"Then show me now. Show me how it can be," she whispered. "Please."

"Oh, G.o.d help me," he groaned. He slid her chemise over her head and tossed it to the floor before kissing her again. There was no careful art to this kiss at all, only sheer, raw need. They fell back on to the bed, wrapped around each other.

He nudged her legs wider and slowly eased himself into her. There was some pain, a stretching sensation, but no shocking tearing feeling. Emily knew what to expect now, and she arched her hips to draw him even deeper.

He braced his arms to the bed, and held himself very still for a long moment as she became accustomed to that sensation of fullness. And any trace of pain flowed away, leaving only him and her, together. Slowly, he eased back and rocked forwards again, and then again.

With each movement he was a little deeper, a little faster, until she learned his rhythm, they learned each other. That delicious, tingling pleasure spread through her whole body, to the very tips of her fingers and toes, and she sobbed with the joy of it.

She closed her eyes and tightened her legs around his hips as he plunged into her, faster and faster. "Nicholas!" she cried out. "I don't-I can't..."

"Just let it happen, Em. Let it-free!"

And she did. She let go of all her control, all her inhibitions, and let it all burst free in a fiery white explosion of pleasure.

"Emily!" he cried. His body tensed above hers, taut as a drawn bowstring. He suddenly pulled out of her and groaned deeply. "Emily."

Then he fell to the bed beside her, their limbs still entwined. She felt the heat of his breath on her shoulder, as ragged as her own. His arm slid around her waist, holding her close, and she slowly reached out to touch his hair, to twine her fingers in the damp, silken strands.

She felt weaker and more tired than she ever had in her life, and yet she also felt-lighter. Freer. As if she could run and dance and shout! As if she could do anything at all.

His breath slowed as he slid into sleep, and Emily bent her head to kiss his brow. His arm tightened.

She wished she could find words to thank him, to tell him what a great gift he had given her! But there were no words. They were all jumbled about in her tired mind.

"Mama was so very wrong," she whispered. And she curled up against him as she tumbled down into a dark, peaceful sleep.

Chapter Fifteen.

Emily leaned her elbow on her travelling case as she peered out of the carriage, trying not to press her nose to the window gla.s.s like a silly, eager girl. She had been to Welbourne Manor before, of course, but never as a real part of it. It made her feel so very excited to be almost there now. She was a d.u.c.h.ess now; she had to be dignified.

Not that she had been terribly dignified that morning, in her bedchamber. She peeked at Nicholas from under the hood of her cloak, trying not to blush as she remembered the things they did together in that ridiculously vast bed. The way she clutched at him and cried out. And now that hours had pa.s.sed, now that they were on their way to Welbourne, truly husband and wife, she did not know what to say to him. She only knew she couldn't mention his secret again. That was in the past now; she wanted to build a future.

So she resorted to the weather. "Such a fine day we're having," she said. "I was afraid it would rain."

Nicholas laughed. "It never rains at Welbourne. Especially when a honeymoon is planned there."

"Have there been many honeymoons at the estate?"

"My sisters, I suppose. They were all married there."

Emily watched as the carriage turned in through the gilded gates of Welbourne, wide open in welcome, and rolled down a wide gravelled lane lined with shady trees. Beyond she glimpsed rolling green fields dotted with a few fluffy, picturesque sheep. In the distance was a small lake and a shimmering summerhouse, all custom-made for fun and pleasure and frivolity.

"Would you have liked to be married here, too?" she asked. "In a place that belongs to you?"

Nicholas reached over to take her gloved hand, bringing her gaze to his. He gave her a smile. "I thought our wedding was just right, don't you? No crowds to stare at us."

Emily had to laugh at that. She was glad for a small wedding-she would surely have tripped and fallen in front of a crowd. "Yes, I did like that."

"And Welbourne is not mine. It belongs to my whole family." He gestured out the window, and Emily saw that the house itself had come into view. A shimmering white Palladian villa rising like a wedding cake above bright flower beds, soaring exterior staircases and a profusion of sparkling windows. It looked like an illusion, a dreamhouse.

"Now it's yours, too," he said.

Emily watched, entranced, as the house drew closer. No, it could never be hers; she could never really belong there, not as Nicholas and his siblings did. But she was touched that he wanted her to belong there, that she was not being shut out immediately. She was touched that he trusted her.

The carriage drew to a halt at the foot of the marble steps, and footmen in blue livery immediately dashed over to open the door and lower the steps. Nicholas stepped down first and helped Emily to alight, holding on to her arm as they went into the house.

The entire staff waited in the soaring, light-filled foyer, which was bedecked with flowers and greenery. Footmen and chambermaids, the chef and kitchen girls, even the scullery maids in clean mob caps and ap.r.o.ns were arrayed to greet them.

The butler, clad in his black coat, gave them a low bow. Emily remembered him from the house party, a quiet, efficient presence who seemed to know every inch of the estate. "Your Grace, may we offer our congratulations on your nuptials? Welcome to Welbourne Manor, d.u.c.h.ess. The staff is entirely at your disposal, and we hope you will be very happy here."

"Thank you, Gelray," said Nicholas. "I would imagine you all never thought this day would come, eh?"

Gelray stiffened indignantly. "Certainly not, your Grace. We would not presume." An older lady in grey silk stepped forward to curtsy. "d.u.c.h.ess, this is Mrs Courtney, the new housekeeper here at Welbourne."

"I will give you a tour of the house as soon as you are rested from your journey, your Grace," Mrs Courtney said. "You must let me know if there are any changes you wish to see made."

Emily remembered her wish for a guidebook to being the perfect d.u.c.h.ess. She certainly wished she had one now. "Thank you, Mrs Courtney. I am sure everything is perfect just as it is."

The housekeeper's lips pursed, as if that was not quite the right answer. Maybe she wanted a bossy, demanding d.u.c.h.ess? "Let me introduce the rest of the staff, your Grace."

Emily was quickly introduced to Signor Napoli, the famous chef she remembered from her last visit as being quite temperamental. Today he was all smiles, promising to make her his divino trout a l'orange for dinner. She also met a vast array of people, whose names and faces blurred together in one vast whirl. Emily could hardly believe it. Welbourne was a small pleasure villa; what could the staff possibly be like at the grand ducal estate, Scarnlea Abbey, and at Manning House?

"Your lady's maid is waiting for you in your chamber, your Grace, if you would like me to show you there now?" Mrs Courtney said, as the staff rushed off to their duties, now properly introduced.

Emily glanced at Nicholas, who nodded. "I will see you later at tea, Emily."

She hurried up the winding stairs behind Mrs Courtney, her head pounding. It was a relief to find the long, shady corridors silent and dim, lit only by chalky rays of sunlight from the high windows. Last time she was here, the halls and chambers rang with loud laughter and running footsteps as people played raucous games of hide-and-seek and blindman's buff. Now it felt like she was all alone there.

"It has been quite a while since the carpets were changed, your Grace," Mrs Courtney said with a sniff. "And the curtains are becoming a bit faded."

Emily studied the limp draperies and pale carpets, the outdated furniture. "I see what you mean, Mrs Courtney. Perhaps new ones can be ordered soon, if His Grace's sisters agree."

"But you are the d.u.c.h.ess now," said Mr Courtney. "It's a very good thing for Welbourne to have a proper mistress at last. Ah, here is your chamber. I hope it will be quite satisfactory."

Mary already waited for her there, along with Emily's trunks and boxes holding her new trousseau. It was a pretty chamber, all pink and white, filled with yet more flowers. Over the white marble fireplace hung a painting by Annalise, a view of Welbourne in the rich glow of an autumn day. The dressing table was draped with pink-and-white tulle, her brushes and pin boxes already on its gla.s.s surface.

"Very nice, thank you, Mrs Courtney," Emily said. At least the housekeeper did not suggest changes in here! Emily liked it just as it was.

"I will send up tea and refreshments, your Grace. You need only ring the bell if you require anything else at all."

Emily sighed as the woman shut the door softly behind her. "It's terribly grand here, isn't it, my lady?" said Mary, voicing Emily's own hidden thoughts. "I mean- your Grace. It didn't seem that way last summer."

"No, it didn't." Emily took off her cloak and gloves and dropped them on to a little marble table next to a pair of cavorting china shepherdesses. Welbourne had seemed chaotic and shabby and fun last summer. Even her parents' country house, the seat of the Earls of Moreby for centuries, did not seem so grand now. "I guess we'll just have to be what this house needs, according to Mrs Courtney."

Mary gave her a doubtful glance as she shook out the cloak. "And what is that, your Grace?"

"A proper mistress. Whatever that means."

"...and this is the small sitting room. Miss Justine- Lady Linwall now-often uses this room when she visits Welbourne," Mrs Courtney said. She opened the last door along the long upstairs corridor, letting Emily peek inside.

Her head was spinning with all the rooms she had seen on this whirlwind tour before dinner, all the large, airy chambers just made for parties and dancing. The house seemed too silent with only Nicholas and herself in residence, as if it waited breathlessly for the influx of laughing, merry guests. She was sure she could never be that "proper mistress" for such a place!

But this room felt different. It was just as bright as the rest of the house, but smaller, cosier. A chamber for quiet conversations, for reading or sewing, or just thinking.

Yellow brocade chairs cl.u.s.tered around the carved white-wood fireplace, while a small piano sat by the windows and a delicate gilt desk waited for a lady to sit there and plan the household menus or write letters. Yellow-and-white curtains were looped back, letting in the waning daylight outside.

Emily's gaze was caught by two portraits hanging over the mantel, and she went to examine them closer. Both the women wore the same silver satin-and-lace gown, and Emily recognised one as Charlotte Fitzmanning, with her heavy dark hair and watchful brown eyes. The other was a beautiful blonde lady, a lace fan in her graceful hand and a teasing smile on her lips.

"That is Miss Charlotte-Lady Andrew Ba.s.sington now," said Mrs Courtney. "And her mother, the late d.u.c.h.ess. Miss Charlotte wore the same wedding gown last year."

"It's very beautiful," Emily murmured. She studied the d.u.c.h.ess's painted eyes, so full of life and happiness. She was a lovely lady; it was no wonder she had turned this whole family upside-down as she had. Her presence still seemed to hover over the house, like the memory of an exotic perfume.

Emily almost laughed at herself. She might have this lady's t.i.tle now, but she would never take her place. Not until she stood up for herself and made changes to suit herself. There had to be a new way of being d.u.c.h.ess of Manning. She had already made a beginning there.

"If you would like to use this room, your Grace, I can have it dusted and aired," the housekeeper said.

Emily gave the last d.u.c.h.ess one more long look. Could she use this room, with those laughing eyes watching? Perhaps it would be a good thing, and remind her that she was part of this family now, too, for better or worse.

"Yes, thank you, Mrs Courtney," Emily said. "I would like that very much. I will have some new furniture ordered from London, too, so we can do some updating."

"Very good, your Grace. Shall I take you to the dining room now?"

Nicholas waited for her there, standing at the head of the table as the servants carried in platters of Signor Napoli's richly sauced creations. Emily laughed to see the shining, polished expanse of the table, vast enough for a great banquet and set with the finest of china and crystal, with heavy, gleaming silver and a vast bouquet of spring flowers. A half-dozen candelabra cast a golden candle-glow over the palatial scene.

And her own place, at the foot of the table, seemed miles away from Nicholas.

"Are we expecting company?" she said, watching as more footmen arrived with yet more food, more wine. "A battalion, perhaps? Or the king?"

Nicholas laughed ruefully. "I told them we didn't want anything grand. But Signor Napoli was eager for the new d.u.c.h.essina to sample his creations."

"I look forward to it. The food was splendid at your party last summer." Emily took her seat, and as she suspected she could barely glimpse her husband. "I think the company might be even better now, though, if I could only see to be sure."

"Oh, this is ridiculous!" Nicholas leaped up from his chair and strode along the length of the table to take her hand. "We are on our honeymoon, we should at least be able to talk to each other at dinner."

Emily giggled and let him lead her to a chair to the right of his. The servants scrambled about in confusion to move her place setting.

"That is much better, don't you agree?" said Nicholas.

"Much better indeed. I don't feel quite so alone as I did way down there."

One of the footmen poured out goblets of rich red wine, and Nicholas raised his to her in a toast. "Here is to honeymoons, and our first night at Welbourne."

"To Welbourne." And honeymoons, even when they did not feel quite real.

"And how do you like the house, now that you have seen it all?"

"It's quite lovely, of course." Emily took a sip of the wine, which was sweet and rich, unlike the vinegary stuff her parents served. She was hoping it would make her feel bolder, more-wife-like. "But then I always thought that."

"You must make any changes you like, order new furniture, carpets, whatever."

"Oh, no, I could not do that here! This is your family's home. But I did tell Mrs Courtney I would use the small sitting room, if your sister would not mind."

"Emily." Nicholas reached over and covered her hand with his. "How many times must I tell you? No one will mind whatever you do. This is your house now, as is Manning House and Scarnlea Abbey. You are the d.u.c.h.ess now."

"Yes. I keep forgetting, I fear. I don't feel at all d.u.c.h.ess-ish yet," she said.

"I think it might take a lifetime to feel like that. I don't feel like a duke in the least."

Emily laughed, feeling happy to see he trusted her with decorating at least, and took a small bite of Signor Napoli's delicious trout. That was a definite perk of being d.u.c.h.ess. "But what are your own plans while we are here, Nicholas?"

As they talked of calling on neighbours, of fishing in the lake and perhaps going on a picnic the next day, Emily slowly relaxed. The light talk, the wine, the candlelight-it all worked its spell on her until that strain of worrying about the right thing to do, which she seemed to live with every minute since she had met Nicholas, drained away. She was not a new d.u.c.h.ess, in a new home, she was just Emily. And he was just Nicholas.

But the wine also worked to make her very sleepy after the long day.

By the time the raspberry cream pudding was served, she was yawning secretly behind her hand.

Not secretly enough, though. "Would you like to retire, Emily?" Nicholas asked, draining his own gla.s.s of wine. "We can play cards after dinner tomorrow."

Emily smiled at him drowsily. "Yes, I think I could not keep my eyes open tonight, it has been such a long day. And I am entirely full, thanks to Signor Na poli's excellent fare. We should make him come back to London with us."

"I doubt he would do that. He declares London to be a vile cesspit where no one appreciates the art of his cooking."

"That can't be true anywhere." Emily hesitated as she pushed back her chair to leave the room. "Perhaps I will see you later, Nicholas?"

He looked surprised, but not entirely unhappy. "Certainly, if you like. Goodnight, Emily."

"Goodnight."

Later, after Mary had helped her change into her nightdress and brush out her hair, Emily lay under the bedclothes and listened for Nicholas to come upstairs, for any sound from the chamber next door. She remembered what had happened in their bedroom in London, the unexpected delight of it all, and it made her smile into her pillow.

Surely he would come to her soon, and it would happen again. Then she could see if that was only some kind of oddity, or if by some miracle lovemaking was always like that.

And if only she was not so tired...

Emily's chamber was silent as Nicholas eased the door open and peered inside. The candles had sputtered low, casting flickering shadows on the walls that spread down over the bed.

She lay there in the middle of the high feather mattress, the curtains tied back and the bedclothes drawn around her. Her golden hair lay in shimmering waves over her shoulders and the lace-trimmed gown she wore, and a little smile was on her lips, as if her dreams were sweet ones.

Nicholas sat down on the edge of the bed, careful not to wake her. She had looked so tired at dinner, even as she laughed with him, and he didn't want to interrupt her dreams, even though his body ached with desire for her.