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She dropped her hands. Water splashed along the rim of the tub, and she shook her head, her wide eyes finding his in the murky light. “I am where I wanted to be.”

“How terrifying. I believe you mean it.” His lips twisted strangely, and he wrung the soapy cloth over her arm, then continued washing her as if she were an invalid. Or his favorite horse. She wasn’t sure which idea made it stranger. “Tell me what you’re feeling, Mia. Why the tears? If you’re hurting that badly, I need to know.”

“I do hurt,” she said, looking into the water. “Is ... that how it is in all marriage beds?” Maybe this was why so many married women seemed so distant from their husbands. Why many insisted on separate rooms or even homes. Is there something wrong with me? That I enjoyed it?

“Perishingly few.” Nicholas drew her arm up and wiped down her fingers with the delicacy of a jeweler. He hadn’t yet touched her breasts or anywhere he’d been so keen upon all day. “I told you, I wanted both mistress and wife in you. This is mistress territory. Though many of them suffer little more than a few fumbled grunts and a messy thigh most nights.”

“Oh.” She blinked. Mistresses were another matter. They seemed to enjoy their partners. Or they faked it well enough while they enjoyed other benefits. “Will it ... hurt less? Tomorrow?”

“You’d be bleeding if I took you again right now. Of course, we’re waiting...” He paused. “Well. We’ll celebrate your first night in Clarendel Manor, but in less strenuous ways.” The back of his knuckles touched her cheek, his softer gaze meeting hers. “It’ll hurt less next time. I was rougher tonight than I meant to be. You responded so perfectly ... I forgot you were untouched in the moment. I am sorry, bella mia.”

“I didn’t ask you to stop.” She shivered as she looked at the chair he’d occupied while she’d been draped over his lap. “I ... wouldn’t mind doing some things again.”

He smiled, the expression warm as the fire at her back. In the moment, Nicholas was someone else—not the elusive lord or the imperious lover, but almost a conspirator. A friend? He resumed scrubbing her back with his right hand, while his left traced a hypnotic path along her arm. “Which ones?”

She lifted her hand to his cheek, her thumb ghosting over the corner of his lips. So what if I care for him? I’m only doing my duty, in a way...

He wrung the cloth out over her collarbone, this time tracing the rise of her breasts with the rough linen, the warm water, and the fringe teasing her swollen nipples. “You owe me an answer, love.”

She bowed closer, dropping her voice lower. “I rather liked having you in my mouth.”

“Well, that you can have in the morning.” Nicholas chuckled. “I expected you to ask to see how a more, ah, wifely evening would go. Or to catch up on your correspondence?”

“I do need to write to Portia. Let her know I’m well. But that can also wait.” She didn’t know where to start that letter. Portia must have already put together that Lord Clarendel agreed to rescue her through marriage, but she’d want details. Amy hadn’t a clue how to put most of it on paper. It didn’t even line up in her head. “Unless ... what does a wifely evening look like?”

“Hmm...” He ran the rag along her throat. “I would have waited for you to undress and get safely into bed. Then I’d come to bed, equally wrapped up. And we’d say goodnight. Then I’d pull up your shift under the covers and plow your cunt while you stay politely quiet. You’d get your pleasure, I’d have mine, then I’d leave you be. All very respectable and polite.”

She wrinkled her nose. “That ... sounds awkward.”

“It’s pleasant enough. Maybe on slow nights when you’re too sore for much else, hm?” He nuzzled her temple, lips brushing her hair. “I should wipe down your pussy, darling. But if you’d rather do it yourself, I understand.”

Amy parted her legs for him. “My hands are quite busy,” she said, one returning to his cheek, the other taking hold of his forearm. “It still does feel ... strange. That you are my husband. That I can touch you...”

“Until I tie you to the bed.” He laughed, but the washcloth’s strokes along her inner thighs were soft as a butterfly’s wings beneath the water. And so insistent that her breath caught. “I don’t think you’ll mind that game either.”

“Where did you learn all these, uh, games?”

“I was a soldier, Mia.” His hand was on her overheated sex, and his eyes shone with the same dark amusement he’d shown when he held her to the wall in his London drawing room. “With little money of my own. From a very young age. I watched endless performances in brothels and gentlemen’s clubs. And then I had my share of bed partners, each with their own ideas.”

She looked away from him, watching his hand as he tended to her. She’d known that her husband was experienced, but she didn’t realize it was on such a worldly scale. Amy waited for the bitter pangs of jealousy to take hold. And waited. Until she realized that the bitterness had more to do with her own experience. God, he probably is bored to tears with me... “I ... I am glad you are being so patient with me.”

“You are a maddeningly quick study, love.” The washcloth tracked up her stomach. “But I want to see you find your maenad nature as you’re ready.” Did ... did he know the end of the cloth was right between her folds? Was he intentionally provoking her? She grabbed his wrist. Not to move him or stop him, but more to anchor herself to something solid and tangible. Once she felt steady, she smiled for him.

“I am more grateful than I can express and—”

“Oh, you can express it.” He captured her lips in a light, playful kiss. “Think you can come undone one more time before bed? It’ll be gentle.”

“I’m certain I can. In fact, I’m confident I won’t be able to stop myself...”

Chapter Eight - Nicholas

(Clarendel Manor. November 15, 1813)

The problem with Amy being too sore to fuck was that he couldn’t distract himself with her gorgeous, willing body. And thus, they spent the ride to Clarendel Manor with his sister and both ladies’ maids in the carriage for the grand arrival, which also meant Juliet explaining a lot about the estate, her daughter, and the family. Nicholas steered her away from matters of finances as much as possible, but feared his new wife got the gist of their circumstances rather too well.

That led him to examining his feelings while they all played cards for buttons and tokens. Because with the sunlight streaming through the window, gilding Amy’s curls to a halo, and lighting her honey eyes to a hundred shades of amber, he had to admit it.

I’m keeping her.