Beth took wine whenever it was presented and found it drew a comforting mist between herself and reality.

All too soon, however, it was time for her and the marquess to retire for the night. The duke and d.u.c.h.ess, the bridesmaids, and a number of the marquess's friends all formed a procession to escort them to the bedchamber.

His bedchamber.

Beth had never considered before how public an announcement of their intended activity this would be. The picture of Mars and Venus loomed monstrous in her mind, and she desperately wished to run and hide from all the knowing looks, all the sn.i.g.g.e.ring laughter. What an extraordinarily vulgar business a wedding was.

Then she found herself alone with him. The alcoholic veil fell away leaving her chilled with nerves and slightly sick. She simply stood and looked at him. So large, so strong....

After a moment he sighed. "Are you as terrified as you look or is this more acting?"

"Yes," she whispered. "I mean, terrified."

He poured her a gla.s.s of rich red wine. "Here," he said as he pa.s.sed it over. "This should help." He took one for himself, drank it down, and poured another.

Beth supposed it might. She'd like the misty comfort back again, but her hands began to shake and the wine splashed a deep red stain down her beautiful white gown. She dropped the gla.s.s and began to cry.

She was swept up into his arms. She struggled frantically as he carried her to the bed and laid her on the silken cover.

"Be still, my dear," he said softly as he took his hands away. "I'm not going to rape you."

He sat beside her on the bed. "You really are an innocent, aren't you, Elizabeth?"

Beth nodded.

"You're a d.a.m.n fool," he said almost angrily. Then he extended a finger to wipe away one of her tears. "What have we done to that spirited Miss Armitage I brought away from Cheltenham?"

Beth attempted a smile. "Turned her into a marchioness?"

He reached out and gently disentangled the tiara from her hair, tossing it carelessly on the bedside table. "So much for aristocratic grandeur. You know, my dear, it occurs to me that the duke has had it all his own way so far. We are married. He has no more say as to how we conduct our lives. I think you need a long period of repair before we progress to parenthood."

No Mars and Venus, thought Beth hopefully. "Will you not mind?" she asked.

"No," he said gently, "I will not mind." He sounded relieved. Perversely, Beth was a little hurt.

"But where will you sleep?" she asked.

"With you tonight. We don't want to cause talk. A man can sleep with a woman without anything intimate occurring." He collapsed down beside her on the bed, one arm over his eyes. "G.o.d. I've drunk too much."

His manner was so easy, so natural, all Beth's fears melted away and she giggled. "I think I have, too. The champagne made me feel so carefree." She found giggling suited her mood entirely and couldn't stop.

"And what do you find so amusing, Elizabeth?" he asked, rolling onto his side and grinning in sympathy.

"Beth," said Beth as she tried to control her laughter.

"Beth?"

At last she succeeded and turned her head to look at him. "My name is Beth," she said clearly.

"Why the deuce didn't you say so before?"

Beth shrugged. "It was a symbol."

He smiled. His blue eyes danced in the candlelight. "And now you've told me. Is that a symbol?"

"I suppose it is," said Beth, finding it difficult to focus or keep her eyes open. "Friends?"

"Friends," he said with a soft laugh and rolled her over to get at the b.u.t.tons on the back of her gown. "I've done this for many a friend before now."

Beth was surprised at how little she cared that he undressed her-her body seemed a long, long way from her head. When she found herself slipped naked between the sheets, however, she giggled again. "How improper."

"Not at all," he said cheerfully. "No one would expect you to retain your nightgown anyway. If you want to give the servants a thrill, I could tear it a little."

"But it was so expensive."

"A curiosity of servants and a frugality of Armitages," he said, and at that moment it seemed profound. "Go to sleep, my sweet marchioness."

With that he left the room. Beth found his advice sound and let oblivion claim her.

The marquess took the wine with him to his dressing room, and he downed another gla.s.s as soon as he got there. Perhaps he should get thoroughly drunk; it was said to remove the ability to perform, though he had never experienced that himself. Having promised his wife a platonic marriage, the process of undressing her had made him feel very unplatonic indeed. What a surprisingly lovely body she had-creamy white skin, firm, full b.r.e.a.s.t.s, long, shapely legs, and the perkiest round rump he'd ever wanted to kiss and squeeze in his life....

He drank another gla.s.s of wine.

And she was an innocent. He supposed he'd known it for a while now, but she was unlike the women he was accustomed to-either worldly wise and experienced, or naive virgins. She was quick-witted and intelligent and had the ability to think for herself. He would never have sought out those qualities in a wife, but now they appealed to him strongly.

Reading the Wollstonecraft woman's books had given him insight, too. He didn't agree with all she wrote, but there was enough sense there to interest him. He was looking forward to an opportunity to discuss some of the questions raised.

He sighed. They'd probably have plenty of time for academic discussion. He'd rather be extending the education of his bluestocking bride in other directions, but she was not ready yet. She was a wounded bird, his Beth.

He almost drank off another gla.s.s of wine but desisted. It would not be advisable to be found fully dressed and flat out on the floor in the morning. He stripped off and climbed into bed with his wife, keeping well away from the soft, warm, perfumed body so close nearby.

When Beth awoke in the morning she slowly became aware of something different. She was naked. She never slept naked. Some hazy memories of the night before came to her. She opened her eyes a crack and looked sideways. She was alone in the bed.

She remembered the night before. She had been inebriated. On the go. Jug-shot. She felt herself blush at the thought that it might have been obvious to all the guests.

And the marquess had undressed her. She remembered that. And he hadn't....

Beth sat up abruptly, saw the marquess sitting in a chair watching her, and, with a gasp, slid back down under the covers. He was dressed in a marvelous blue damask banjan robe and his hair was engagingly unkempt.

"Good morning, my lady," he said with a warm smile.

"Good morning," Beth replied, watching him warily.

He frowned slightly. "Don't look so scared, Beth," he said. "I want my spirited radical back."

"It's hard to be bold when naked under the sheets, my lord."

His blue eyes twinkled with mirth. "Is it? I hadn't noticed that before."

Beth felt her face grow hot but couldn't help smile back. "You are a very wicked man."

"The only sort worth having." He came over to the bed with her heavy satin wrap in his hand and let it slither slowly down onto the covers. "I sent your maid away." He studied her a moment. Beth wondered if he were going to slide down on top of her as the wrap had slid, and cover her.... But he moved away. "I'm going to order breakfast for us in your boudoir. What would you like?"

"Eggs," said Beth, realizing she was hungry.

He grinned. "I'm pleased to see we're compatible in drink at least. I never have hangovers either." With that he left the room.

Beth lost no time in scrambling out of bed and into both her nightgown and wrap. It was, in fact, a more concealing ensemble than her wedding gown, tossed carelessly on the floor and quite ruined by the wine stain, but she still felt undressed. She slipped cautiously through into her dressing room but found it deserted. She sat to brush her tangled curls and wished for a cap to give her courage.

What a wedding. She had got drunk, had hysterics, and been stripped naked by a man. She found herself wishing he'd done "it" while she was so drunk. Now she must wait daily for him to consummate the marriage.

When, under the compulsion of a lifetime's training, she went back to tidy the bed she gasped with shock. There was a bloodstain on the sheet. But her body felt no different. Could he have done it without her having the slightest awareness?

He walked in. "Breakfast is here-What is it?" Then he saw the sheets. "Don't worry. That's not your blood. I just didn't want to start talk, our marriage being a trifle hasty. I gave myself a small cut with my razor and decorated the sheets."

"You think of everything, my lord," said Beth, somehow offended that he should have arranged matters so competently while she had gone to pieces.

A certain restraint settled on him. "You would rather, I am sure, be tied for life to an inefficient bungler of n.o.ble heart and great mind. You are, however, compelled to make do with me."

"n.o.body is questioning your n.o.bility," said Beth smartly. And then stopped, horrified.

He politely stood back so she could precede him through the door. "We had best ignore that comment, I think."

Beth was pleased to do so. Quicksands again. Would it ever change?

They walked in silence through her dressing room and bedroom to the luxurious boudoir where a table had been laid with linen and china. Beth helped herself to perfect eggs and a crisp, fresh bread roll. Her nerves had been so overwrought in recent days she had eaten little. The present moment was not perhaps the most comfortable of her life, but like most feared events, it was easier to handle when arrived at.

Considering the traps to be found in the most innocent conversation she was happy to follow his example and eat in silence. When her hunger was satisfied, though, the silence began to weigh on her.

She fidgeted with the new, unaccustomed wedding ring. "For how long, my lord, do we live here in seclusion?"

He looked at her thoughtfully. "Until, I think, you call me Lucien."

Beth met his eyes. "You really must learn not to challenge me, Lord Arden. We are likely to become the hermits of Marlborough Square."

"You refuse to use my given name?"

"Under those terms, yes."

He studied her then turned on his most glittering smile.

"Please, my dear Beth," he said softly, "will you call me Lucien?"

"Yes, Lucien, I will," replied Beth in her best schoolmistress's voice, hoping it disguised the way her pulse had speeded under his attentions.

The marquess set his elbows on the table and rested his shapely chin on his hands. His blue eyes were bright and mischievous. "Is that the key to your heart, my blushing rose? Please, my perfumed paradise, my angel of delight, come sit on my lap and kiss me."

Beth eyed him warily and tried to deny the turmoil his words stirred in her. "No."

He sighed and leaned back in his chair. "It was worth a try. I think I'll wait for you to seduce me."

"In that case there are unlikely to be heirs to the glory of the de Vaux."

"We shall see." He rose and stretched. "Now, having solved the name problem, it is time for us to leave and spend a few days at Hartwell."

"Hartwell?"

"Don't worry. It's not Louis le Desire's miniature Versailles in Buckinghamshire. It's my country estate in Surrey. Just a small place, a cottage ornee. Only a handful of servants. We can relax in bucolic isolation."

"And after that?" asked Beth.

"After that we really should return for the remainder of the Season. We need to establish your place in Society, but I promise not to run you ragged as my mother did."

"You most certainly will not," said Beth also rising. "Please stop treating me like a child, my... Lucien. I will arrange my own social life."

"To a point. Be fair, Beth. You still need some guidance on managing in Society."

Beth didn't feel fair, but she was forced to agree. "Very well. And now, my lord... Lucien, my darling," she corrected, causing a laugh, "I must summon Redcliff. Unless you intend to be my maid today as well."

Her unwary tongue had betrayed her again, and Beth saw the glitter in his eyes with alarm. He came over and began to unfasten the pearl cl.u.s.ters down the front of the wrap, his attention completely focused on his task. Beth looked at his handsome face blankly and wondered what she should do, what she wanted to do.

He slid his hands beneath the satin and pushed the wrap off her shoulders. His hands were hot against her skin. The garment slithered into a snowy pool on the carpet, and Beth was intensely grateful she had put on the nightgown. It still provided a decent covering.

His fingers rose to the three b.u.t.tons which fastened it to the scooped and filled neckline. Beth's hand came up to stop him.

He looked up, amused eyes challenging her.

"A maid would never leave my wrap lying on the floor."

"Whatever made you think I was a maid?" he asked. In a single movement, he swept her hands behind her and trapped them. Just like that terrible night and yet so different. Beth might be nervous and uncertain, but she felt no fear.

He placed a soft kiss on the tip of her nose and Beth jerked back, wriggling in his grasp. "Let go of me! You said you'd wait for me to seduce you."

He released her hands but wrapped his arms around her so she was still helpless. "Ah, but do you know what seduction is?" he asked. "You've made a prodigious start, I'll grant you. Provocative remarks are a wonderful beginning...."

"I did not-" Her protests were stopped with a kiss.

When he raised his lips Beth tried again, "I-" and was stopped again.

The next time he raised his lips she wisely remained silent. She doubted her ability to be coherent in any case. Her whole body seemed to be vibrating with an energy she had never experienced before, an energy which burnt away thought like the sun burning away a morning mist.

"...but you have to know what to do next," he completed. "Also," he added softly, "you have to know you want the prize." He lowered his head for another kiss.

This time he did not merely seal her lips. This time he gently teased them open and she felt his tongue upon hers for the first time. She moaned, but whether it was protest or delight she could not have said. Nothing in any book had prepared her for this.

She could feel the heat of his hands through the thin silk, one between her shoulder blades, one lower, in the small of her back, rubbing in small circles which pressed her against his body. The rough texture of his damask robe fretted her skin through the fine silk, and her nipples, ah, her nipples had developed a life of their own. She inhaled the aroma of soap and something more-something warm, spicy, and dangerous.