After a rocky start, Marigold settled into what she considered a triumphant married life with joy, and more pleasure than she ever could have bargained for. Alex was passionate, patient, and inventive in bed. She was embarrassed to look back on those first moments of her wedding night and how terrified she had been. Lady Stanhope had been right about how delightful sexual relations could be, and for the first six weeks of wedded bliss, not a day went by when Marigold and Alex weren’t wrapped up in each other, sweating and panting as they experienced well beyond twelve steps of carnal bliss.

It left Marigold in a triumphant mood, especially when it came to tackling the situation of Ruby Murdoch.

“Are you settling in well?” she asked Ruby as the young woman brought her hat and gloves to the front door, where Marigold was waiting for the carriage to be brought around to take her to the Palace of Westminster. It was late July, and Parliament was closing for the summer at last. She and Alex were heading to Winterberry Park, Alex’s country house in Wiltshire, the next day, but Ruby, who had been rescued from the workhouse within days of Marigold and Alex’s wedding, would be staying at Croydon House.

“Well enough, ma’am,” Ruby answered with a curtsy, her eyes downcast.

Marigold fastened her hat to her elaborate hairstyle, studying Ruby as she did. The young woman had been in a terrible state when Phillips had brought her back from the workhouse. Her skin had been pale and clammy, her face sunken, and she’d flinched at even the slightest advance any man made toward her. Except, perhaps, Phillips. She’d clutched her baby—a tiny girl named Faith—close, refusing to let Mrs. Clifford take her away to be washed and fed properly.

“It’s because the workhouse tried to take her away,” Phillips had whispered in Marigold’s ear as she’d watched, puzzled and horrified by the situation.

“I thought mothers were allowed to keep infants with them in the workhouse,” Marigold had whispered back.

“They are, ma’am, but the administrators were certain little Faith would die anyhow and didn’t want Ruby distracted from her work because of it,” Phillips had said.

The thought of Ruby losing her baby under such uncaring circumstances had horrified Marigold so much that she had allowed Ruby to have a room of her own with Faith instead of sharing a room with another maid, and she had instructed Mrs. Clifford to ease Ruby into her duties as housemaid, and to be kind to her. In addition, she had personally seen to it that a physician came to tend to Faith. She’d even spent an hour here and there cradling and cooing over the baby while Ruby attended to her duties. Those hours had made her own longing for a child so powerful that she engaged in her and Alex’s nocturnal activity with exceptional vigor.

The one thing neither she nor Alex, nor even the ever-patient Phillips, had been able to get Ruby to do was talk about Turpin or the Black Strap Club, or anything that would help Alex bring about the end of Turpin’s career and interference in Parliament. But there was still time.

“I plan to return as soon as the session is over,” Marigold explained to Ruby as the young woman handed over her gloves. “Although I expect Alex will stay a little longer. Lady Lavinia Prior and Lady Stanhope will be coming for supper this evening, then we are all going out to the theater one last time before everyone decamps to the country. Do you think you’ll have the oriental parlor tidied up by then?” she asked, even though it was a ridiculous question. Of course the parlor would be tidied. That was Ruby’s job, and she was surprisingly good at it. But the more Marigold could engage the shy woman in conversation, the closer she might come to talking about what they needed her to divulge.

But all Ruby said was, “Yes, ma’am,” and curtsied, still not looking her in the eye.

The footman, Long, cleared his throat and moved to hold the door open, indicating that the carriage had arrived. Marigold sent one last smile, one she hoped was confident and caring, Ruby’s way.

“I’m so glad you’ve come to work for us,” she said. “I know things will get better for you from here.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Ruby curtsied and ventured a tremulous smile in return, but she didn’t say more.

Marigold tried to hold back the twist of frustration the maid’s reticence caused. They could force her to talk about Turpin, to bring the whole thing to a close so that the matter could be dismissed quickly, but that would have done more harm than good. And until Ruby spoke, the most Marigold could do to help Alex advance his cause was to appear on his arm at official events, smiling and well-turned-out, and to go out of her way to be sure he was satisfied at night. While there was nothing wrong with either duty, and while she took immense enjoyment in the latter, it wasn’t what she’d thought married life would be like. Her nights were dazzling, but her days felt much longer and somehow lacking.

“You have no idea how happy I am to see you,” she told Lavinia as her friend hopped into the carriage once they’d driven to pick her up.

“Me?” Lavinia blinked in surprise as she settled on the seat beside Marigold. “Why ever would you be happy to see boring old me when you have a whole cadre of new, married friends to call on?”

Marigold sighed. “Because I don’t truly know any of those married friends, aside from Lady Stanhope, who, as it turns out, isn’t welcome in most respectable social circles.”

Lavinia made a sound expressing just what she thought of anyone who would turn up their nose at Lady Stanhope. “It sounds like you’re mired down in a sea of my mother’s friends.”

Marigold winced. “I think I am mired down in your mother’s circles.” She shook her head.

Lavinia rested a supportive hand on her arm. “They are an influential bunch, though. Which, I suppose, is why Mama is so determined to nab exactly the right husband for me.”

“Wouldn’t you rather choose your own?” Marigold asked.

“As if I have that option,” Lavinia laughed.

Marigold sighed and slumped back against the seat as best she could with her fashionably enormous bustle. “Not that I’ve seen much of my husband at all since we married.”

“No?”

Marigold tried not to make a face like a spoiled child. “It’s like we’re living separate lives under the same roof. I had hoped to….”

“What?” Lavinia pressed her.

Marigold sent her a guilty look. “I don’t mean to complain, but I was hoping Alex and I could become friends as well as spouses.”

“Are women friends with their husbands?” Lavinia blinked.

“We should be, but I’m not sure I even know mine.” She paused, irritated with herself for not being content with all the wonderful things she did have. But she still felt like a puzzle with pieces missing. “Weren’t our lives supposed to change and improve as we aged and married?”

“But your life has changed and improved,” Lavinia argued. “Because you are married. You have a distinction now that I don’t.”

“I suppose.”

Marigold brushed a hand over her skirt, trying not to be a sourpuss. She adored Alex. He made her feel things she’d never dreamed of. But if she were honest, she couldn’t remember the last conversation she’d had with him. Parliament demanded his utmost attention. Her father had been right. Alex was a difficult man to be married to.

“Well,” she said as the carriage turned onto Great George Street, and the Palace of Westminster loomed before them, “I’m not going to let the awkwardness of this adjustment phase irritate me, even if it has provoked me into a less than perfect mood. And upset my digestion.”

Lavinia laughed. “Don’t tell me your digestion has turned questionable.”

Prickles of self-consciousness raced down Marigold’s back. “Just in this last fortnight or so.”

Lavinia continued laughing. “Oh dear. Mama is forever complaining about her delicate digestion.” She pressed a hand to her mouth, but her eyes continued to dance with mirth. “My poor Marigold. You’re already turning into one of society’s properly lofty mavens.”

“Lord help me,” Marigold groaned as the carriage joined the queue of others waiting to disgorge parliamentary spectators.

Marigold tried to keep her spirits up by shifting the conversation to the latest gossip about the actress who would be starring in the play they were all seeing that night, but a lingering sense of dissatisfaction hung over her. Ruby was safe, but she wouldn’t talk. Alex was a dream in bed, but she barely had a chance to see him during the day. Her dearest friend was no longer in the same social category she was. Every blessing she’d been handed out came with a curse. And she truly hadn’t felt right in her own skin for weeks now. If married life were such a prize for a woman to win, why did nothing feel right?

When it was their turn to disembark at Westminster’s grand front door, Marigold took a deep breath and pushed as much of her troubles out of her mind as she could. “I’m looking forward to Alex’s speech,” she told Lavinia as the two of them headed toward the entrance. “He was up late practicing it last night, and I’m sure it will leave everyone energized and excited for Parliament to resume this winter.”

“If it does resume,” Lavinia added. “They say Disraeli’s government is on its last legs, and that there will definitely be an election next year.”

“Which is precisely why Alex’s speech is so—”

She stopped when they were just inside the doorway to St. Stephen’s Hall. Only a few yards away, Turpin stood glowering at her. Marigold had barely seen the man in the six weeks since he’d tricked Alex into leaving their bed the day after the wedding. Her fury was as fresh as it had been that day, but Turpin glared at her with equal disgust. It was enough to unnerve her, though she wasn’t about to back down from her own anger.

“Mr. Turpin,” she said, taking the lead and nodding at him.

Turpin narrowed his eyes, stepping around a group of passing young men to stand as close to her as was socially acceptable. “You won’t get away with it,” he growled.

Marigold’s pulse shot up. The blackguard must have found out about Ruby somehow. There was no other reason she could think of that he would behave in such a threatening manner to her when he barely knew her. She wasn’t about to be cowed. “You won’t get away with it either, sir,” she shot back, then took Lavinia’s hand and marched away.

She began to tremble as they moved deeper into the hall.

“What was that all about?” Lavinia asked, breathless with awe, her eyes wide with alarm.

Marigold pressed her lips together, glancing over her shoulder to where Turpin was still watching her as if plotting revenge. “Mr. Turpin is the very worst of men,” she told her friend, careful not to damage Lavinia’s innocent sensibilities the way hers had been damaged by the revelation of Ruby. “He’s done something despicable, and Alex is determined to bring him to justice for it.”

“That sounds exciting,” Lavinia said, though her enthusiasm shifted to worry when Marigold turned back to her. “Doesn’t it?”

Marigold was spared having to explain when she spotted Alex striding up the hall toward them. Her heart leapt with relief in her chest, and it was all she could do not to run up and throw her arms around him as if he were her knight in shining armor, come to vanquish their mutual foe. It didn’t even register that Lady Stanhope was with him.

“Are you ready for your dazzling speech?” she asked, pushing the encounter with Turpin out of her mind as fast as she could.

Alex must have suspected something, however. He glanced to the side, meeting Turpin’s gaze with the ferocity of a tiger protecting its territory. The fact that Turpin was still watching them did nothing to settle Marigold’s nerves.

“Did he accost you?” Alex asked, narrowing his eyes at Turpin.

“Only to tell me I wouldn’t get away with it,” Marigold replied. At the very least, she wanted to take Alex’s hand to seek comfort from his touch, but he was focused on staring daggers at Turpin instead.

“I was afraid of that,” he said.

“Come along, Lady Lavinia,” Lady Stanhope said, reaching for Lavinia’s hand. “Let’s give your poor Mama the vapors by sitting together at the very front of the gallery. We’ll save a seat for Marigold as well.”

“But…I…shouldn’t we….” Lavinia’s protest went unheeded as Lady Stanhope dragged her off toward the gallery stairs, leaving Marigold and Alex alone.

“I should explain,” Alex said, taking Marigold’s arm at last and leading her across the hall to a side corridor with long, quick strides.

“Explain what?” A sense of dread pooled in Marigold’s stomach.

Alex didn’t answer until they were several dozen yards along a dim, narrow corridor. Then he stopped and turned to her with a sigh, pushing a hand through his hair.

“Turpin was behaving like an ass this morning,” he said. “He was being insufferable about the clout he had and the influence he would bring to bear on any vote about the rights of women that we put forward, whether today or next year. Things became heated.”

A slightly sheepish look brought a blush to Alex’s face. Marigold could only imagine the resemblance Alex and his friends might have had to brawling schoolboys in the heat of the moment.

“I told Turpin flat-out that he may soon find himself forced to resign his seat in Commons,” Alex went on.

Marigold frowned. “Did you tell him about Ruby?”

Alex winced.

For a moment, Marigold wasn’t sure if she should take him to task for putting Ruby in danger or congratulate him for setting things into motion. “How did he react?” she asked instead.

Alex’s lips turned up in a triumphant grin. “He flinched like a thief before a magistrate.”

Marigold’s brow lifted, and her spirits with it. “So he knows that his actions were deplorable enough to cause a scandal.”

“He must.” Alex nodded, inching closer to her. “Which means we’re on the right track.” He slid an arm around her waist, drawing her flush against him.

Marigold giggled, glancing around to see if anyone was watching them. The corridor was blessedly empty, but the hullabaloo in St. Stephen’s Hall was still close enough to make her feel deliciously wicked.

“So Lady Stanhope was right, and Ruby could bring Turpin down, thus striking a blow to those opposing your bill?” she asked, clutching the lapels of his jacket.

“It would appear so,” he said, his voice lowering to a sensual purr. Heat filled his eyes as he stared at Marigold’s lips. “Lady Stanhope was right about a great deal of other things as well.”

“Such as?”

He answered by surging forward and slanting his mouth over hers in a kiss that was as far from appropriate for the halls of Westminster as could be. Marigold gasped in shock, but was quickly overcome by the triumph of having her husband all to herself, even if they were in the middle of one of the busiest buildings in London, and even if it was just for a moment. She sighed as she leaned into him, returning his kiss with equal ardor, wishing it could be more.

“I miss you,” she sighed. Her heart fluttered and her chest squeezed as she heard her own words. She hadn’t meant to sound so vulnerable.

“I miss you too,” he echoed, cradling the side of her face as he kissed her with mounting passion. “All I want is to spend days in your arms instead of arguing with bullish rogues and blackguards.”

None of the flowers he’d brought her or jewels he’d clasped around her neck in the last six weeks could hold a candle to those simple words. The only gift she wanted was him, and it made her reckless. She threw her arms around his shoulders, kissing him with a scandalously needy sigh. And he kissed her in return as though the world had dissolved around them.

Until someone cleared their throat at the end of the hall.

Marigold gasped and twisted to see who it was, but they hadn’t stayed long enough to be seen. Her body buzzed with desire and embarrassment, and she could feel the heat of scandal rising up her neck.

Alex wasn’t as flustered.

“Over here,” he whispered, taking her hand and crossing the corridor to a small, unassuming door.

Marigold blinked as he pushed it open and pulled her into what appeared to be a small closet filled with ledgers and stationary. The whole thing had a musty, papery scent. There was only one tiny window at the top of one wall to let in light, and not much at that.

Alex shut the door and turned the lock. “We have about ten minutes before I need to be in chambers,” he whispered, sweeping toward her and taking her in his arms.

“Ten minutes for what?” Marigold panted as he backed her toward the small, square table wedged between the closet’s two crowded shelves.

“For stage twenty-four,” he whispered.

She didn’t have a chance to reply. His mouth was over hers, kissing her into dizzy desire within seconds. Confusion mingled with excitement, swirling through her gut to set the most intimate parts of her throbbing. She kissed him with as much enthusiasm as he showed, all while her mind was reeling. He couldn’t possibly mean to take things further than an ardent kiss, could he?

With a sudden movement, he lifted her by the waist, sitting her on the edge of the table. Then he started to gather her skirts, lifting them up and bunching them around her middle.

“Alex,” she whispered between clumsy kisses. “What on earth are you doing?”

“Making love to my wife in a closet in the Palace of Westminster,” he growled in return, fumbling with the fastenings of his trousers.

Shock and deep, pulsing excitement zipped through every nerve and fiber of Marigold’s being. “We couldn’t possibly,” she gasped, even as she wriggled to spread her legs apart. “This is ridiculously dangerous.”

“I know,” he replied. She could just make out the spark of wickedness in his eyes in the dim light.

“If we’re caught, we’ll never live it down,” Marigold went on, gasping as Alex shifted closer, stroking his hands along her thighs and between the split in her drawers to touch her intimately.

“Then we’ll have to be very, very quiet to be sure we aren’t caught,” he murmured, voice thick with desire, his breath hot against her ear.

Any further protest was cut short as his thick, hot length thrust suddenly inside of her. She gasped, only swallowing her moan of pleasure at the last moment, and arched her hips into him. It was wild and surreal. She was fully dressed, hadn’t even removed her hat, and he was moving inside of her, stretching her to the fullest. Heat suffused her as he thrust harder and faster. She clung to his shoulders, biting her lip to keep from crying out in ecstasy at the sensations he ignited in her. Her body responded hungrily to his aggression, and he was mating with her far more demandingly than he ever had. She was surprised that she enjoyed it so much and was spilling over the edge into orgasm with lightning speed. Staying silent and swallowing her cry of pleasure was next to impossible.

Moments later, his body stiffened, and he muffled a cry against the shoulder of her gown as he came. The shift in tension was palpable as he sagged with release. They were both left spent and panting. Marigold blinked in disbelief as she clung to him, her head still spinning. The whole thing seemed to be over before it began. She might not have believed anything had happened, but for the distinct slip of something liquid against her inner thigh as Alex moved away from her and set about righting himself.

Hot embarrassment at the slippery sensation kept her blazing as she hopped off the table and straightened her skirts around her. She wore enough layers of fabric that the liquid wasn’t there for long, but without a doubt, everyone who looked at her would know she’d just been well and truly ravished. In a closet.

“I feel as though I could conquer the world now,” Alex growled, taking her into his arms once his trousers were fastened and kissing her soundly.

She had to laugh. There was no other response to the outrageous thing they’d just done. She wasn’t sure whether she felt triumphant for helping him screw his courage to the sticking place, as it were, or tiny and insignificant in the face of his experience.

“Will we be seen leaving the closet?” she whispered instead.

“Not if we act as though nothing is out of the ordinary,” he said.

They gave each other a final look-over, straightening rumpled clothing, then Alex turned to the door. He unlocked it and stepped out of the closet as though leading Marigold into church.

Blessedly, the corridor was deserted, but as they headed toward St. Stephen’s Hall, it was clear they’d taken more time than they should have.

“Blast. They might have already started,” Alex hissed, picking up his pace.

They made it to the hall just in the nick of time. The last of the MPs were filing into the chamber, and the attendant at the stairs leading to the Strangers’ Gallery had started turning people away. Alex didn’t have time to do more than raise Marigold’s hand to his lips before being forced to let it go and jogging to slip through the door before it was closed.

“Lady Stanhope is saving a seat for me,” Marigold told the attendant at the stairs, who she was certain could see right through her blush to the reason she was late.

Surprisingly, he let her by without comment. Marigold rushed up the stairs, then down through the rows of seats to the front row, where Lady Stanhope and Lavinia were waiting. She took her seat beside Lady Stanhope with a stunned look, still feeling tender in intimate places. As proceedings began on the floor below, she continued to feel dizzy, blazingly hot, and just a bit sick to her stomach. And that was before she noticed Lady Stanhope watching her with unconcealed delight.

“Well done, my dear,” Lady Stanhope murmured in tones that were as congratulatory as they were sly.

“What? I…it’s….” Marigold stammered to come up with some explanation for her state.

Lady Stanhope leaned closer, eyes fixed on proceedings below, and said out of the corner of her mouth, “I know the look of a woman who’s just been run up the flagpole and saluted when I see it.”

Marigold hadn’t thought she could blush harder or hotter, but she’d been wrong. She clapped a hand to her mouth to stop herself from laughing…or perhaps vomiting. Both seemed equally likely all of a sudden. She leaned against Lady Stanhope, praying the nausea and dizziness would pass quickly.

Lady Stanhope still wore her knowing grin as Alex took the floor below, but she dragged her eyes away from him—even as Marigold attempted to straighten and pay attention—to study Marigold.

“Gentlemen,” Alex began in an energetic voice, wearing a wide smile. “We cannot leave our duties and close this session of Parliament without discussing once more the plight and the rights of women.”

Marigold swallowed hard, breathing deeply and willing the nausea to pass.

“Well, well, my dear,” Lady Stanhope said, circling a motherly arm around Marigold’s back and rubbing it, even as she pretended to be focused on Alex’s speech. “Are double congratulations in order?”

“Is Marigold feeling unwell again?” Lavinia whispered.

They were starting to draw angry looks from the men in the gallery with them.

“I’ll be fine,” Marigold gulped. She sat straighter. “Look, it’s already passing.” Although whether it was or wasn’t had yet to be determined, as far as she was concerned.

“You’ll be fine.” Lady Stanhope continued to rub her back. “I went through it three times and came out none the worse for wear.”

It took Marigold a moment before Lady Stanhope’s words sank in. As soon as they did, she sucked in a breath and snapped to face the older woman, eyes wide. She immediately started counting the days since her wedding night.

“But it’s only been six weeks,” she whispered in disbelief.

Lady Stanhope leaned close. “It was less than a month for me. I think you’ll find that for most healthy young women in their prime, it doesn’t take long at all.”

A smile spread across Marigold’s face, and she glanced down to the chamber, where Alex was powering through his speech. “For we cannot hold ourselves up as a model society if half our population is given no rights at all,” he was in the middle of saying. His supporters nodded and cheered their agreement, while his opposition, particularly Turpin, glared at him and shook their heads.

“Oh my,” Marigold whispered, pressing a hand to her stomach. Beside her, Lady Stanhope chuckled before returning her arm to her side. In spite of the twinge in her stomach, Marigold’s spirits rose to towering heights. She’d told Alex that she wanted to be the mother of the Prime Minister’s son, and it seemed she was already well on the way to doing her part to achieve that goal.