Morgan paused outside the bedroom. His bedroom. The bedroom in which his wife resided. Thanks to their hasty wedding, he had not yet made arrangements for her to occupy the adjoining bedroom. She had arrived on his townhouse doorstep shortly after their nuptials, a fully stuffed trousseau in hand, and he had to usher her into his room as though she were a mistress who needed to be hidden. He cursed himself inwardly.

He should have been more prepared, but how did one prepare for an unexpected wife?

Eyeing the door, he shook his head. She was only a woman. A slip of a woman at that.

However, the idea of marriage and the reality of one was entirely different. Women had come and gone out of his life too many times to count, and that had been the way he liked it. He’d never had to change his life for them or make space for their many lacy petticoats and endless amounts of bonnets. He’d never had to worry about them coming to know him fully...

Still, it could be worse. She was a pretty thing and he had always had something of a penchant for redheads. Not to mention that sweet little noise she made when he had kissed her after the proposal was something worth investigating.

A hand to the doorknob, he paused. The words were said, the deed was done. Why he was hesitating, he did not know. He had himself an attractive redhead in his bed, waiting for him.

Curse Nicholas and Guy. He should have ignored them and continued being the scandalous and charming Lord Radcliff, bachelor about town. But, of course, he could not leave her ruined or let bloody Bartholomew have her. The man had somehow ended up invited to their rushed wedding and Morgan had not been unaware of the man’s piggy gaze narrowing at him as he walked down the aisle, bride in hand. Whoever had extended the invitation to him needed a whipping. It had been clear that he was sorely upset at missing out on marrying Emma.

He twisted the knob, the squeak seeming too loud for his ears. He’d have to get the butler to oil it tomorrow.

He found her on the bed and all thoughts of kisses and red hair spilling over his chest vanished.

She lay as though laid out for a funeral. All virginal white cotton and big wary eyes. A shudder made the fabric tremble. He had a suspicion she’d prefer to be at a funeral rather than waiting for her new husband in his bed.

As though approaching a deer, he stepped toward the bed with care. She could not meet his gaze and kept gnawing on her bottom lip. When he sat next to her, making the bed dip, she jumped slightly. He watched her throat work and waited for her to finally look at him.

“Should I, um...” She put a hand to the ties at the top of her nightgown.

He shook his head.

“Oh.” Her hands shook as she laced them together over her stomach. “I-I’m afraid I do not know—”

He rested a hand over hers. “There’s nothing you need to know. Get some sleep, Emma, it has been a long and tiring day.”

Creases appeared between her brows. “Sleep? But I thought—” She sucked in an audible breath. “Is this not what you want?”

“What? To bed a terrified woman?”

She sat up. “I’m not terrified.”

He grinned. As much as he liked her courage, he was not convinced. “Tell that to your hands.”

She clasped them tightly together to hide the tremor in them. “I am not. We are married. You are my husband. I will do my duty.”

Morgan sighed. “If we are to have a good marriage, I would far rather you not think of it as your duty.”

“What should I think of it as then?”

“You have married sisters, Emma, they must have told you something?”

Even in the candlelight he saw the color peak on her cheeks. “A little, yes.”

“I would hope that we could enjoy something a little like that together. No talk of duty and thinking of England.”

She opened her mouth. “How...?”

“All mothers like to tell their daughters to do that do they not?”

“I would not know about all mothers.”

“Well, when we are together, I would rather you be thinking of more pleasurable things.”

“So...we will not be together tonight?”

“No.”

“Tomorrow night then?”

“Doubtful.”

She pursed her lips. “You do not want me.”

He chuckled and shook his head. “I do not want a terrified virgin. There is a distinction. I could not enjoy myself if you were not.”

“I see.” She toyed with the end of one of the laces.

Morgan found himself wondering what might happen if he pulled one. Would he see the top of a curve of a breast? Everything he had said was true and he would be as patient as he needed to be but he was only a man after all. It did not stop him wanting a little peek.

“When shall we...” She lowered her voice. “You know?”

“When you are ready.”

“And how will I know that?”

He grinned and flicked a finger under her chin. “You will know, trust me.”

She scowled at him, even when he leaned in to kiss the top of her head. She probably would not appreciate him saying as much but his new wife was quite adorable when she was frustrated.

“Get some rest. We shall talk more in the morning. We have a lot to discuss.”

He left the room swiftly. The temptation to remain at her side and perhaps even slip under the covers with her and feel the warm cocoon of her body was remarkably strong given he hardly knew the woman. Of course, he had bedded near strangers before, but he had never given thought to merely holding one for the night.

However, he had little idea how her presence would affect him. Would the nightmares return? He had not suffered a single one since returning to London from Hampshire—as was usual—but he could not be sure if she would change things for him. He damn well hoped she did not or it would make their newlywed life that much harder.

***

The scent of sausages and eggs teased Morgan’s nose as he stepped into the dining room. His stomach grumbled in appreciation. He hadn’t realized how hungry getting married could make one and though their rushed wedding had hardly been the social affair of the decade, there had been enough people in attendance for him to neglect eating much from the buffet.

He had, of course, caught the snide remarks from various women. Many would be certain Emma had deliberately snared him into the marriage trap. There was little he could do about the gossip but he would protect Emma from it as best as he could.

Unfortunately, that meant a trip to the country was in order. They had to let the gossip die down and he needed to see to his business venture with Guy.

A shudder tripped up his spine. He loathed the country. It did not matter which part. They were all the same. Endless trees, fields, lakes and rivers.

“Good morning.”

He turned his attention to his wife. Gads, that was going to take some getting used to. She had apparently opted to eat at the table instead of in bed. She looked about as rested as he did—which was to say, not at all. Slight dark patches haunted her eyes and though her hair had been styled by one of the maids this morning, she must have been fiddling with it as errant fluffy strands circled her face.

She was, however, quite charming. Her little mouth was drawn into an uncertain smile, and a flush of color lingered on her cheeks, bringing out the freckles scattered across them. He supposed at least he did not fall on a beast of a woman. That was something to be grateful for.

“Did you sleep well?” He spoke to her over his shoulder while he loaded up his plate.

“Um.”

Um. She said that a lot around him. He hoped she’d get to the point where she could form full sentences with frequency, but he understood it. His limited time in her home county of Hampshire had hardly left them much time to become acquainted and since his proposal their meetings could be numbered at a grand total of two.

“Not well then.” He turned and carried his plate over to the table.

She gave a rueful shrug. “It’s hard to sleep in a bed that one is not used to.”

He nodded. He had slept in one of the guest rooms and the strange mattress and too hard pillows had not been his friend. That combined with images of Emma in her nightgown made for quite the torturous night.

“Hopefully you shall get used to it.”

“Um.”

“Um?”

She lowered the piece of toast she had been delicately nibbling. “Will you always sleep in another room?”

“We have lots to establish, do we not?”

Emma nodded. “It has all been quite a rush. I’ve scarcely had the chance to catch my breath.”

“What do you wish me to do?”

“I-” She paused and wrinkled her nose. “Julia says she and Guy share a bedroom. I know it is quite a modern thing to do but I suppose I imagined...”

“Well, we only have a few nights to worry about that. We need to go to Hampshire and we shall be staying with Guy for the duration. I doubt we shall be furnished with a room together.”

A charming smile broke across her face. “Shall we stay there until the next season?”

Morgan nearly choked on his coffee. “Certainly not. Two weeks at the most, I imagine.”

“But...the season is nearly over. Surely we will not stay in London all year?”

He shook his head. “Where else should we go? I have no intention of remaining someone’s guest in the country for months on end.”

“The country. Why do you say it like that? What about your estate? That is in Berkshire, is it not? Will we not need to visit?”

“That house remains closed.” The words came out terser than he’d intended. Emma’s mouth clamped shut and she dropped her gaze to the table, fanning her dark red lashes across his face. He’d hurt her with his tone but he had not been prepared for this bombardment of questions, especially after a terrible night’s sleep.

The simple fact was, he avoided the house in Berkshire at all costs. There mere thought of visiting there again made him break out into a sweat. Every time he’d been forced to go back to attend to the house or deal with estate business, the nightmares started up again. He fully anticipated that they would when they went to stay with Guy but needs must and they were not so severe unlike when he returned to his old family home.

Of course, it all made sense to him, but how did one explain such matters to a new wife?

He took a long gulp of coffee and winced at the painful tingling sensation the scalding coffee left. He had no intention of explaining things to her anyway. If people knew he was plagued with such fears and visions, they’d likely have him thrown in an asylum. Nothing was more scandalous or interesting than a crazed earl.

Morgan hastily plastered on a smile. “I prefer London. There is little of interest in Berkshire.”

“I suppose I imagined we might spend more time in Berkshire. It is only an hour or so from my family.”

The pain in her gaze rung clear, lancing through his gut. So rushed had their wedding been that there had been little chance to discuss living arrangements. He had assumed she’d know enough about him to understand he lived most of his life in London, enjoying the parties and clubs on a regular basis.

“You can visit with your family. There is nothing to stop you.”

“You wish to be rid of me?”

Morgan exhaled. This conversation was steadily becoming a mess of assumptions and that was what he’d hoped to avoid. It was why he’d been plainly clear with her last night. He wanted her fully. If he was going to be married, he’d damn well enjoy some of the benefits of it. But he did not want to become one of these God-awful men some of his lovers had complained of. Those husbands who saw their wives as a mere extension of themselves and rarely attended to their needs, instead bringing them out to display occasionally before sending them off to some separate estate so that they did not pester their husbands.

No. He might not have been ready for marriage but he had seen a good one. His parents had been the epitome of a successful one and if he was going to do this, he’d do it bloody well properly.

He cleared his throat. “I have no intention of sending you away or neglecting you as my wife, Emma. But I am aware it shall take us time to adjust to this situation. I need to visit Hampshire and it would give the gossips time to find something else to discuss.”

An unexpected snort came from Emma. “They shall continue to discuss it as long as we are in London. It is all anyone knows how to do here.”

He eyed his wife. A spark of fire had lit in her eyes and he could not decide whether to be pleased or not. It was certainly a welcome relief from the lip-biting and staring at anywhere other than him, but if it meant she was going to fight him on this issue of remaining on London, it might not be so welcome.

“We will not go to Berkshire,” he said firmly.

Her gaze narrowed at him. “Why not?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does to me considering I am now mercy to your every whim. I don’t even like London.”

“You think I intend to be some overbearing, commanding husband?”

Christ, was that really what she thought of him? He thought he’d been quite the gentleman, especially considering how frustrated last night had left him. Apparently not, if her reaction was anything to go by.

“You will not even explain what is so awful about Berkshire. What married man spends all his time in London anyway?”

Morgan straightened his shoulders. “This one.”

“What if we found a house in Hampshire?”

“I’m not made of money,” he protested.

“Liar.”

He opened his mouth then closed it. She had him there. His father had been a savvy investor and the estate earned well not to mention his investment in the ale business with Guy was already paying off—information Emma was likely privy to via her sister.

“I have no need for another house. This one will do just fine. You can visit your family whenever you wish. It is not a long journey from London.”

Emma folded her arms across her chest and her chin jutted out. His meek, shy wife was well and truly gone. “What is so terrible about the country?”

“What is so terrible about Town?”

“Everything. The traffic, the smoke, the...the people.”

“Everything,” he echoed. “What of the country? The bees, the mud, the people,” he added with a smug grin.

“There is nothing wrong with simple, honest, country-folk. You forget that your wife was raised mostly in the countryside.”

“Well, now my wife will have to get used to living in Town.”

“Never.”

He shrugged. “You have little choice.”

“So you do intend to play the overbearing husband.” She removed her napkin and placed it on the table. “There is plenty of love about the countryside. Perhaps if you gave it a chance, you might come to love it as I do.”

“Not likely.”

She leaned forward. “How long shall we stay with Lord Weston?”

“Two weeks at most.” Less if he could help it.

“How about we make a deal?”

“A deal?”

A slight smile crossed her lips. Her green eyes sparkled enticingly. Were they not butting heads about the one point that bothered him the most, he’d quite appreciate her fire.

“Give the countryside a chance. Let me show you all it can offer. If you still loathe it after two weeks, I shall return meekly to London and say nothing more on the matter.”

He smirked. There was nothing he could love about the country. He’d win this with ease. “No more talk of Berkshire?”

She mimicked sewing up her mouth.

“I think that sounds fair.”

“You must embrace it all, though. Everything I ask you to do.”

He nodded and thrust out a hand. “You have a deal.”

Her expression was far too triumphant as she shook his hand. Uncertainty scratched at his gut. What had he let himself in for?