The stucco house on North Audley Street had been built a century ago. It consisted of two properties merged into one fashionable residence in the Greek-Revival style. The duke’s London staff occupied the basement. A carriage house adjoined a large stables. Hazy moonlight glinted off an iron balcony and the white Portland stone portico of the façade.

It was a place of understated resplendence that dominated the street. Jane had driven Ravenna past the house a week ago in the daylight, claiming, “It is difficult for a lady to assume her position in such an imposing dwelling.”

And with such an imposing man, Ravenna had silently mused, unable at the time to imagine herself as Simon’s wife.

But now she was here. She wasn’t Ravenna, the bothersome younger sister, or the undesired fiancée of an ill-bred baronet. She was Her Grace the Duchess of Rochecliffe. She was astonished by her change in fortune. And she resolved to make the best of it, to honor and understand the man she had married, even if obeisance did not come to her naturally.

They alit from the carriage in the stables at the back of the house. She heard the murmured greetings of the duke’s groomsman, the whinnying of horses.

Simon gripped her firmly by the hand and guided her through a candlelit passageway into the main hallway of the house.

“Now we’re like a pair of thieves, Simon.”

She knocked her arm against a pedestal. Simon tsked gently and turned her in the opposite direction. She could make out the defined angles of his face in the dark and, Hades take him, the shadow of an unfathomable smile. Her breathing deepened.

“When am I going to meet the servants?” she asked, conscious of the silence, of how alone they were. Of, despite everything, how right this moment was.

“Tomorrow,” he said. “I thought you would appreciate some privacy. We’re almost to the bottom of the stairs. Stay to the left.”

“This hall is longer than a highway,” she said, her voice echoing to the cut-glass chandelier above the staircase. The faintest sound quickened her heart. Even the tap of Simon’s boot heels on the tile heightened her anticipation.

He released her hand. “My grandfather was prone to extravagance,” he said. “As most noblemen tend to be.”

She moved cautiously around a painting on an easel. “Aren’t you coming?”

“You wouldn’t prefer a few moments by yourself?”

“Not if I’m going to walk into walls. Simon, what is the matter? What have I missed or misunderstood?”

Obviously there were servants somewhere in the house because a door scraped open above. A wall sconce on the first landing glowed down faintly on Simon’s unmoving figure. Portraits in gilded frames hung on the wall behind him. She recognized a Rembrandt. Simon looked austere, and yet she detected another hint of sinful heat in his eyes.

“Simon?” she attempted again. “What has come over you?”

He shook his head as if deep in thought. “I cannot forget that you aren’t my wife of your own free will. It seems uncouth that I come to your bed without an invitation. I won’t even touch you in an intimate manner if that is your wish.”

Her heart thumped in her ears. “Never?”

One large shoulder lifted. “I shall hold your parasol … take you by the arm if you’re about to fall off the pavement. I might steal a kiss from time to time. Carry you over a rain puddle to be chivalrous. That sort of thing. But this is an arrangement. Isn’t it?”

“So I’m to be an abandoned bride?” she asked, her lips firming in exasperation.

“Good gracious, no. I’ll sleep in the adjoining room in case you need me during the night. Give me a shout. I know you have the voice for it.”

“You are provoking me. You played the rogue before our wedding.”

“I thought I was being respectful.” He balanced his elbow on the balustrade. “Is there anything I can do before you retire? Have Cook prepare a special dish? A cordial? Stoke the bedroom fire?

Kiss me. Hold me. Take me. Release me from this suspense before I sink to my knees. “I don’t want a fire or a drink. I am practically smoldering in this heavy dress and I drank quite a bit before I drowned that plate of crabs in champagne.”

“Have I neglected anything?” he asked artlessly.

Only me.

What did he expect her to say? For all she knew she had failed to pass a secret test to please him. For all she knew he had decided at the last instant that theirs would be a marriage in name only. Or, more likely, he was doing his monstrous best to tease her, a ploy he had employed in their youth. Girl, boy. Bride, groom. But man and wife?

Should she call him out? “On second thought, I’d like a few fashion magazines to read in bed.”

His smile was strained. “Magazines?”

“I don’t suppose you have any Spanish oranges on hand?”

“In fact, I do.”

He took three steps up. They stood inches apart, close enough to touch, to kiss, to antagonize. His brown corduroy coat was unbuttoned. He had loosened his plain neckcloth in the carriage. Despite his impassive demeanor, he looked as vital as he had when they had taken their vows.

Her breathing became unsteady. She wanted to sink down on the step -- or against him. He was familiar, but what they would mean to each other was not. Would he rule her with kindness?

“You don’t need anything else?” he asked, his heavy-lidded eyes holding her entranced. “Other than reading material?”

“Perhaps a servant could show me where I’m to be kept.”

“With your permission,” he said with a courtly bow.

He climbed to the step above her. The next thing she knew he had hooked his arm under her knees and carried her in silence up the remaining stairs to a bedchamber lit by a low-burning fire. She put her face to the crook of his throat, conscious of the muscular arms that supported her.

“That wasn’t necessary,” she said as he set her on her feet.

“It was. This is a labyrinth of a house, and you might have gotten lost. I know how you like to explore.”

“I’m not going anywhere tonight.”

“Not tomorrow, either, I expect.”

She waited, surreptitiously noting that he’d begun to remove his coat and vest. And that he was taking forever to make his next play. Was this his way of putting her at ease? It wasn’t working. She was trembling inside, dying for him to satisfy the longing he’d aroused in her.

“Did you enjoy the reception?” he asked. He dropped his coat on a cane-backed chair. His waistcoat followed. She glimpsed his bleached white shirt and the trim line of his breeches.

“Yes.” But not as much as she hoped to enjoy herself soon. And to breathe freely. She was slightly heavier than Isolde. The borrowed frock and long corset pressed into her ribs; the straps of her chemise had been pulled too tight, making her breasts swell. More than anything she wanted relief from the waiting that bound her nerves.

Simon appeared in no great hurry to celebrate their wedding night.

He motioned to a small table in front of the fireplace. Two uncorked bottles sat between a pair of large goblets and a bowl of imported oranges. She shifted her weight from one slipper to the other.

“Red or white?” he asked solicitously.

“Both. Neither. Well, perhaps.”

He reached down to the table, one heavy brow lifting, his head bowed. “You could have a sip of each.”

“I’ll wait, thank you.”

He turned and looked up slowly from the hem of her gown to her face. “I shouldn’t encourage you,” he said. “But you do look apprehensive.”

“Do I?”

“I hope I am not the cause of your vexation. Would you like me to peel you an orange?”

“Not at the moment,” she said, wondering if they would progress to something more intimate such as shaking hands. Quite frankly she’d thought that by now she would be in his bed, discovering uncensored secrets about him, and herself.

His hesitancy confounded her. Was it a strategy? A sign of consideration? She hadn’t expected such restraint from a man known for his amorous proclivities. Still, all the good manners in England could not mask his sexuality. He had the advantage even if to her bewilderment he had not used it.

She was ready to test his reputation for herself.

“Ravenna?”

She blinked at the deep pitch of his voice and realized he was standing directly in front of her. He tucked his thumb under her chin. She hoped to heaven he wasn’t about to feed her some fruit. Jane had filled her head with romantic expectations of her bridal night, and not one had come true. What did she want? Him.

For a moment his gaze held no emotion whatsoever. In the next his eyes blazed through her veil of composure. Her knees bent. What chance of controlling herself did she have when his mere glance shattered her?

Had she misinterpreted his overtures? She had anticipated a decadent seduction, a farewell to her girlish inhibitions. She was prepared for almost anything except a bridegroom who was as formal and detached as a butler.

“Shall I ask one of the maids to prepare you for bed?” he said, maddeningly detached.

“I don’t need a maid to undress me,” she said in annoyance. “Do you need a valet?”

His mouth twitched. “Not tonight. What would you have me do?”

“How should I know? This is my first and presumably last wedding night. And you’re asking me if I want to be unlaced by a maid? I did not subvert the course of my life to languish in an unfamiliar chamber, as exquisitely furnished as it appears to be. You warned me that I was giving myself to a man who was prone to fits of passion.”

“In case it is not obvious, you have tempted me beyond what I can bear.”

“I would assume the opposite by your actions.”

He exhaled forcefully. “I am about to lose my sanity.”

“I haven’t done anything to incite you,” she said, although she might if he did not take action soon.

“That’s what alarms me,” he murmured. “God help me if you put your mind to it.”

“But you haven’t touched me, Simon. I understood that by now we were supposed to be … well.”

“Oh, we will.” He studied her closely, his eyes like obsidian. “The problem is that I am struggling with my conscience. I made you marry me.”

“I had a choice, albeit a slim one.”

“It doesn’t seem fair that I seduce you.”

“You promised you would,” she blurted out, her scalp tingling when she realized what she had confessed.

He narrowed his eyes. His knuckles stroked the arch of her throat. She felt hot, dizzy, embarrassed, on the verge of taking him by force until he said, “I need to know you want this. Ask me. Please. Ask.”

She shivered. “I just did. If you been paying attention, you’d realize that I have been virtually begging you all day. Make me your wife in the worldly sense, or I shall not be responsible for what happens tonight.”

It had taken her twenty-seven minutes to change into Isolde’s high-necked serge gown, worsted stockings, and boots. Simon divested her so efficiently of the garments he might have stitched every seam himself. His long fingers refused to recognize the limitations of hooks and eyelets. He strummed through her laces, pulled down the straps of her chemise to reveal her breasts. She felt her nipples tighten. He scrutinized every inch of her he uncovered. The appreciative gleam in his eyes made her feel as if she had been created for him.

His strong hands swept down her back with a confidence that brewed fire in her belly. He was a gorgeous demon from whose fingers leapt sparks. She flushed with the slow-burning heat of a woman ready to be taken.

She had believed that after her disgrace no decent man would marry her. Simon might have behaved indecently in the past. Now so would she.

“Come to my bed,” he said in a disarming voice that left her no further time to reflect on his latent talents. It appeared that a formidable element had been freed inside him and she was at last about to experience its force. Hidden fires could only be contained for so long.

He said, “Damn me, I can’t get these breeches off.”

She lowered her gaze as if she weren’t as curious to study him as he had her. His hand skimmed her breasts and she caught her breath in wonder. She hadn’t known she could feel so laid bare and brimming with excitement at the same time. When she raised her eyes to his, she knew she would offer him everything he needed, no matter how dark or unspeakable his needs might be. And she would take what she needed of him.

“You’re beautiful,” he said in a gravelly voice that scraped her nerves raw.

“So are you,” she whispered.

“I will teach you,” he said. “We will revel in every nuance of lovemaking. Soon you’ll become sensitive enough to feel my shadow over you while you sleep.”