Misspent youth. The term reminded Eve of the topic she had yet to broach. “I have something difficult to say to you, Husband.”

“I do hope that white marriage business isn’t going to come up, Eve Denning.”

He snuggled his body in closer, as if to admit that the white marriage business had been lurking somewhere in his male brain, creating havoc these weeks past, and to further clarify that he’d have no part of it.

“God love you, Husband, a white marriage is the last thing I could contemplate with you. I would be devastated…”

He left off nuzzling her neck. “Go on.”

This wasn’t at all the tack she wanted to take. She wanted to be brisk, informative, and unsentimental. To pass along a few minor facts in the interests of easing her conscience and showing the same faith in him he’d shown in her.

A marriage needed to be based on mutual respect, after all.

“There are things I’ve needed to tell you, Lucas, but haven’t found quite the right moment. Things that want privacy.”

“I’m listening, and this is as much privacy as we’re likely to get anywhere.”

His reply was not at all helpful, but he stroked a hand over her hair then repeated the caress, and that… It reminded Eve of the way he’d patted her shoulder before the race. The way he’d stayed near her all day, the way he’d carried her over the threshold.

“My courses are late, Husband.”

This merited her a sigh and a kiss to her cheek.

Her cheek?

“Being the sort of intimate husband I am—and being married to the lusty sort of wife you are—one noticed this.”

She liked that he thought she was lusty… But he’d noticed?

What else had he noticed?

“Did you notice that I was scared to death on that horse today?”

“Of course. The more frightened you are, the calmer you get. Usually.” Another kiss to her other cheek. “Though you were not particularly calm on our wedding night.”

Oh, he would bring that up. Eve had wanted to ease into the topic, to whisk right over it, to drop hints and let him draw conclusions.

Subtlety was wanted for the disclosure she had in mind.

“I was not chaste.”

God help her, she’d spoken those words aloud. Deene’s chin brushed over her right eyebrow then her left; his arms cradled her a little more closely. “You were chaste.”

“No, I was not. I had given my virtue… Lucas, are you listening to me?”

“I always listen to you. You did not give your virtue to anyone. It was taken from you by a cad and a bounder who’d no more right to it than he did to wear the crown jewels.”

Eve’s husband spoke in low, fierce tones, even as the hand he smoothed over her hair was gentle.

“How did you know?” He’d known? All this time he’d known and said nothing?

“I thought at first you were simply nervous as any bride would be nervous of her first encounter with her husband, but then I realized you were not nervous, you were frightened. Of me, of what I would think of you. As if…”

He rolled with her so she was sprawled on his chest and his arms were wrapped around her. By the limited light in the room, Eve met his gaze.

“Your brother Bartholomew caught up with the fool man first, and the idiot was so stupid as to brag of the gift you’d bestowed on him. He was further lunatic enough to brag about the remittance his silence would cost your family. He bragged on his cleverness, duplicity, bad faith, and utter lack of honor to your own brother.”

“Bart never said… Devlin never breathed a word.”

“I don’t think Devlin knew. By the time Devlin arrived on the scene, Bart had beaten the man near to death and summoned a press gang. I know of this only because I happened to share a bottle—a few bottles—with Lord Bart the night before we broke the siege at Ciudad Rodrigo. He regretted the harm to you. He regretted not avenging your honor unto the death. He regretted a great deal, but not that you’d survived your ordeal and had some chance to eventually be happy.”

“You have always known, and you have never breathed a word.”

“I have always known, and I have done no differently than any other gentleman would do when a lady has been wronged. You are the one who has kept your silence, Evie, even from your own husband.”

He was not accusing her of any sin; he was expressing his sorrow for her. Eve tucked herself tightly against him, mashed her nose against his throat, and felt relief, grief, and an odd sort of joy course through her.

“All these years I thought I was alone with what had befallen me, but I had a friend in you, didn’t I?”

“I haven’t always been a friend to you, Evie. When a man finds himself damnably attracted to a woman who has suffered enough at the hands of…”

She shut him up with a kiss, a soft, helpful kiss such as a wife bestows on a husband inclined to temporize when he ought to be listening.

“I love you, Lucas. I love you for the faith you have in me, for your patience, for your honor, for so many reasons. I love you and I trust you and I love you.”

He heaved the biggest sigh ever. “And you won’t feel compelled to ride in any more races to demonstrate these lovely sentiments you hold toward me?”

“Not on horseback.”

Though she did spend much of the remaining night—as well as most of the ensuing decades—demonstrating those same sentiments in myriad other ways.