Warnings went off in Val’s head, as her words could mean she wanted only a single experience of him, wanted a taste, a sample, nothing more. He wanted more, he wanted more than he deserved of her; he wanted to devour her, to make a feast of her, and to offer himself for her delectation too.

Ah, well.

A man worked with what life gave him, and life was giving him this opportunity with Ellen. He folded himself back down against her lap in gratitude and felt her hand stroking the back of his head. The moment was made complete and more memorable by the sudden gentle tattoo of rain on her roof, a showery patter that presaged a good, soaking rain, not merely a passing cloudburst.

“Valentine?” Ellen’s hand went still against his nape. “I don’t know what to do.”

He did not sit up. “About?”

“How do we go on?” she asked, curling down over him to press her nose against his back. “I’ve never… not in daylight, not here.”

“It’s better in daylight,” he assured her. “I can see your beautiful face and your lovely body and let you look your fill of me.”

“Will you undress?”

“Of course,” he replied, smiling with pleasure, approval, and anticipation when he sat back on his heels. “With your help.” He rose and sat beside her on the bed, settling a hand on her lap so she could remove first one cuff link then the other.

“Now what?”

“Unbutton my shirt?” He could have pulled it over his head, of course, but he wanted to communicate very clearly that they were in no hurry. So one by one, he had her remove each article of his clothing until he was standing without a stitch in her bedroom.

“Let’s get you comfortable, as well.” Though comfortable was going to be a stretch, he surmised. Her blushes suggested she could barely tolerate his nudity, much less her own.

“Don’t you want to get under the covers?” Her tone was almost hopeful, while her gaze was glued to his chest. She reached up a hand toward his sternum then dropped it back to her side.

Val picked up her hand in his own. “I would adore for you to touch me.” Carefully, he laid her palm over his heart then left it there so she could feel the steady, reassuring life-beat.

“I want to touch your heart too,” Val said, stepping in to kiss her cheek. “Clothes off, Ellen, hmm?”

She didn’t comply immediately but stroked her hand over his chest, his biceps, his belly, his shoulders. She was touching him with such wonder, he could barely stand still for it. When her hands fell to her sides, he kissed her cheek, let his hands settle gently on her hips, and waited.

And while he waited, he couldn’t help but kiss her. The way she fitted her curves and hollows to his was enough to send lust singing through his veins. When she sighed into his mouth and cautiously met his tongue with her own, he gathered the fabric of her dress in his hands. By slow, stealthy degrees, he drew her into the kiss even as he drew the worn cotton up around her hips. She gave a little gasp when the sensation of air on her legs must have registered, but Val held her hips still when she would have stepped back.

“Steady,” he whispered against her neck. She nodded, and he drew the dress and chemise up the rest of the way, leaving Ellen blushing in her shoes and stockings.

And even today, no stays. Val almost cried with gratitude at that discovery.

“There you are,” he whispered, running his hands down her sides and up her back. He wanted to look—wanted badly, badly to look—but he could feel the heat of Ellen’s blush where her face was planted against his collarbone.

“Under the covers now?”

“Let me get you out of your shoes and stockings.”

He’d been careful to keep his erection away from her midriff—he was more than ready for what followed. She’d not seen him erect, not the way she might now, and he wasn’t about to frighten her.

Impress, God, yes; frighten, no. Never.

He pushed her back with one hand on her sternum so she again sat on the bed, and then knelt to remove her shoes and stockings. On impulse, he leaned in and again embraced her around the waist, pressing his face to her thighs.

“It’s different,” Ellen said softly, her hand running down the bare plane of his back. “We touched, just this way, only moments ago, but it’s different.”

“It’s better,” Val murmured, cheek against her leg. “Closer.”

“Your back…” Ellen touched him again, a slow, smooth skim of her hand up the long muscles beside his spine, then over his shoulder blades and onto his shoulders. “I think I can see every muscle God put in here, as if you’re a perfect specimen.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to explain all that muscular articulation came from playing the piano, but that would have admitted a shadow to the bedroom, and the only shadows he wanted were those cast by the soft gray light filtering in from the rainy day outside.

“I want to see your back,” Val countered, straightening, “and for that, we can get into your bed.”

“Now?” Ellen’s hand lingered on his shoulder. “You’ll let me touch you more, later?”

“I’ll let you touch me any way you please, forever and ever, but in your bed, love.”

He knew she was stalling, nervous and uncertain, but she’d warned him that had she too much time to think, she’d deny them their pleasures. That, he would not allow. Could not.

Holding his gaze, Ellen shifted back, careful to keep her legs together when she turned on her seat and scooted across the bed. Val joined her in one movement, lifting the old worn quilt and the sheet beneath it to drape over her legs.

“We need rules of surrender here,” Val said, sitting cross-legged on his side of the bed. He wasn’t bothering with the covers, and Ellen had to notice his erection, enormously swollen where it arced up against his belly.

“Rules of surrender?” Ellen repeated, her gaze taking him in with an expression of trepidation.

“Ellen.” Val’s smile disappeared. “I won’t hurt you.”

Her gaze dipped to his groin then back up to his face, and he prayed he hadn’t lied. She’d been without a man for five damned years, and Val was… he was well endowed, and he knew this for a fact. Tagging along with Nick on this or that debauch, having four older brothers, spending a couple years at public school then several more at university… Val had seen enough to know his equipment was in proportion to the rest of him.

“I won’t hurt you,” he said again, holding her gaze. “Because our first rule is you tell me if you don’t like something. Promise?”

She nodded once, but her gaze drifted back to his groin.

“If you can’t find your voice, then pinch me,” Val went on. “Pinch me hard, understand?”

“Pinch you,” Ellen repeated. “Hard.”

“Hard enough to bruise,” Val clarified. “And my arse doesn’t count, because when I’m in a certain mood, I like that.”

“Dear heavens.”

He smiled at her blush. “Rule number two.” He reached over and stroked a finger down her jaw. “We avoid conception by every reasonable means, but if there’s a child, you must tell me.” She grimaced, and Val wanted to curse, because at least one shadow had found them.

“I’ll tell you,” she said slowly, “but…”

“But?” Val waited patiently, because to him, to Ellen, to anyone, this should be important.

“It’s hard for me to conceive. If I do, I won’t do anything to harm the child. You promise you won’t ask it of me. Nothing to harm the child, no matter what.”

“I promise I will not ask you to do anything to harm our child.” The words were unhesitating and firm, the easiest promise he’d ever given. “I promise I will take such good care of you, no possible harm could come to our child.”

Ellen shook her head and pressed two fingers to his lips. “Don’t say such things.”

“I mean them,” Val rejoined, drawing her fingers from his lips. “I am not in this bed for a casual romp, Ellen. You matter to me, and any child of ours would matter to me very much.”

“That’s… good.” Ellen nodded, heaving a deep breath. “To me, as well.”

Val regarded her at some length, sitting beside him with the sheet tucked primly under her arms, her cinnamon hair down her back in a tidy braid. This discussion of children had to touch sensitive nerves for her, for she’d quite plainly considered the lack of a Markham heir her failing. He’d love to give her a child, to prove to her the shortcoming had not been hers.

But children deserved legitimacy, and that meant asking Ellen to tie herself not just to a man with a disability but to a man who came with a parent who thought nothing of bribing mistresses to conceive or footmen to spy on their masters. The Duke of Moreland considered such measures excused by his need to protect and control his children—not in that order. And His Grace considered grandchildren more than reason enough to force marriages where they ought not to be forced, no matter how much Val might wish to have Ellen for his own.

So, there would be no children. Another shadow, but one that haunted every coupling outside a marriage bed and probably many within one, as well.

“Any more rules?” Ellen asked, drawing her knees up to her chest.

Val shot her a bemused smile. “One.”

“And that would be?”

“You tell me what you do like. I can read your body to some extent, and will delight in doing so, but I cannot read your mind.”

“What I like?” Ellen’s brow furrowed. “I don’t think I understand this rule.”

“Do you want to be on the bottom, or would you rather ride me? Do you want my mouth or my hand, and would you ever want to use your mouth on me? Are your nipples more sensitive, or your lovely derriere? And what of toys, bindings, spanking?”

The look she gave him was such a combination of confusion, fascination, and bewilderment, Val realized if she didn’t have the vocabulary, she likely lacked the experience, as well.

“I see.”

“What do you see?” Ellen asked, uncertainty in her voice.

“How did you and Francis typically join?” Val asked, sliding down and crossing his arms behind his head.

“In the dark.” She glanced over at him, her gaze going to the soft down at his armpits. “In bed, at night. Without removing our nightclothes. We certainly did not discuss it, and I am not comfortable discussing this with you.”

“What did you like most about being with your husband?” Val asked, reaching out a hand to stroke her arm. “What do you miss most?”

She shot an unreadable glance at him over her shoulder, though Val could see longing in her eyes and… loneliness?

“He’d hold me,” she said very quietly, “afterward. At first, he’d just kiss my cheek and go back to his bedroom, but I asked him to stay, and it became… comforting. I had to make up excuses—I was cold, I had something to discuss, but eventually, he’d stay for a few moments of his own accord.”

Val kept his expression bland but surmised that dear Francis had left his wife hanging, and holding her was the only comfort she could ask for. Of course she’d want cuddling and comforting if her every experience was one of vague frustration.

“Let’s start there. Let me hold you. But, Ellen?”

“What?” She was regarding him warily, as if his rules had provided not the sense of control and safety he’d intended for her, but just the opposite.

“You can recall your husband with all the love you ever bore him,” Val said, holding her gaze. “You can be grateful for the years you shared, the affection and the memories, but in this bed today, you are with me.”

“I am with you.” Her reply was gratifyingly swift and certain. “Only with you, and you are with me.”

“Just so. Now come cuddle up with me on this beautiful rainy day, and be my love.”

She curled up against his side with a sigh that bespoke five years of fatigue and loneliness, five years of coping, managing, and wishing for more, even when more could never be.

Val heard that sigh and propped his chin on her crown. “What does an enterprising gardener do on a rainy Monday?”

“I can start seedlings or get some baking done. Tally my books, work on my mending or sewing or embroidery. I can clean this cottage, particularly the windows—they get dusty easily this time of year.”

“I see,” Val murmured, drawing a slow pattern on her arm with his index finger.

“What do you see?” Ellen closed her eyes, and Val felt her begin to relax.

“I see you are as bad as I am.”

“In what regard?” In imitation of her lover, Ellen began to sketch on his chest with her third finger, though she probably wasn’t aware of her own actions.