Her lips parted, and he barely heard her whispered words over the blood pounding in his ears. "Soon be over," she said, just as he drove through the thin barrier of her maidenhead. He slid deep inside of her, a hot pleasure greater than any he had ever known washing over him.

And Emily screamed. She grabbed at his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin.

"Oh, sweet G.o.d, Emily! I am sorry," he shouted. He tried to pull away from her, but her nails still held him fast, and her knees were clamped to either side of his hips.

He had known he had to be careful with her, that she was a delicate lady. He had told himself to go slowly, to not frighten her. And then he forgot all that the minute he touched her, and jumped on her like a barbarian.

"Emily, you have to let go of me so I can move away," he said tightly, through his own cloud of pain. She had a surprisingly strong grip for someone so small. And there was his own, overwhelming s.e.xual need, which would not be pushed away so easily. Not when it was so close to glorious fulfillment.

She turned her head to one side, and to his horror he saw a tear trickle from the corner of her eye. It glistened there, a tiny diamond on her pale cheek. She bit her lip.

"Emily, please," he said, as gently as he could. "You have to let go of me."

At first he thought she couldn't do it. Her fingers dug into his shoulders as if he was all she had to cling to now in the world.

And he felt the same. As he stared down at her pale face, she was all he could see. She was all he knew.

Finally, she nodded and her hands slid away to rest at her sides. She seemed to be holding her breath, and she made him think of a delicate bird, wary and poised for flight. Her eyes closed tightly.

Feeling like a brute, Nicholas eased himself off her and sat on the edge of the bed, his fists braced on his knees as he struggled to calm his raging desire.

"Oh, Em, I am sorry," he said. He reached for his robe and pulled it back over his naked body. "I'll leave you now so you can rest. It's been a very long day." And it looked to be a very long night, one he would spend alone with his unfulfilled need for her-and his guilt.

To his shock, she said, "Nicholas, wait." He heard her sit up against the pillows, the rustle of the sheets as she drew them around her. "Must you go?"

She sounded so forlorn he knew he couldn't leave her. He scooped up her chemise and handed it to her. Only once he heard her draw it over her head and lay still again did he turn to look at her. Her hair was tousled over her shoulders and the blankets she had drawn close gave her the look of a wild, rebellious fairy. She stared down at her lap.

"I would think you would want me to go as quickly as possible," he said. "That you wouldn't want to see me right now."

"I suppose it is not the thing for husbands and wives to stay together all night," she said. "But, well, this room is very large, and-and I just don't want to be alone in it. Could you stay with me until I fall asleep?"

Stay with her? That was all he wanted. As he looked at her now, so beautiful and vulnerable, so alone in a situation not of her own making, it was all he wanted. To hold her and comfort her, to keep her safe.

Only it seemed he was no good at that at all.

"I'll stay with you," he said, "if that's what you want."

She nodded, and slid over to make room for him on the vast bed. He climbed beneath the sheets with her, and carefully put his arm around her shoulders. Much to his surprise, she snuggled close to him and rested her head on his shoulder.

"Everything is so very strange tonight," she murmured sleepily. "But things will look better tomorrow, yes? And every day I will find my way clearer."

"I think we both will," he said. He slid his arm around her and held her against him. She was so soft and warm in his embrace, so wonderfully alive. "I seem to have much to learn about being a husband."

Emily laughed softly. "And I know nothing about being a wife. Maybe we can learn together, though. Maybe we can be partners of a sort? Learn to trust each other?"

Nicholas wasn't sure she could trust him, not if he jumped on her in l.u.s.t every time he saw her. Something inside him just couldn't seem to help it, a physical, beastly side that wanted her so fiercely.

And he remembered her furtive behaviour the day he followed her through the streets to that mysterious house. Would she ever trust him enough to tell him what that was? Could he trust her?

"That is not an easy task, learning to trust," he said.

"No, it certainly isn't easy." Emily propped her chin on his shoulder to gaze at him steadily. Her green eyes were so clear and bright, just like those faraway stars. "But it seems we're stuck with each other now."

Nicholas wrapped one of her long golden curls around his finger. The fine, spun-sugar hair clung to him. "How would you suggest we begin this task of trusting?"

A tiny frown drew a crease between her eyes. "Well- perhaps you could tell me a secret."

He laughed in surprise.

"Yes," she insisted. "Something no one else knows. Then you will see that I will tell no one. That your confidences are safe with me."

"I don't have a secret."

"Not even one?"

Of course he did have one. A big one. Valentina and his marriage to her. But that was so very large, and buried so deep. Nicholas wasn't sure he could even say the words aloud after so long keeping them silent.

Yet Emily watched him steadily, hopefully. She was his wife now, and their future had to be built together.

Nicholas pushed the pillows behind his back and sat up against them, gathering all his inner strength. Emily slowly sat beside him, her eyes wide and solemn.

"I do have a secret," he said, "one I have told no one, not even my siblings. But you are right. We must be partners now, and you should know."

Emily nodded. "I am listening, Nicholas."

He took a deep breath and plunged ahead. "I fear you are not my first wife."

"Not..." Her face turned even whiter, but Nicholas saw that she, too, had hidden wells of strength. She did not move away or raise her voice. She curled her hands tightly on the sheet and said, "Are you saying you are already married? That you have a wife hidden away somewhere?"

"No! I am not the villain of a horrid novel, Emily. My wife died, many years ago."

"Oh, I see." That frown between her eyes deepened as she struggled to decipher his words. "But if you were married to this lady..."

"Valentina. That was her name."

"Valentina-how did your family not know about it? If you loved her enough to marry her..."

"I did love her, very much. But no one knows about her, not even Stephen. No one, until you." He took her hand, gently urging her to sit closer to him. He could tell the story better when she was not watching him quite so sadly.

"Why did you tell no one about her?" she said.

"It happened when I was in Italy, on my Grand Tour, not long after my father died. Brenner thought I should go then, that the travel and education would be good for me after such a loss, before taking on my full responsibilities," he answered. "It was so quick. I had never met anyone like Valentina, so very alive and bright and honest! I fell for her, just like that, with one dance, one laugh. She was the daughter of a respectable attorney of the city, and at first they weren't sure about me and my intentions, a wild young Englishman who seemed crazy to them. But I persuaded her to marry me, to return to England with me as my wife. I thought we could tell my family then, when we arrived home. It didn't seem the sort of thing to put in a letter, and I knew if they met her they would accept her right away."

"I see. And then what happened?"

Nicholas rubbed his hand over his face, as if he could erase the old memories. They were still there, and yet they seemed faded and distant. It was as if the mere saying of the words, the sharing the memories to the light of day, made them grow further and further away.

But he was suddenly weary, and couldn't go on with the rest of the sad tale. Not yet.

"She died," he said. "Before we had been married a year. And I returned home to my family. They seemed to realize something had happened while I was gone, but for once they didn't press me about it. It was too hard for me to speak of her, and as time went on I did not even know how to begin. It seemed easier to keep her hidden in my heart, my own secret. Now I suppose she is yours, too."

Emily was silent for a long moment. She stared down at their joined hands as if she was stunned by his tale. He wondered if he had made a mistake, if she would run from him.

But she gently kissed his cheek and he saw the sheen of tears in her eyes. Everyone who called her icy was so wrong, he thought. So very wrong.

"Your secret is safe with me, Nicholas," she said simply. "And I thank you for telling me."

Nicholas nodded. He had no more words now, no more emotions. Only a deep, weary peace. "Shall I leave you now? You need to get some sleep."

Emily shook her head. "You need rest, too. Stay with me." She slid down among the rumpled bedclothes, drawing him with her.

He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. He gently kissed her forehead, and she smiled as she held on to him, already drifting into sleep.

"Goodnight, wife," he whispered.

"Goodnight-husband," she whispered back. And that word sounded sweeter than he'd ever thought it would again.

Chapter Fourteen.

The dawn light crept from the window, a thin, pale pink line between the heavy curtains that flowed over Nicholas's sleeping face. Emily leaned her elbow on the pillow, gazing down at him.

He looked younger in his sleep, more peaceful, as if the burden of his position was eased when he lost himself in dreams. His bright hair was tousled over his brow, his arm stretched out as he sprawled across the mattress. She lay very still, trying hard not to disturb him in his rest.

How silly she had been last night! She had known what to expect, thanks to her mother and Sally, and first it wasn't at all what they said. It was quite-pleasant when he touched her and looked at her naked body with such raw hunger. It made her feel really beautiful for the first time, made her feel full of light and pleasure. Maybe marriage would not be so difficult, after all!

He had shared his deepest secret with her. Surely that meant something very great. He told her about his first wife, his Italian Valentina, something he had shared with no one else. It was a very sad tale, and she was certain she could not compare with a lost love of that sort. But maybe they were learning to trust now. If only she could tell him her secrets, too....

Emily heard Nicholas stir beside her, felt his lean, hard body stretch and shift next to hers. He gently kissed her brow, and without opening her eyes she reached out to touch his face. His skin was warm, roughened by a morning growth of beard. Somehow touching him that way, waking up next to each other like this, felt more intimate than anything. Something very profound had changed last night, emotionally.

"Have you been awake long?" he murmured.

"Just for a little while."

"It's still early. You should try to rest a while longer, before we journey to Welbourne."

"I'm not sure I can sleep in such a grand room," she said. "It doesn't feel like my own. I would probably get lost if I tried to even cross to the window."

Nicholas caught her hand in his and kissed it, his lips soft and lingering over her knuckles. "I want you to do whatever you like to make the room feel like your own," he said, holding her hand against his cheek. "Make this whole cursed house your own! And Scarnlea Abbey, too. They are yours now, you are the d.u.c.h.ess."

Emily opened her eyes to find him watching her closely, his eyes very blue and very serious, in the ripening morning light. "What if you don't like the changes I make?"

A tiny smile quirked at the corner of his lips. "I can't imagine not liking anything you did. But even so, you must do whatever you want. Whatever will make you happy."

She hardly knew what to say. No one had ever trusted her taste or judgement before, or given her free rein to do anything at all. But she was sure she could make Manning House worthy of the t.i.tle.

Nicholas watched her now with an open, serious confidence, as if he believed she could do that, too. Even after everything-the hasty wedding, the disastrous wedding night. The tale of his secret marriage.

"Thank you," she whispered, and kissed his cheek. Those whiskers tickled at her lips and made her giggle. He reached up and brushed a stray curl back from her cheek, a gentle touch that still made her shiver.

How could the slightest, gentlest touch from his hand do that? It made her want more, made her greedy to be closer and ever closer to him.

And he seemed to feel the same. His gaze sharpened, and his fingertips trailed over the curve of her cheek, along her throat to her shoulder, bound by the thin strap of her chemise. His stare followed his touch, hungry.

Emily was hungry, too. Filled with a terrible, aching longing for him.

"Emily, I'm sorry for my behaviour last night," he said. "You must have thought me a brute. And then when you listened to my confidences, let me unburden myself-I felt so much more free than I have in a long time."

She laid her fingers against his lips, stopping his words. She wanted no words today to shatter her fragile fantasy, her silly dream that this was some kind of real marriage. That illusion would vanish soon enough when they left this room.

"We spend half our lives apologising to each other," she said. "Please, Nicholas, not today. I'm glad I could listen to you. Your secrets are always safe with me."

He grinned, and she felt the soft movement of his lips under her touch. "No apologies, then."

Overcome with emotion, with painful longing, Emily leaned closer and kissed him. She threw her caution to the wind and put all that longing and all those foolish dreams into that kiss, and he responded. He took her tightly in his arms, pulling her close to his hard body until there was no longer anything between them. Nothing holding them apart. Maybe she could banish the memory of his first wife, at least for a time.

The tip of his tongue lightly traced the curve of her lips, sliding inside to taste and tease. Tentatively, she used her own tongue, making him groan, which in turn made her feel even bolder. She caressed his bare shoulders with her palms and trailed her touch lower, over his chest. His skin was hot, like smooth satin over hard steel, roughened by a light sprinkling of pale gold hair. She felt the powerful beat of his heart under her touch, the strong, vibrant life of him.

She traced the edge of his flat, puckered nipple with the side of her nail, and it tightened under her touch. Nicholas groaned against her mouth, and pulled her closer until she lay right on top of him. Their kiss turned harder, more frantic, deeper. A hot, humid, desperate need swept over Emily, and all her senses were filled only with him. The way he tasted, smelled, the way his body felt against hers. Nicholas-her husband.

He caught her by the waist and rolled her beneath him, their legs and arms entangled. His kiss slid from her lips along her throat as she arched her head back in surrender. She felt the heat of his tongue over the curve of her shoulder, the sudden chill of the air on her skin as he drew her bodice lower.

His mouth soon chased away any hint of cold. He kissed the soft swell of her breast, making her gasp at the fireworks-sparkling sensation of it. She combed her fingers through his hair, holding him to her.

Nicholas captured her aching nipple deep in his mouth, rolling it over his tongue, biting at it lightly. Emily could hardly breathe, she was seized with the terrible pleasure of it all. She arched herself against his body, her legs falling apart instinctively to cradle him.

Through her bright haze, she felt him reach down to catch the hem of her chemise, pulling it up over her legs, her hips, baring her to his gaze, his touch. He caressed the soft underside of her knee, the curve of her thigh as she pressed it against his hip. His fingertips lightly skimmed her backside, touching her fleeting, teasingly, there.

"Oh," she moaned at the jolt of lightning sensation. It was like nothing she had ever felt before. "Again, please."

He laughed and touched her again, a little deeper, a little harder. It was-wondrous.

She traced the groove of his spine, feeling the damp, fevered heat of his skin, the shift of his body. She swept her exploring caress over his own backside, and the hard muscles tightened under her touch. She felt the velvety length of his rigid manhood against her inner thigh, and rather than make her afraid it delighted her. He did still want her.

"Please, Nicholas," she whispered. "Now, please."

He drew back from her a bit, his bright blue gaze wary as he stared down at her. "After last night? Emily, you'll be sore."

"That doesn't matter. I just-I just want this. I want it to be better for you this time."

He gave a humourless laugh. "Oh, believe me, Em. Last night was fine for me. But for you..."