One week later…

I’m Viscountess Shaw.

The well sprung carriage that she traveled in rattled along the cobbled streets taking her from her brother’s townhouse in Mayfair to her new home in Berkeley Square. Her trunks, portmantua, valises, and hatboxes had been packed and sent on early in the morning, but it had only been two hours since Fanny had vowed before God, the bishop, her brother, and Darcy that she would cherish and obey Sebastian Rutledge. How had she not realized that obeisance was a part of marriage vows, she had scowled at that bit and hesitated. Sebastian had been amused and had bent and whispered in her ear that he did not expect it of her. Fanny wasn't sure if that revealed the kind of man who thought of others beyond himself and did not believe in slavish adoration or did he perceive her to be the intractable and quarrelsome sort. She hoped it was not the latter. That was not a good opinion a husband should have of his wife.

She pushed aside the curtains to see they were now on Davies Street. In a few minutes, she would arrive at her new home and the anxieties attacking her were severely unwelcome. Oh, dear what was I thinking? And why was it now she was feeling doubts? The past few days she had felt a sense of relief that she would soon be in her own home, away from the loving restrictions of her brother. She hadn’t dreaded the thought of sharing a home with Lord Shaw, but now her nerves were stretched thin simply because she could not imagine what their life would be like.

As a marchioness, her role would have been clear. Produce an heir and a spare as soon as possible. And though the notion stung that the earl would have valued her womb far more than her witty intellect and company, that was the way of their world. She would have expected to run their household and organize the staff with graceful efficiency, plan balls, contribute to charities, and host dinner parties. Sebastian Rutledge had a title, but he wasn’t a gentleman at all. What was she expected to do as his wife? What kind of people would she be called upon to entertain? Where would they live when the season ended? What would be expected of a woman whose husband owned iron foundries? Did he too want an heir and a spare like all the other lords? He hadn’t been reared with that expectation to duty and his bloodlines, and the awareness she truly had no notion of the character of the man she had wed had been driven through her heart like a stake.

Fanny felt distressed that she was only now thinking about those matters. Well in truth these worries had started the night before when she had stared into the canopied curtain above her bed. She had risen with the sun and prepared for her wedding day with mixed emotions of relief and uncertainty.

Fanny had worn her most fashionable dress, and delight had burned in her veins at his all-compassing stare. To her mind, his regard had been too direct and intense, and anyone would think the man had already compromised her virtue.

The wedding breakfast at her brother’s home had been filled with forced joviality, and she had been delighted indeed when it had been over. The most mortifying memory had been when Darcy had taken Fanny into the private parlor and tried to impart to her what her duties as a wife involved in the marriage bed since her mother had not elected to attend.

She had written her mother of the news of her engagement to Sebastian, and she had only replied that she was prostrate with disappointment over her daughter's choice, and when her nerves had recovered, she would return to town. For now, she would take to the waters of Bath. Fanny had decided to leave her mother’s disappointment and acceptance to time, seeing it would take for her mother to recover from losing a marquess as a son-in-law.

She knew little about men and the intimacies expected in marriage. Somehow Fanny hadn’t imagined she would be expected to reveal her naked body to her husband. Her shock had been so great she had almost fainted. She knew there was to be some kissing of course but nothing much after.

Since her talk with Darcy, Fanny had existed in an acute state of mortification at her ignorance and worse she did not believe she could appear in the nude before a man she hardly knew and allow him to touch her. According to Darcy, he would do more than touch and Fanny was perturbed. Her sister in law said Colin had protected her delicate nature as much as possible and controlled his base urges. What that meant Fanny had no notion, but the implication that because her husband was not a gentleman, he would not be mindful of her sensibilities was strong.

The carriage rumbled to a halt, and a quick peek through curtains revealed they were at 57 Berkeley Square. The door was opened, and she allowed her husband who had elected to ride beside the carriage to assist her down.

“I trust your journey was pleasant?”

How polite he was. “It was. I do think it could have been better if you had been in the carriage.” The soft admonishment in her words was inescapable.

His mouth curved ever so slightly. “I believe I was granting you the privacy of your thoughts.”

She placed her hand on his and walked with him up the few cobbled steps. Her new home was grand and one of the more modern townhouses built. The house had a stone façade and climbed four stories above the lower ground floor. It faced onto Berkeley Square Gardens and had a pretty view from the front windows of a beautiful Grecian style statue of a half-draped lady carrying a large water vase. When they arrived at the door, Fanny was surprised to see Sebastian fishing for keys to open the door.

Where was the butler?

He allowed her to precede him inside a most elegant entrance hall. Footsteps echoed, and a sturdy woman hurried toward them, her face wreathed in smiles.

“Mr. Rutledge, sir I was not expecting you back so soon.”

Why did she call their lord mister? The lack of proper address was shocking.

Fanny tugged off her bonnet, and Sebastian assisted her from her coat.

“Mrs. Campbell, may I present my wife, Mrs. Fanny Rutledge. Fanny Mrs. Campbell is my housekeeper.”

Fanny smiled, and Mrs. Campbell dipped into a surprisingly graceful curtsy.

"It's a right pleasure to meet you, milady. I've baked a fruitcake for the occasion and prepared all your favorite dishes, Mr. Rutledge."

Sebastian politely declined, and Mrs. Campbell hurried away, muttering about sending tea to the drawing room. Fanny peeked at him from beneath her lashes. He was looking down the hallway, a frown splitting his brows. They stood there for several seconds, not speaking or moving.

She gave him a questioning glance. "Is all well, Sebastian?" An unusual warmth unfurled through her at the intimate use of his name.

He glanced down, and it was then she noticed how vivid and beautiful the shards of blue in the unfathomable silver of his eyes were. During their brief ceremony, she had made a concentrated effort to stare at his nose. How silly she had been.

“I find I am confounded about what to do with you.”

Her lips parted on an inelegant gasp. “I beg your pardon?”

“I’ve never had a wife before.” His voice held a gently mocking note. At himself?

Fanny was flustered. She glanced at the hallways clock, noting it was barely one in the afternoon. Then she huffed a breath. “Well, I’ve never had a husband before.” When her world had been scandal free, at this time, she would be walking the grounds of their country manor, calling on neighbors or attending a picnic with friends.

Their gazes collided, and the humor in his pulled a light laugh from her. “We are absurd,” she gasped.

“That we are,” he murmured.

A strange thrill of sensation tore through her. He was so large and masculine and beautiful.

“Perhaps you will allow me to give you a tour of your new home?”

Fanny smiled, unable to explain the way her heart started to pound. Unable to prevent herself, she tugged her gloves off and pinched her inner wrist.

A devastatingly slow and sensual smile slanted his lips. “I’m afraid it is real. We are married.”

She felt an overwhelming pull between them, and her thoughts invariably turned to their wedding night. She didn’t need to glance down at her palm to know her entire body had flushed scarlet.

There was a flicker of challenge in his eyes. “I must know the thought that provoked you to blush so becomingly.”

“No, a lady’s thoughts are her own, and it is not gentlemanly of you to ask after them,” she said primly.

On odd expression marred his face to vanish quickly.

“It is very unusual that we are just standing here.”

He laughed, and it rippled through her.

“I like that you laugh,” she said softly, then blushed for having said it aloud.

“I like that you are my wife.”

Fanny didn’t know how to reply. The possessiveness stamped in his face had a peculiar disquiet slicing through her. Was it that he only saw her as a coveted prize? Unexpectedly his head dipped, and a fleeting kiss brushed against her lips. His mouth tugged at hers, his teeth lightly grazing her lower lip.

He lifted his head and considered her for several seconds as if he were trying to ascertain what to do with her at this moment. A flash of intuition went through her. The dratted man was thinking of her carnally. She ruthlessly fought the blush, unaccountably not wanting to appear gauche. Fanny stepped around him, trying her best to remain outwardly unaffected. Inside she was burning with heat and uncertainty. This must be desire.

Sebastian proceeded with the tour of her new home. It was a palatial townhouse even more so than her brother's, boasting over a dozen rooms. The ground floor held a large and elegantly appointed drawing room, a smaller parlor stylishly decorated, a library, Sebastian's study, and an impressive ballroom that opened onto small gardens. There was a large room on the lower floors designated as an exercise room where he'd blithely informed her he boxed and fenced with his friends. She'd never heard of any house having such a room, since one could join Gentleman Jackson's boxing academy on Bond Street, but she had not commented. Fanny was so used to conforming to society's standards, she felt a startled rush of pleasure that he was so very different. It hinted at mysteries to unlock and layers of his character to discover.

The upstairs boasted seven bedrooms, and she had been pleased to see she had her private chamber. Though the connecting door had loomed threateningly. But the thing that had given her the most pleasure was the music room with a masterpiece of a grand piano. Though she loved to sing, her skill at the pianoforte was lackluster at best, and she was still glad for it. He had taken her up through the servant stairs, and down to the kitchens where she had met the cook, the housekeeper and another maid and a footman. Disconcertingly they all referred to him as mister.

Now almost an hour later, Sebastian had bid her farewell, and Fanny reclined on her bed, her feelings bewildered. She truly had no notion what marriage to Sebastian Rutledge would be like. But she was now the lady of her own home, which, though beautiful, was understaffed, for she had no intention of opening her own front door whenever she was called upon by whomsoever should come calling. Everything about her marriage was strange and unfamiliar but being a lady of the house was a recognizable role, and one she would delve into as an aid to cope with her new situation. A situation whose greatest trial was just a few hours away. She was not prepared, knew not how to prepare. All Fanny could do was wait for the drumming of her racing heart to slow and for her new husband to show her what he expected of her...

The feel of the piano keys under the tips of his fingers grounded Sebastian. Then his fingers glided over the smooth ivory, and it was as if he saw the music dancing in the air as the keys came alive. Dinner had been over for almost two hours, he had taken a bath and then succumbed to the lure of the music room and a glass of brandy in the hopes of stifling the uncertainty burning through his gut.

It was laughable. He was uncertain. Why in God’s name? All he had to do was mount those damnable stairs, open the connecting door, and take his wife…his sweet, beautifully and utterly charming wife in his arms, kiss her, ravish her, and make her irrevocably his.

Except he had never been with a virgin before, or a woman as delicate as Fanny Dash…Rutledge or was it, viscountess Shaw? With a soft grunt, he sat before the grand piano and played. He allowed the music to be the balm that soothed his soul, to temper his hunger, and to transport him away from the cruel demands pummeling his body.

For two years he had resisted even thinking of her carnally, not wanting to dishonor her with his lurid imaginations, but now that she was his, wicked ideas of how he wanted to love her twisted through his mind.

He pounded away at the keys, losing his finesse, closing his eyes, seeing her as he wanted, naked, splayed wantonly atop pristine white sheets, her golden hair splayed across the pillows, her pale complexion in stark contrast, and her legs parted in welcome.

It was improbable that he should hear any noise above the music he made, but he stilled.

“You play so beautifully,” his wife said, hovering in the doorway. There was an uncertainty in her voice he perceived to be uncommon for her. He couldn’t face her, didn’t want to. Dinner had been such torture, and more tension-filled than he’d expected. There had been a knowing in her gaze, and it had disconcerted him to see fright as well.

And then awareness had settled in his gut. She anticipated their wedding night. It was his duty and his privilege to consummate their vows, yet there was an unexpected hesitation in his heart. His fingers trembled over the keys creating a discordant note. Sebastian quickly caught the note, and he played, pushing away the knowledge of how close she stood, losing himself in the music spilling from his fingertips. A few moments passed, then shock punched through him when the most beautiful voice he’d ever heard filtered on the air. It was then he turned around, unable to believe notes so powerful and pure could come from someone so delicate.

Her song ended abruptly, and her color heightened.

“That was amazing, Fanny.”

She smiled tentatively. “I simply thought I ought to share a bit of me as well.”

He hadn’t the heart to tell her he hadn’t been sharing with her when he played but had been ignoring her. Sebastian supposed one should never tell a wife or a woman they could be ignored, for as he had heard so often, ladies’ vanities should be flattered, and the prettiest of compliments should be paid.

The few lovers he had taken hadn’t required sweet words or praises. They reveled in their sensuality and would have accosted him even before dinner. They would have reached for his cock before sucking him to completion, then moving onto the main course. In his wicked fantasies, his wife always appeared the temptress, seductive, but Fanny glowed with innocence and shyness. And he did not know how to seduce her. What if he couldn’t be gentle enough? If he had any decency, he would send her away this very moment.

“Would you like a drink, Fanny?”

“Oh yes please.” Her smile wobbled, and she glanced around the room, doing her utmost not to meet his gaze.

Sebastian pushed from the bench, and moved over to the mantle, and grabbed the bottle of brandy he had taken in earlier. “Do you drink brandy?”

Her eyes widened. “I’ve never had it.”

“I confess I am uncertain if I will offend you by offering it.”

She smiled. “It relieves my heart you could be unsure about anything, my lord.” Then she lowered herself onto the sofa closest to the warm fire. She was poised on the edge of the chair, her back straight, appearing as delicate as a rose in winter. Suddenly he felt like a hulking brute.

“Fanny—”

“Sebastian—”

They laughed.

She flushed becomingly. “Please Sebastian, you speak first.”

He went over to her and handed her a glass of brandy and sat next to her. She took a tiny sip, her nose wrinkling.

“I cannot say it is palatable.” She met his regard unflinchingly. “What were you saying?”

“It is our wedding night.”

Her fingers clutched the glass in a seemingly fierce grip. “That it is.”

"I was desperate to marry you because I did not want to dally and let you slip from my grasp again. That lack of courtship makes me feel decidedly unsure how to proceed tonight." He cleared his throat, calling himself all sorts of name for what he would suggest. “Perhaps now that we are married, we should take the time to learn each other before we get to know each other carnally.”

Her sweet lips froze in a small O. it took such discipline for him not to reach for her, tug her to his chest, and kiss her.

Her eyes searched his intently. “You would do this, Sebastian?”

“Yes.” He was the biggest fool alive, for his damn cock was aching something fiercely.

“It seems a sensible proposition, but I do not want to wait,” she whispered.

Everything in Sebastian stilled. “Are you certain?” he asked, his heart pounding.

“I have no notion what to expect, and I fear if we wait, I will be consumed with the fevered imagining of something awful.”

He couldn’t help smiling. “It isn’t awful. I daresay if it was, we’d already had a revolution on our hands."

She laughed shakily. Instead of offering a reply, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. Need quaked through him. He allowed her tentative exploration, taking the glass from her and resting it on the carpet. Then he tugged her to him slowly, until she was seated on his thighs, thankfully away from his already bulging erection.

With a soft sigh, she deepened her kiss, slipping her hands around his neck. His wife tasted of brandy, strawberries, and heaven. Yes, he was certain there was nothing more divine than her flavor. He lifted his hand to her face, gently cupping her jaw, angling her for a more intimate kiss. Fanny relaxed, her lips parting, her tongue sliding against his. He groaned. She sighed. And their kiss burned.

He kissed her repeatedly, sometimes ravishing, and other times savoring her sweet taste. She grew restless, sliding down his thighs until her delightfully rounded buttocks pressed into his cock. His wife stiffened momentarily, before sinking into the heat of their embrace.

He lowered one of his hands to her knee, tugging the nightgown up to her thighs. Sebastian almost smiled when she released his shoulder to push his hand away. He changed tactic, ignoring the wet heat he wanted to explore for now. Instead, he drifted his hands up to her slender throat, his strokes slow and arousing. He pulled the collar of her nightgown low and slipped his finger below the hem of her chemise. His body swelled, hardened, every muscle taut, hot, aching. It was the hardest thing he had ever done, restraining himself when his body cried out to tumble her quick and hard.

She jerked, and he ruthlessly made his kiss wetter, deeper, and with a whimper, she surrendered, arching into his embrace. The tip of his finger touched her hardened nipple, and she squeaked into his kiss, pulling away. Her eyes were heavy-lidded with arousal, her lips red and swollen, her cheeks flushed.

Holding her aroused gaze, Sebastian pulled down her nightgown and chemise to her waist, baring her firm yet heavy breasts to his ravenous eyes. Her entire body blushed pink, and he could see that she fought not to hide her charms. He placed a hand on the small of her back and arched her to him. Her eyes widened, and she bit her lower lip.

Sebastian sucked a ripe berry nipple into his mouth. She screamed and pushed from his lap, stumbling into the sofa, yanking her nightgown over her quivering breast.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked gruffly.

She looked fevered and a little shaken. A silence filled the music room, and she swallowed hard, keeping her gaze averted. With a soft curse, he pushed away and moved toward the door, annoyed with his lack of control.

“No don’t go I…I was just startled that is all, you may continue,” she said primly, but there was a sheen of tears in the eyes she stared at him with in bewilderment.

He went over to her and stooped, so she looked down into his face. “Listen to me, Fanny. I was not considering your sensibilities. I mean you are a lady, and I am a great brute. We will wait and—"

A thoroughly horrified expression filled her eyes. “Sebastian,” she said with surprising firmness. “I am not a child. I am your wife. It was simply unexpected. I…perhaps if we go to your chambers and…and turn out the candles, I would be more comfortable in the dark.”

Genteel ladies should be loved in the dark where we protect their sensibilities and delicacy.

That long-ago admonition from Percy swirled through his mind. The refusal hovered on his lips for Sebastian was truly unable to imagine being so repressed with his wife. He'd always been a man of strong appetites, and he wanted Fanny more than he had ever craved anything in his entire life. What she asked was so simple, yet so frightfully complicated. What if she never became comfortable with him? He hungered for his wife in the most lurid fashion, and she was such a genteel creature. Perhaps she only needs time. And he would do anything to make her comfortable, even sacrificing his own needs. “If that is your wish.”

Relief lit in her warm eyes. “It is, oh thank you, Sebastian.”

He stood and held out his hand which she clasped. He tugged her up and made his way from the music room down the hallway and up the stairs to his chamber to have a proper wedding night.