Jane waited on the edge of her seat during the long pause. It appeared Thumberton was never going to finish his sentence. "Tested for what?"

He stared at the desk, unable to look her in the eye. "Because of the haste surrounding your marriage, he asks that you"a"Thumberton's voice fell to a near whispera""submit to a test by a midwife to ascertain that you are still a maid and that you are not already with child."

"What?!" Outraged, Jane jumped to her feet.

"Please don't ask me to repeat it. I don't think I could."

"I've never been so insulted in all my life. The nerve of that wretched man." She started pacing around the room, working her hands over one another. "I won't do it, I tell you. I've had to quietly watch while my father completely ruined my life, and I was forced to accept his stupid plan that I marry a stranger. I've done everything that was required of me, but I will not sit here now and have my character besmirched in such a fashion. Not by the Earl of Rosewood or anyone else! Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, but sit, dear. Please."

Jane paused for a moment, looking at the anguished features of the older man. He was only the messenger, and she truly felt sorry for him. She walked back to the chair.

"I know how upsetting it is to hear such a request from your future husband," he said, "but I must tell you that Phillip feels he has a valid reason to ask. Lest you think horribly of both of us, I should like to tell you why he is asking, but I think he would be extremely upset if he knew we had discussed it. So, I only ask that you promise not to mention this conversation to him."

"All right, you've my word. I'll say nothing about it."

"Phillip was previously married."

Jane inhaled sharply. For some reason, the information hurt.

"He was very young, just seventeen, but he met and fell in love with a woman who was three years older. His father and I tried to talk him out of it, but he wouldn't listen."

"Whatever became of her?"

"She died of illness a few years later."

"What has this to do with me?"

"Let us just say that she was not the most faithful wife, and because of her actions during the marriage, he's developed a severe distrust of everyone that's never abated."

"How do you know all this to be true?"

"Phillip found evidence with his own eyes, and when his wife turned up with child later on, he swore the baby was not his own flesh and blood."

"And the child?"

"Will be your daughter."

Jane gasped again. How many more things was she to endure in one day? "Her name?"

"Emily. She's eleven years just now."

Thumberton pulled a small locket from his pocket and opened it. There was a tiny miniature of the young girl inside. It was too small to get a good idea of what she looked like, except that she had dark hair and blue eyes. "Where is she?"

"She lives at Rosewood the year 'round."

"Will she come for the wedding?"

"No. Phillip would never think to invite her."

"Why ever not?"

Thumberton prevaricated, wondering if he should really spill the truth, but the matter of Emily was too important. She needed a protector, and he hoped more than anything in the world that it would turn out to be Jane Fitzsimmons. "I will be frank, Jane, although I hope this information is not too shocking for your ears.''

"It's all right, sir. Just tell me."

"Phillip could never be convinced the girl was his own flesh and blood. Since she was conceived and born during the marriage, he is legally obligated to claim paternity and see to her needs, but he's never felt an obligation to do anything more."

"Who cares for her?"

' 'The people at the estate do their best. But governesses come and go. She has no tutor just now. I fear for her future, I truly do."

"But surely the Earl would never let anything terrible befall her."

Without responding directly, he leaned forward and said, "I know I have no right to ask, but I am desperate to know that the girl has someone looking out for her interests. She is such a charming, pretty thing. I know you'll come to care for her. Will you watch over her?"

"First, sir, tell me one thing," Jane responded, thoroughly moved by his emotion. "I was very surprised by the choices of men offered to me as possible candidates for marriage. Di you arrange it so I would select the Earl?"

"You've found me out, I'm afraid. After your father first contacted me, I had some research done on your background, and the moment I received the report, I decided that Phillip would be the ideal choice. I did it all for Emily, and I'll not say I'm sorry for it. Would you see to her for me?"

"Yes, I will. You have my word." She stood, indicating the meeting was over.' 'But, as to the Earl and his request that I submit to his test, you may tell him for me that he will rest in Hades before I'll ever do it. He can learn what he wants to know on our wedding night and not a moment before."

Chapter Eleven.

Jane waited in the marital bed. The numerous pillows were arranged behind her back, the bed covers draped lightly over her feet. The skimpy white nightgowna"or negligee as Meg had called ita"hardly covered anything. The tiny straps left her shoulders and arms bare, the lace bodice hovered precariously across her bosom. It was gathered down the front by a pink ribbon, and Meg had loosened the ties, allowing tantalizing hints of skin and cleavage. The fabric was so sheer that nothing was left to the imagination.

She'd wanted to cover herself more completely, but Meg wouldn't hear of it, insisting that Wessington was a man of the world, greatly experienced in loving and that Jane must learn from the start how to win and keep his affections and interest. Her heart was pounding, her body tingling with the anticipation of what would happen once he stepped through the door from his adjoining bedchamber.

Meg had helped with her bath and her hair. From the preparations and advice, it was clear that her unmarried abigail had more than a passing knowledge of what went on between men and women. As Meg brushed and powdered, lotioned and perfumed, she kept up a continual recitation of what Wessington might ask, what he might expect.

Jane had only heard about half of what Meg was sayinga"things about her hands and her mouth. Now, as she waited alone in the silence for her husband to appear, she realized how much Meg had simply been trying to ease the tension. There was much more to this than she'd ever imagined.

"It will all be worth it," she whispered to herself. "Everything I've done will be worth it." Marriage was the ticket she would use to eventually return home.

The knob on the door turned, and her heart started to pound as Wessington stepped through the opening. Bathed and dressed in his nightclothes, he was so tall. So handsome. And he was her husband. 'Twas nearly unbelievable that such a man had joined himself to her.

His robe of dark green velvet was loosely cinched at the waist. The cloth hugged his form too tightly for there to be anything underneath. It appeared that her husband liked to carry out his lovemaking without any clothes on, which meant she would know more about him after her first night of marriage than Elizabeth knew of hers after two years. The thought was exciting and terrifying at the same time.

The lapels of the robe had pulled apart slightly, and on his chest she could see the swirls of dark hair which tapered in a line down toward his abdomen. Luckily, the edges were crossed over one another at his waist so her eyes could not follow that line as far as they seemed to want to go. The outline of his sex pushed against the fabric. In the dark shadows, it was hard to tell, but it looked as though he was already aroused.

He stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. As he moved, she caught sight of nearly all of his bare leg. It was long and slender, with muscled thigh and calf. The same dark hair that covered his chest also covered his leg. His feet were bare, and she was fairly certain it was the first time she'd ever seen a man's feet. They fascinated her, but embarrassed to have him catch her staring, she lowered her eyes to the bedcovers.

Phillip stared across at his wife. Sitting in his own room, readying himself, had been agony. Just thinking about her and what was coming had made him hard as a poker. But now, after seeing her!

She was lovely.

Beautiful chestnut hair hung loose in long waves down her back, the ends resting around her hips against the bedding. A rosy red flushed her cheeks, her creamy white skin glowed in the candlelight. Her bare throat gave way to slender shoulders, those to the gentle swell of her plump breasts. Through the delicate lace of her gown, he could see pink nipples, hard and fully pressed against the fabric. A tiny waist flared to slim hips which disappeared under the covers.

Her eyes were glowing green, and he remembered drinking them more beautiful than a green lawn on a fine summer day. She stared at the bedding, embarrassed to look at him, her fingers working nervously back and forth across the smooth blankets. She appeared to be trembling slightly, and he wasn't sure if it was caused by the coolness of the room or the excitement of the moment. Perhaps 'twas a little bit of both.

He wanted to groan. He wanted to shake her. He wanted to bury himself, hard and deep and fast, with little regard to how much it hurt. He wanted to love her slowly and gently, showing her how wonderful and erotic it could be. He wanted to take her again and again through the night. Hard and rough. Soft and slow.

If he lived ten lifetimes, he couldn't imagine meeting any other man who could find such a delectable woman through an arranged marriage. She looked to be perfection itself. Any man in his right mind would be cherishing the moment. Phillip was dreading it, so perhaps he was not in his right mind. He'd always wondered.

"Hello, Jane," he said softly. With the only noise in the quiet room being the occasional cracking of the log in the fire, his voice sounded too loud. She appeared to jump slightly, or flinch, on hearing it.

"Hello, Lord Wessington." Jane couldn't seem to look up at him. Her heart was pounding too hard, her nerves were too rattled. In the past few weeks, she'd kept moving forward by reminding herself that she was simply going through with this for Gregory and her father. Now that the moment of coupling with her husband had arrived, she was beginning to suspect that she'd made a mistake somewhere in her assessment of the situation. The problem with that being she couldn't back out now.

Wessington was her husband, which gave him the right to do anything to her, and she had to agree to participate. While mentally she had convinced herself that she wanted to go through with it because she was eager to learn what would happen under the covers, her body seemed to have finally realized the full extent of what she'd be required to do.

Meg insisted that Wessington was a man of great sexual experience how Meg knew that to be so, she'd never said, and Jane hadn't dared to ask who would guide her gently and skillfully through the change from maid to wife. Jane wanted to participate eagerly and willingly. She wanted to experience every wonderful moment, wanted to enjoy, rather than endure, the loss of her virginity. She wanted to cherish, instead of dread, the moment he breached her maidenhead. She wanted to welcome him with open arms, rather than sit there trembling in fright.

She wanted all those things and more from the night ahead, and she could have them, if only she could get her body to cooperate. The air in the room suddenly seemed to have vanished, and she couldn't breathe. With great effort, she had to force her lungs to work. In, out. In, out. In, out, she told herself, trying to help them regain their own tempo, but her coaching didnat seem to do much good.

Phillip watched her carefully. Over the last two weeks, he'd let these next moments play out in his head hundreds of times. What he should say. What he should do. How he should do it. The words of comfort and praise he should use. Although he let the details change in various ways, there was always one constant ending. She'd be gently taken; he'd be greatly satisfied.

In none of his mental scenarios had he dared prepare himself for the reality of what was about to happen. He, Phillip Wessington, the great lover and user of women, who had bedded every type, color, style, age and size of female, did not plan to make love to his wife.

He'd had his share of younger, less experienced women. Some virgins, some barely so. Any number of girls had thought they were in love with him simply because they'd mated a time or two. Girls didnat understand the way men perceived sexual contact. Therefore, the act could take on hideous importance for some of them, and they were likely to blow the meaning of it all out of proportion. Young women believed in love and commitment and happy endings.

Phillip believed in none of those things, and he didnat want to kindle those feelings in his new wife. He simply wanted to consummate their union and go about his business without any of the messiness that marital "love" could cause. Jane had none of the jaded experience of the women in his social set, and she would never understand how little meaning the sexual act really had.

If he made love to his wife as he should, if he was kind and gentle, supportive and tender, she would read so much into it. He could see it in her eyes and the tense trembling visible across her shoulders and arms as she waited for him to approach the bed.

He wanted to blame it on Margaret, to be able to tell himself that he was simply doing this to avoid any further fighting with her. But that wasn't the case. The sad fact was that, for once, Margaret had had a point. Jane would fall in love with him. The closeness and connection she would feel would grow into something so much bigger than it was. She would want him to be a real husband, a real father for her children. Phillip had no idea how to be either of those things and no desire to learn.

Or so he told himself. If there was a tiny voice in the back of his mind telling him that he was really just scared about Jane and the feelings he might develop for her if he let his guard down, he completely disregarded it. She was beautiful, seemed kind and genuine; all traits he told himself he'd never find in a woman. If he let himself get too close to her, to her pure heart and gentle nature, there was a very good chance that the ice surrounding his heart would begin to melt away, drop by drop. He was terrified to find out what was hiding underneath. Better to never know what would be left.

Not wanting to scare her, he walked to the edge of the bed and eased down. Her fingers were still nervously working along the top coverlet, and he folded his large hands around her small ones to stop the nervous motion. Her skin was like ice, and at the gentle touch, she raised her eyes to his. He wanted to groan aloud at seeing how lovingly she stared up at him.

"I'm sorry," she said just above a whisper. "I seem to be rather frightened all of a sudden."

"Don't be afraid. It won't take very long."

"Really?" That seemed a strange admission. Meg had insisted it would go on all night and maybe into the next day. "How long would you guess?"

"Just a matter of minutes, and the pain goes away quickly."

Jane nodded, curious. Either Meg or the Earl was terribly mistaken about the coming event. "Shall I take off my gown?"

Wanting to be helpful, and not sure of how to go about it, she reached for one of the tiny straps, but Phillip stopped her. "No, that's all right." His hand moved over hers and brought the strap up onto her shoulder once more. Again he nearly groaned, as he touched her smooth, bare flesh. Her pulse pounded in her throat, and it took every bit of his willpower to keep from leaning close and pressing his lips to the throbbing spot. He dropped his hand back to his lap, and closed his eyes for a few moments, trying to quell the rising tide of his desire.

When he opened them, Jane was staring intently.

"Is something the matter?"

"No, Jane."

"Why are you staring at me? Is it the nightgown?"

He didnat say anything, speechless that she could possibly imagine that it was anything but exquisite.

In distress, she tried to rise. "Oh, I knew it was all wrong. I'm sorry, sir. I let Meg convince me that I should wear such a thing, but I realize it's quite a bit shocking for . . ."

Phillip rested his arm across her waist, easing her back against the pillows before she could remove herself from the bed. "The nightgown is fine, Jane. It's very beautiful. You are very beautiful."

Jane blushed from her toes to her forehead. Never had she imagined that a man's words could create such a stir on the inside and the outside. "How do we proceed, then? I hate not knowing what to do."

"Well, I know what to do, so don't trouble yourself."

"All right."

"Just lie back against the pillows."

As he instructed, she lay back on the feather and down. Her hair fanned out behind her head, encasing pale skin and white lace in a wrap of deep auburn. Her lips appeared a more rosy red, her eyes a more brilliant green. The lace of the gown tightly covered her bosom, completely outlining the gentle slope of her breasts. Their hard points jutted proudly, on display, and he could make out their pinkness through the tiny holes in the stitching of the lace.

His eyes continued to travel down, to her waist and beyond. At the juncture of her thighs, he could see the dark hair covering her mound. It was a deep red, slightly darker than the hair on her head, discretely sheltering her secret place. He wanted desperately to lower his head and inhale the essence of her through the fabric. Instead, he rose slightly and pulled the covers back the rest of the way, exposing her long legs, which turned out to be a grave mistake, since looking at them stirred visions of how they would feel wrapped around his waist while he pounded himself between her thighs.

Look at her feet! he ordered.

God's teeth, even they were sexy. Slender, with delicate bones and graceful arches. She, or perhaps Meg, had painted the nails a light shade of pink, the color of her nipples. The dab of color against the white of the bedding was incredibly erode. He wanted to start with her toes, sucking them one by one into his mouth and working his way up from there. But he didnat.

Allowing himself one bit of pleasure, he raised his hand to her face, traced across the planes and bumps, learning the features. Certain he felt a light kiss against his hand he didnat want her kissing him! he moved on. Down her throat, taking longer than he should have to feel that alluring bit of throbbing pulse. To her breasts, tracing them over and over, circling his palm around them, learning their size and weight, pressing against the centers and feeling the nipples press back, until the moment she became too brave and covered his hand with her own she couldn't be allowed to enjoy this! increasing the tension.

To her waist, the ridge of her navel, till he rested his hand against her mound. He rubbed a few slow circles with the heel of his hand, and, damn, if her hips didnat respond slightly with their own demand.

The woman was a natural. With proper guidance, she'd be a hot, passionate bedmate. Resisting her was torture.

As though burned by the realization, he pulled his hand away.

Jane, though afraid of the actual joining to come, was thoroughly excited by her husband. His gaze seemed a tangible force, creating heat and fire wherever it landed, as though he were actually touching her. She felt hot and cold all over.

As his hand passed over her face, she caught that male smell, one that was distinctly his, and inhaled deeply. Some ancient, animalistic part of her seemed to know that smell, to have been seeking it out all of her life, and as he passed on, she wanted to hold his palm to her face so she could continue to enjoy and capture his essence, but she didnat, settling instead for placing a light kiss against his palm.

He seemed to notice, nearly jerking his hand back, then moving instead down her neck to her breasts. They were nearly screaming for his attentions, aching and full. As he touched and manipulated their shapes, chafing his callused palm across the hardened tips, she bit her bottom lip, refusing to give voice to the sound of agony wanting to escape from somewhere deep inside her.

The discomfort was so great that she finally grabbed for his wrist, trying to force him to apply greater pressure. He di, but only for a moment, squeezing her pained nipple between thumb and finger. Then . . . nothing! 'Twas so unfair.

As his fingers lightly brushed down her stomach, she resisted the urge to grab for him again, to bring his hands back to where her body so desperately wanted them. Back to the gentle rub and massage across her nipples. Just as she thought nothing could feel better, he touched her again, between her legs, smoothly circling his hand, creating new sparks of sensation between her thighs, then across her stomach, up her arms and down her legs.

She'd thought the ache was in her breasts, but no, it was here. Hotter and more potent. Not knowing what else to do, how to ease the agony he was creating, she flexed her hips against his hand, her body seeming to know that an increase of pressure would make her feel better.