servant hurried down the hall, away from Rowan’s chambers.

“I will come with you,” Marce said, her stare darting about the room. “As soon as I locate my gloves and cloak.”

“We can stop in the study before departing.” Rowan halted, taking her in from head to toe. “Are you certain you want to return to Hadlow with me?”

Confusion swirled as Marce attempted to read the meaning behind his question. “Of course. Leona is like a mother to me. If she is in need, I will be at her side, no matter where you and I stand.”

His stare narrowed as if her reply hadn’t been what he wanted or expected, but after a few seconds, he nodded and started for the door, leaving Marce to follow quickly or be left behind.

By the time they reached the bottom of the grand staircase, Marce was in front of him as she hurried to the study to retrieve her cloak. There was no sign of Lord Cresthaven as they departed the townhouse, and Rowan assisted her into his waiting coach.

“Ready?” he asked.

Marce nodded, settling on the seat beside him. His hand found hers, and their fingers twined together in a way that felt both familiar and comforting. With a sharp rap on the ceiling above, the driver jangled the reins, and the coach burst into movement, throwing Marce back against the velvet squab.

Rowan’s hand trembled, and his fingers tightened on hers, betraying his apprehension. She shifted closer, hoping to offer him the reassurance and support he needed. Neither knew what awaited them at Hadlow.

And so, Marce remained silent at his side as he looked anywhere but at her. The passing landscape as they fled London proper and hurried through the early morning countryside held his attention while she was given ample time to dwell on their night together.

All the while, their hands remained clasped.

There was naught either could do until they arrived in Kent.

As they passed through Welling several hours later, Marce realized that this was their first complete journey together from London to Hadlow Estate. But with so much weighing on them both, and despite having unlimited things to discuss, they both remained silent.

Rowan, his breathing coming in haggard gusts, stared out the glass pane of the coach window.

Despite their joined hands and everything they’d experienced the night before, the distance between them could not have been greater. If Leona passed, their last excuse to remain together would be gone, and they’d need to further explore what lay between them.