"A what?"

"That thing that Theo said was hanging over her," she replied absently. "I think I'll walk down to the dower house and see if my museum has arrived safely. Will you tell Mama?"

"Yes, I'll tell her." He shook his head, half smiling as Rosie weaved her way down the corridor, on the lookout for any interesting specimens. He thought he was beginning to get the hang of this new family he'd acquired. There was certainly something rather appealing about them… particularly when compared to his own.

Refusing to think any further about his mother, he returned to the gallery, where the reception was beginning to break up.

"Have you had news of Edward, Sir Charles?" Emily linked arms with her future father-in-law as they went downstairs. "I keep reading the Gazette for news of his regiment, but by the time we get the paper, it's hopelessly out-of-date."

"The news is old news before it goes into print, my dear," Sir Charles said with a sigh. "But we believe that no news is good news."

"I wrote to Edward about Theo's betrothal several weeks ago."

Lady Fairfax took Emily's other arm. "I expect a reply is already on its way from Spain."

"Yes," Emily agreed. "Theo and I wrote too."

"Perhaps he'll have a leave in the next few months," Sir Charles said, patting her cheek. "It's hard for you, my dear. It's always hard for women in wartime. Waiting and worrying."

"Women and fathers," his wife said gently. Edward was their only child.

"Lord Stoneridge was in the Peninsula, I believe," Emily said. "But before Edward was sent to serve there."

"I gather Stoneridge served in Portugal," Sir Charles replied. His host had not cared to expand upon the subject beyond the succinct information that he'd been wounded, captured, and exchanged.

"Are you leaving already?" Theo came over to them. "Thank you for giving me away, Sir Charles."

"My pleasure, my dear." He kissed her cheek. "I hope Stoneridge will be doing the same for Emily before too long."

Emily blushed, but Theo laughed and hugged her sister. "Of course he will. I have a feeling Edward will be home very soon."

"Now, what makes you think that, Theo?" Lady Fairfax asked, drawing her cloak around her.

Theo frowned. Why had she said that? It had just slipped out, and yet she knew it to be true. Her scalp lifted as an odd sense of apprehension darkened her mind.

A hand came to rest on her shoulder, and she looked up at her husband, who had come to stand behind her. Her apprehension vanished. There was quiet intent in his gaze, and it was for her alone.

"Do you wish to walk down to the dower house with your mother and sisters?"

"Oh, yes, of course," she said, a moment too late for real enthusiasm, and laughter sprang into his eyes. His bride had other things on her mind.

"Come, then. Your mother and Clarissa are waiting for you and Emily. Sir Charles, Lady Belmont was hoping that you and Lady Fairfax would take tea with her in the dower house."

"We should be delighted," Lady Fairfax said briskly. "The aftermath of weddings and suchlike can leave one most dreadfully blue-deviled."

She went off energetically in search of Elinor, and the others followed. The party walked slowly to the dower house, everyone aware of what the walk meant. Elinor was losing her home, but she was as assuredly leaving her daughter in possession of everything that would have been hers if her husband had lived. And in that, there was a sense of rightness.

At the door to the dower house, she kissed Theo on both cheeks and said matter-of-factly, "I shan't visit you, my dear. When you and Stoneridge are ready for visitors, send Billy with a message. You have Foster and Mrs. Graves and Cook to help you if you need advice as to the household." It had been readily agreed by all parties that Theo, as she took the domestic reins of Stoneridge Manor into her own hands, would need the services of the old retainers more than her mother in the much smaller dower house.

Elinor extended her hand to her son-in-law. "I wish you joy, Stoneridge."

"Thank you, ma'am." He kissed her hand.

Her eyes held his for a moment; then she said softly, "Theo isn't always easy to understand, sir, but she's worth the effort."

The earl's eyes flicked to his bride, who was bidding her sisters farewell. He smiled. "I know it, ma'am."

The girls were whispering, their heads close together; then Theo broke away, and three laughing countenances were revealed. There was an air of mischief about them all that both amused and intrigued Sylvester, and he guessed they'd been having a similar exchange to the one he'd overheard in the corridor the previous day. Then Theo stepped away from her family, moving beside him.

Putting an arm around her shoulders, he turned her back toward the driveway. They were both aware of the eyes following them to the curve in the driveway until they were out of sight of the dower house.

Theo gathered up the gauzy train of her wedding dress, throwing it over one arm, and began to run back to the manor, her veil streaming out behind her.

After a surprised moment Sylvester broke into a run, catching her up easily. "Gypsy!" He seized her around the waist and swung her into his arms. "What's the hurry?"

"I was hoping you were going to demonstrate the answer to that," she said, resting her head against his shoulder, fluttering her eyelashes at him in a wonderful parody of a demurely flirtatious miss.

"Oh, I intend to," he declared, and with a swift adjustment tossed her over his shoulder. "It will be a great deal quicker in this fashion, I believe."

Ignoring her vociferous protests at this undignified method of transport, he strode up the steps and into the house.

Theo reared up against his shoulder as they entered the hall. The house felt very strange. "Where is everyone?"

"Out," he said. "Celebrating our wedding. Either in the courtyard or in the Hare and Hounds. And they'll be doing so for many hours."

"You mean the house is empty?" she exclaimed.

"In a manner of speaking," he agreed, a chuckle in his voice, as he took the stairs two at a time, despite his burden.

He kicked open the door of his bedchamber and unceremoniously tossed his bride onto the bed in a swirl of silk and gauze.

"Now, Lady Stoneridge, let us put this marriage beyond all possibility of annulment."

Chapter Eleven

"So what happens now?" Theo lay back on her elbows, regarding her husband with a quizzical smile. The clock on the mantelpiece struck four o'clock. Her wedding night was beginning rather early.

"For a start, you stay where you are and do nothing," Sylvester said. His eyes were narrowed, his mouth a firm, straight line, as he stood by the bed looking down at her as she lay in a cloud of virginal white.

"Shouldn't I at least take my shoes off?" She wriggled her feet, clad in ivory satin slippers, by way of demonstration.

"No, I don't wish you to remove a single garment." He eased the snug-fitting silk coat off his shoulders without taking his eyes from her.

There was such intensity of purpose in the hooded gray gaze that Theo shivered, and all desire to joke vanished. It had only been a way of lessening her own tension, she realized.

She watched as he unfastened his cravat and tossed it to join his coat on the chaise longue. The white waistcoat followed it. With slow deliberation he unfastened the tiny pearl buttons hidden in the ruffled sleeves of his shirt before shrugging out of the garment. It joined the others.

Theo had felt the warmth of his skin, the power in his chest and shoulders, but she'd never seen his naked torso. The muscles in his back moved beneath the taut skin as he turned to throw his shirt onto the chaise. There was not an ounce of spare flesh, and when he turned back, she saw a thin white scar running down his rib cage, curving around the narrow waist, following the thin line of black hair down beneath the waistband of his satin knee britches.

In leisurely fashion he pulled off his shoes and his striped stockings. Theo found that she was holding her breath as the buttons of his britches flew undone. He pushed them off his hips, stepped out of them, and turned to throw them onto the chaise.

Theo's eyes stretched wide as they slid down his back, over the firm buttocks, the long, muscular thighs, the hard calves.

He turned slowly to the bed. The scar was etched into the flat belly, finishing just above one slim hip. Theo stared at his aroused flesh and felt the first faint stirring of alarm, imagining that jutting shaft entering her, becoming a vital part of her own soft body, invading her.

But she couldn't take her eyes from him. He was beautiful in his nakedness… beautiful and terrifying.

Sylvester leaned over her, cupping her chin in the palm of his hand, bringing his mouth gently to hers. "There's nothing to fear," he said as if he understood the wild complexity of her emotions. "There may be a little pain at first, but it will soon pass."

Theo only nodded, for once in her life unable to find words. Tentatively, she placed a hand on his shoulder, feeling the smooth round bone fitting her palm before sliding her hand down his arm, over the hard swordsman's biceps, her fingers rustling through the thick dark hair on his forearm. After the barest hesitation, she laid her hand flat on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath the skin. Boldly, she touched one nipple with the tip of her finger, and he smiled, holding himself still, leaning over her as she continued her exploration.

She traced the scar with a fingertip, running over the clear outline of his ribs and down to his hip, feeling the sharp jutting bone of his pelvis. She wanted to go further but suddenly found she couldn't. She looked up and saw he was still smiling.

"All in good time," he said softly as if he perfectly understood this sudden shyness. "Let's divest you of some of these bridal trappings."

Bringing one knee onto the bed, he deftly removed the pearl fillet that held her veil in place and lifted the filmy white cloud from her head. Her hair beneath was braided into a coronet around her small head. It was a style that gave a neatness and maturity to her face that was a far cry from her usual gypsy dishevelment or the uncompromising plainness of the one long plait.

He let his hand roam over her body as she lay back on the bed, over the swell of her breasts against the laced bodice of her gown, over her belly, pressing the white silk against her skin into the concave hollow, and down over her thighs, molding them with the rich material. His fingers braceleted her ankles, remembering of their own accord that very first time when he'd clasped the slender bony ankles in the same way and dragged her into the mud.

His smile broadened and he looked up her body. "Any memories, gypsy?"

For answer she kicked in mock petulance against his grip, and he laughed, sliding the slippers off her feet, before running his flat hand up her silk-stockinged leg, beneath her skirt.

His fingers found her lace-trimmed garters. Deciding that he would like to see what he was doing, he took the hem of her gown and slowly drew it up over her thighs.

Theo quivered as she felt the air through the thin silk of her stockings. He slid the garters down her leg and then rolled her stockings down, easing them off her feet. Now the air fell directly onto her bared skin, and a wash of vulnerability swept through her. Her hands fluttered to push down her raised skirt, to cover her exposed limbs, and then fell to her sides as the string of her drawers was loosened.

"Lift your bottom, love," he commanded quietly, peeling the undergarment over her hips.

Theo bit her lip hard and did as she was told. Suddenly she was lost and fearful in a strange landscape, and she forgot how she'd been dreaming about this moment, forgot about the strange surges of longing, about the moments of passion they'd already experienced. She wanted to cover herself, push down her skirt, and flee from the room. The man whose hands were on her with such devastating intimacy was a stranger who now had absolute rights to her body. Whenever and wherever he chose to exercise those rights.

Sylvester felt the change in her when the muscles of her thighs suddenly clenched and she was rigid beneath his hand. A puzzled frown crossed his face. He was doing no more to her now than he'd done that evening by the stream, and she'd been wild with passion then.