"Please." He sat at the table while she poured hot water into the teapot.

"I have some explaining to do." She brought a mug and the teapot over to the table and sat with him. "First, though, I am aware that risked your life for me, and I thank you. If you hadn't, Maisie would be dead too, for I couldn't get her out. And do you know why she was in the shop?" She raised her gaze to his.

"You employ her. Apparently you employ other women, too," he said in a gentle tone. He could see she forced her words. "I'll have to ask you in exactly what capacity. The secret was well hidden from me."

"I was bored." She placed her hands on the table, meshing her fingers together. "I couldn't sit in these lodging with nothing to do when I thought we needed money. I also thought my grandparents needed money. Money controls my life. Yes, I know now it doesn't control yours, but I've been working from a very young age to support myself." Her gaze flickered and fell to her fingers.

He reached out and covered her hands with his. "I wish I had known you were worrying about money. I wish I had asked. I wish I had given you enough. But I hadn't. I wish I had given you a house and servants, but I only saw my own goals."

"And so," she said, stroking his fingers with her thumb, "I'd had an idea years ago of going into business for myself. I worked for rich women who could have their gowns, hats, and hair styled every single day by a personal maid. Poor women can't afford the same service, but in shops they are given advice. For instance, whenever a hat shape changes, a hairstyle needs to change. I set up a salon to style ladies' hair in the back of the hat shop."

"Which explains why you clung to those black gowns of yours. You're very enterprising, Wenna. I knew I had married a woman with pluck. I hope you will forgive me for being such a miserly fool."

She squeezed his hand. "And then, when I heard you tell Nick that you had married me to humiliate your father..."

He frowned. "When did I do that? Not, surely, the night he brought me home?"

"That very night. You said you married me because I was a redheaded servant and your father would be properly paid back for not letting you marry the woman you love."

"I thought I told Nick how very lucky that event was, because I then met you."

"No, you didn't say that. Not in my hearing."

He kissed her hand. "I love you, Wenna. I loved you then and I love you now. I definitely told Nick so. He said I was lucky to have found you; that I certainly remember. But if, in my drunken state, I said I married you because you were a redheaded servant...no, I didn't, in fact. I married you because I wanted you. If I couldn't have you without marriage, then-well, then I saw the irony of your hair and position, and that my father would think I had remained true to character."

She glanced away. "I remind you of the woman you love."

"Loved. Initially, yes, but you are nothing like Jenny. She accepted marriage to a farmer. You are persistent. If you wanted me, you would fight for me. You are brave and strong."

"Brave." She shook her head. "You've seen how I reacted when confronted with the social set. You've seen how I avoid them. I'll be useless in England. I don't know how to be a countess." Her gaze again lifted to his.

"Oh, you're brave, all right." He met her gaze and smiled. "No woman has ever given me a direct order. I fell for you the moment you told me to distract Patricia. I knew you could handle my father, and he would respect you as much as I do."

"If you had planned to show me off as your wife, you would have given me a wedding ring."

He turned over her hand and kissed her palm. "I'm a fool. I should have given you a token, but my mother's jewelry wasn't sent to me, and I have to retrieve it. When I do, you will have the perfect ring, her family ring. She was the last of her line, but for me. We will be the first of hers."

"And you love me, or so you said."

Leaning back, he tried to read the expression on her face. "But for you, I wouldn't be planning to stay in England. I would come back here as soon as I've settled my affairs. But you want to live in England because of your grandparents."

She shook her head, her smile wry. "You can't come back here if you are the heir."

He sc.r.a.ped his chair out from the table and took her hands. "Sit on my knee. I want you close. I have quite a bit of explaining to do, and I will feel better confessing all if I have you in my arms. Pity me, my love. I've had a wretch of a day, so far."

"I've had an unusual day too." Her expression demure and her mouth soft, she stood, allowing him to pull her onto his lap.

He wrapped her in his arms and rested his chin on her head. His chest expanded with his first deep breath. "My father died last year. I didn't know this until last week. At the same time I found out that my brother didn't die, after all. I'm his heir, but as he is only thirty-two, you can bet he'll marry as soon as he can, even if only to cut me out of the succession. The moment he does and produces a child, I'm free." He toyed with her fingers. "I need to go to England to settle my properties-but I love this land, Wenna. I could still support your grandparents if we could come back here."

"I thought we were going because you wanted to be in your own country."

"Are you hinting you might compromise?" He held his breath.

She cupped his cheek with her palm. "My grandparents died last year, too. I found out not long after we married, but because we had a bargain, I didn't see the need to tell you. You might have thought I had changed my mind about going."

"Your grandparents died?" Air whooshed out of his lungs. "So, have you changed your mind about living in England?"

She nodded. "If we could leave very soon and return very soon, that would suit me well. Being plain 'Mrs. Courtney' will also suit me very well. I don't know anyone in England. I would be happier here."

"I wish we could leave tomorrow." Scooping his arm under her knees, he rose to his feet, pressing his sweat-stained face against her soft and fragrant skin. "But first-if we're not making babies, what is my excuse for throwing you into bed right now?"

"I'm sure you can think of one." She circled her arms around his neck. "But you should put me down. I don't want to exhaust you before I've had my way with you."

He let her feet drop to the floor, but kept her body tight against his. "Lord, I'm tired," he said into her neck "I haven't the energy to make babies tonight. We'll just have to make love instead. Well, I will. I don't know if you love me."

Her breath whispered on his cheek as she leaned forward. "You'll know if I do or don't, very soon."

Although most of the firefighters had gone home, people still gathered in the street. Murmurs of conversations drifted through the window with the stale smoke. Wenna lay on her side in bed, one arm across Devon's naked chest. "I thought you said you were tired. I thought you would fall asleep straight after, as you usually do."

"I'm waiting for the announcement."

"Take it as said." She leaned over his and kissed his neck.

"I want to hear you say 'I love you.'"

"I love you. There. That's done. Oh, dear G.o.d, I love you so much Devon, probably from the first time you laughed at me instead of being offended by my words. I do offend people, I know. When can we see inside your-our house? Why don't we move our things there until the ship arrives? I could set up this place for Maisie to run as a business while we are in England-"

"Wenna, Wenna. I appreciate your forward thinking, but let's discuss this in the morning." He loomed over her and dropped a kiss on her lips. "Our ship should be here in a couple of weeks. We can move out of here, but I don't think you will have time to get a new business running before we go."

"If I don't, I'll be leaving too many people in the lurch. If you help me, we can do it."

"You don't need to earn money, sweetheart. We're rich. When we come back, you can busy yourself with charities and sewing circles, like the other ladies."

"I would be hopelessly bored."

"I can find ways to keep you occupied." He gave her an evil grin.

"You'll need to let me out of bed sometime, and it would be a shame to have had a good idea that never comes to fruition."

He touched her face with the pads of his fingers. "I suspect you'll end up training many women to style hair and to dress as well as you do, if only by example."

"What if that's not enough?"

"Perhaps a school, a training place for women who need a trade. We could sponsor some sort of facility like that. Now, go to sleep."

"Devon?"

"What?"

She relaxed in his arms. "I love you." Her eyes closed. He accepted her ideas; he saw her as his equal. She was his wife, not a servant. He was her husband, not an aristocrat.

"I love you."

She didn't need to be as good as a man. Like a man, she only needed to be the best she could be.

EPILOGUE.

1866.

(Two years later) Balancing her six-month-old son, Edris, on her hip, Wenna leaned against the ship's railing, gazing at the Adelaide Hills. "As they say, the view is green as far as the eye can see."

Devon smiled. "You were born in the most beautiful country in the world."

She watched the first load of pa.s.sengers disembarking from the rowboats onto the fine white sands of Glenelg. Later, the ship would unload goods at Port Adelaide, but most people who reached this perfect spot didn't want to wait. "I know that, now I have a comparison. Cornwall was certainly picturesque, though."

"My brother was astonished to hear you say that. He has quite a parochial view of the place, despite living in India for a few years."

"All his views are parochial. Imagine him telling one of the farmers how to repair his wagon? The poor man actually promised to do so. What would an earl know about repairing a wagon? I'll bet he's never held a hammer in his life."

"The farmer might listen to my brother, but he'd go his own way as soon as my brother was out of sight."

"Which he should have said. I'd hate to think myself better than someone because I was an earl. I'd only want to be better because I was better."

He turned to her. "I agree that you should earn your way in the world. It's your worth that counts, not the worth of your parents, not the fact that your mother was a washer woman."

"Nor the fact that your father was an earl. I've come as far as you."

"Did I ever take advantage of the fact that my father was an earl?"

"The advantage is inbuilt."

"And now shared with you, too."

"Next you'll have me patronizing the poor backward colonials." She laughed.

He gave an exaggerated shiver. "Your two years away have taught you much. I fear for the colonial society when you start organizing your tea parties."

Wenna laughed. "That was fun, though. Now we're here, it's back to work as usual. I can't wait to see your vines. Producing already, Finn says. And Maisie has a staff of four. I won't know where to begin."

Devon sighed. "Could we unpack first, my precious love?"

See where the South Landers series began...

Charlotte

A marriage most inconvenient...

After losing his first love in childbirth, Nicholas Alden knows with a great certainty that he must never be a father. But to be a husband is a very different matter-mandated by South Australian society, necessary for his family name. So when he meets beautiful social climber Charlotte, he believes he has found a wife he can keep at arm's length. He is terribly wrong.

Born on the wrong side of the sheets, Charlotte hopes Nick can prop up her reputation long enough to secure a suitable match for her beloved cousin. She a.s.sumes that is all she can ask of her new husband-until they succ.u.mb to a night of uninhibited pa.s.sion. Her heart is won in his embrace, but he doesn't know the truth of her scandalous parentage. If he did, all would be lost.

Still, somehow, Charlotte dares to hope that her match of convenience could become something more. It is a reckless gamble, but the prize-a marriage of blazing lifelong desire-is one worth any risk...

Visit Virginia Taylor at http://www.kensingtonbooks.com/author.aspx/31648

Prologue.

Adelaide, South Australia, 1865 Nicholas Alden wandered down the torch-lit path to the middle of the garden, a stone paved area surrounded by clipped hedges. Glancing around, he chose the only available seat, an uncomfortable looking bench. A piano tinkled in the distance, competing with the overriding voices in the ballroom and a screeching violin or two.

He took a long draught from his wine gla.s.s, glancing briefly at the flickering stars before trying to shut out the world. The light clip of footsteps caused him to open his eyes. A hazy shape dressed in white stood in front of him-ah, yes, the beautiful, well-behaved debutante who'd sat beside him during the pre-ball dinner. He lifted his eyebrows in query, again appreciating her lovely figure, her porcelain skin, her huge eyes-and the slender fingers that moved to either side of her neckline grasped her exquisite gown and ripped.

He brought his gla.s.s to his lips and quaffed while she stood, her gown asunder and her face expressionless.

"You have my attention," he said, hoping she would pull aside her chemise. A view of her pretty white b.r.e.a.s.t.s would likely be enjoyable.

She stared straight at him, opened her lovely mouth, and screamed, almost hitting a high C.

He ma.s.saged his forehead. "Was that really necessary?"

Her perfect face softened momentarily. "You know it was. It had to be done, and I'm sorry, but I'm in trouble." She sat beside him, her hands neatly clasped in her lap. "But if you help me, I'll help you. I know about you, you see."

"The whole world knows about me." Giving a long, deep sigh, he stretched out his legs and crossed his ankles. He didn't have a reputation to lose. Her attempt to compromise him would do her no good at all.