Ravenna fell instantly in love with the gelding and named him Radnor, after the ruined Welsh castle where her ancestors had fought a bloody battle in Tudor times. She asked, as Simon had expected, to ride a horse the instant she entered the stables.

“Perhaps I should have waited until we were in Essex to show him to you,” he said with a sigh.

“You should not have,” she said, her thank-new kisses an invitation to his every sense. “I’ll be grateful forever.”

“Hmmm.”

“May I ride him tonight?”

“Of course you may not.”

“Do you always have your way?” she asked with a smile designed to break him down. And it almost did.

This debate continued in their bedchamber. They embraced, exchanged words, and embraced again as they undressed, whereupon Simon blatantly changed the subject. “How was your tea?”

“Uneventful. Until my cousin Chloe arrived with champagne and a caution to keep my eye on you for purposes unrelated to your personal safety.”

“Whatever is that supposed to mean?”

“Why don’t you tell me?” she inquired softly. “It seems you flirted with her at a dance four years ago.”

“I did nothing of the sort. I was simply being gallant. Moreover, Chloe flirts with every man she meets.”

“As you say, Simon. As usual.”

He pulled off his shirt and laughed – allowing her to walk him back into the four-poster bed. “What is this about?” he asked, his inclination to argue instantly forgotten.

“Having my way. You gave me permission to do so on our wedding night.”

He exhaled. “So I did.”

She removed the rest of her undergarments and fitted herself into his body, covering his neck in kisses before she folded gracefully to her knees. “You might have to guide me again,” she whispered, her lips skimming his belly, her fingers curling around the base of his prick.

The contact of her light pink nipples on his chest had quickened his blood. Her mouth on his bare flesh made him shake. His dominant instinct was to lower himself to the floor and bury himself in her softness. To his approval his wife had a sensual imagination of her own.

He placed his hand upon her lowered head and thrust gently into her mouth. Her teeth scraped the head of his shaft. He flinched slightly and then her tongue flicked in a circle around his cock. Undiluted lust flooded his blood. Her sweet efforts filled him with primal agony. He could think only of possessing her, needing to prove that she belonged to him, that they belonged to each other.

He leaned over and lifted her deftly from her knees. “Simon?” she questioned as he dropped back onto the bed, guiding her down to half-straddle his lower body. He rubbed his palm across the tips of her breasts. His other shaped her plump buttocks. She stretched her back into a position that nearly sent him over the edge.

“Sit forward a little more,” he said, swallowing a groan. “My God, am I dreaming you?”

The ends of her hair cascaded onto his groin. She shifted onto her folded knees, her bottom resting between his upper thighs to allow him penetration. His hands steadied her and guided her slow descent on his body.

His veins throbbed. His vision clouded. His body quaked as she sucked him tightly inside her. “You are everything,” he said, his voice ragged in the quiet.

“I am barely able to talk,” she whispered. “You are impaling me. I can feel the length of you between my shoulder blades.”

“Then we shall pause,” he suggested, fervently praying she would not agree.

“We shall not.”

“Careful then,” he teased. “You might break me.”

“You. The Corinthian column?”

He slid higher into her heat, into her soft pink skin. She gasped and braced her hands on his forearms as she ground her hips in slow provocation. He clamped his teeth and summoned his will to keep from spilling inside her. He was seized with relief when she climaxed and collapsed atop his chest. His entire body pulsed until he was empty, replete, deeply pleasured. He was deeply in love.

Minutes ticked by before they dredged up the energy to untangle themselves from the disheveled bedding. “I’ll take you to the park tomorrow,” he said, idly stroking her hair.

“When we make love, I feel as if I’m falling off the earth,” she whispered drowsily.

“It isn’t scientifically possible. But I shall keep a tight hold on you, all the same.”

“Do you think the threat to us has passed, Simon?”

“No. I don’t.” He exhaled and rolled onto his stomach, stretching out his back. “I have seen my solicitors. In the event I die, you will be well provided for, an heiress, in fact. I trust your family will guard you from fortune hunters.”

She sat up in distress. “That isn’t the reassurance I was hoping to hear. How horrible.”

“One must be practical.”

“You have ruined the mood.”

He smiled into his pillow. “We could start again.”

She glowered at him and whipped the coverlet up to his waist. “I want to be alert for our ride tomorrow.”

“Don’t you dare sneak out at the crack of dawn, or I’ll spank your bottom bright and rosy for disobedience.”

“Is that a promise or a threat?”

The pillow muffled his laughter. “I’ll leave that for you to decide.”

“You’re trying to divert me from the subject of your death,” she said, twirling her hair around her forefinger like a skein. “I’m not sure I’ll even sleep tonight.”

“Ravenna,” he said as if he were explaining something as basic as what they would have for breakfast. “I have no immediate plans to die. But in the event I do, my soul shall rest in the peace of leaving you secure.”

“You aren’t leaving me for a long time yet,” she said.

“Must you always have your way?” he teased, reaching for her hand.

She laced her fingers in his. “In this case, yes.”