Stephen woke with a sudden start, alarmed that he had fallen asleep at all when he had meant to only slightly doze. Abby felt the start, and also noticed the cessation of his snores. "Are you awake now?" she asked, sleepily.

            "How long have I been sleeping?"

            "I think not long. It is hard to tell." She yawned enormously. "Can you please take me inside to my bed now?"

            Stephen stretched a bit, testing the extent of his energy. "Yes," he decided. She rolled off him, allowing him to stand and help her up. "But I do hope that you do not think I am going to allow you to sleep in that bed."

            "But what are you going to do?" she asked, bewildered.

            She looked heavy-lidded and thoroughly tumbled. He smiled at her as he tugged her skirts back into a semblance of decency. "I believe I promised to do what I did last time, didn't I?"

            "Oh," she said, blinking. "Lovely. But this was not bad, either," she added, hastily.

            "Not bad, was it?" He took her hand and quirked a smile at her. "We'll get better at it."

            He did not look at all the way he usually did. There was straw sticking every which way out of his tousled golden hair, clinging to the rumpled state of his normally impeccable outfit. "You look adorable, Stephen," she told him, fondly, pulling a few pieces of straw out of his hair.

            He made a good-natured face. "Adorable? Really? Wouldn't you rather say I look devastatingly handsome?"

            "Ah, but you always look devastatingly handsome. Just now you look adorable, which you seldom look." He opened the stable door for her, and she swept out and looked back at him with a sudden frown. "You are not to look adorable for anyone but me."

            "If I look adorable because I've been tumbling a woman in a stable, rest assured you are the only one who will get to see me in this state."

            She smiled at him, looking quite adorable herself. Stephen ignored the looks that the grooms were giving them. Abby seemed completely oblivious of them. She was half-skipping beside him, as they walked to the house.

            "I thought you were tired," he commented, amused.

            "I am tired. I'm exhausted."

            "You're skipping around."

            She said nothing for a moment. Then she looked at him. "I'm happy," she said.

            For some reason, that made his chest feel dangerously tight. "Ah," he managed, although his voice sounded strangely choked. He cleared his throat. "Are you hungry?"

            "Yes."

            "I think I'll have something brought up for us for dinner."

            "You mean we don't have to dinner with your family?"

            Stephen chuckled. "You sound absolutely delighted. That's the best thing I've ever said to you, isn't it?"

            "Well, you are not known for sweet nothings. And your family are awful conversationalists."

            "I am not known for sweet nothings?"

            "No."

            He held open the French door for her on the verandah. "And I thought I was doing a lovely job paying court to you."

            "You did do a lovely job today," she allowed.

            "You won't take offense if I say I could tell that I did a lovely job today, will you?"

            She laughed a little. "I suppose I won't."

            "Go upstairs. I'll see about the food."

            "Stephen," she said, pausing on the second step of the staircase.

            He looked at her expectantly.

            She was not sure what she had intended to say to him. Maybe too much to even be adequately put into words. So she merely smiled and said, "Hurry."

"What do you mean I shouldn't mind the talk?" Abby, affronted, suddenly propped herself up on her elbows and looked down at him. Her husband, his face turned into the pillow, yawned.

            "Don't mind the talk tomorrow. Don't let them bait you. Just smile and say nothing."

            "But what will the talk be about?" she demanded, annoyed that he was not opening his eyes to talk to her.

            "About the fact that we took our dinner in bed." He was silent for a second. "And, of course, the...episode in the stable."

            "The episode in the stable? How will they know about that?"

            "Well, the grooms will talk, won't they?"

            "The grooms?" exclaimed Abby. "How will the grooms know?"

            "Well, I told them to get out of the stable, and at the time I believe it was fairly obvious what use I wished to make of the stable."

            Abby stared down at him. "Where did the grooms go?"

            "The stable yard."

            "And what did they do in the stable yard?"

            "They waited. Abby, lay down. You're letting a draft under the blanket."

            "They waited in the stable yard while we...? And they all knew we were...?"

            "Seriously. I'm cold."

            "Stephen, this is a major revelation."

            "It is not a major revelation. Damnation." He opened his eyes finally, reached out and bodily dragged her under the blankets and up against him.

            "What is everyone going to think of me?" she fretted.

            "I thought you didn't care what people thought of you."

            "I don't care what they think of me when I'm climbing trellises. I care what they think of me when I..." She frowned. "It seems I am not very good at just laying there."

            "Hmm?"

            "You don't mind, that I just don't lay there, do you?"

            "What are you talking about?" he asked, wearily, deciding that she clearly was not going to allow him to sleep. He opened his eyes, to look at his worried wife in the lamplight.

            "My mother said I should just lay there. She said that men appreciated that."

            He narrowed his eyes. "This advice your mother gave you-it couldn't possibly be about how to please a man in bed."

            "I thought it was."

            "Well, your mother is dead wrong. You're perfect."

            "I don't just lay there."

            She did anything but. She was a marvelously curious, adventurous lover. He had never taken a virgin to bed before, and did not really know what he had expected. But she had already managed to discover for herself a couple of devastating tricks that none of his mistresses had ever stumbled upon. He supposed it came from the impression he had that she was thinking of nothing but him at every moment. There was no distraction. Every iota of her being was pitched toward him. "Thank God," he said, brushing his hand over her tumbled, glossy brown hair. "Tell me why you were at the brothel the night we met."

            "It had to do with Lucy."

            "The Countess of Newcombe?"

            "Yes." She hesitated. "Stephen, nothing I tell you about this can leave this room. Do you promise?"

            "Absolutely."

            "Give me your little finger."

            "What?"

            "Give it to me."

            He held up his hand, little finger extended. She crooked her little finger around it and tugged.

            "There," she pronounced. "You have promised."

            Stephen was amused. "What the devil is that?"

            "That is what we do, to promise each other things. I do it with all of my friends."

            He was suddenly honored to be counted among her friends. He knew very well he was her husband, and she could not help that. It was quite another thing entirely to also be her friend. "Fine," he said. "I have promised. Now what about Lucy? She isn't in trouble, is she?"

            She noticed he called her Lucy, and smiled at the familiarity he was displaying. She twisted a lock of his hair around her finger. "You have heard the rumors, have you not? That she was ruined before Derrick married her?"

            "I have heard them."'

            "You did not believe them?" she guessed, from his tone.

            "It seemed unlikely Newcombe would choose a ruined girl for his countess."

            "Well, he did. Because he loved her."

            "She really was ruined? By Green, as they say?"

            "Yes." Abby made a disgusted face. "Do you know him?"

            "Green? Only slightly. I have won some money from him at the card tables that he has never paid me."

            "I am not surprised," she remarked, bitterly. "He is desperate for money."

            "He should join the club I am founding," drawled Stephen.

            "He seduced Lucy for her dowry. It was a vile thing to do."

            "Especially," mocked Stephen, "as he has no title."

            She frowned. "I am serious. Lucy was innocent, and Sylvester took advantage of her, and that was awful. But Derrick loved her, and Derrick offered for her, regardless. Lucy loves Derrick desperately, and she's so ashamed of everything that happened with Sylvester."

            "What does any of this have to do with your being in a brothel that night?"

            "Sylvester was blackmailing Lucy. And Lucy wanted to keep him quiet, because she already hated what everyone said about her and Sylvester and how much it hurt Derrick. But I thought it would be silly for Lucy to pay him. He would just keep demanding more and more money."

            "It was wise of you to realize that."

            "We had him sign a contract, that all debts had been paid," she said, proudly.

            Stephen, recognizing the pride, bit back on his smile. "Clever," he said. "But where does the brothel come in?"

            "Well, Lucy needed to get her money back. She had used the whole of her allowance from Derrick to pay Sylvester. I told her I would steal it back. I thought Sylvester would put the money in his house, and I'd just slip in and out. But instead he went to the brothel."

            "You were at the brothel trying to steal money from Sylvester Green?"

            Stephen looked hard and disapproving. Abby bristled. "Well, why did you think I was at the brothel?"

            "I don't know what I thought but I did not think you would be engaged in such a foolhardy plan. Do you know how dangerous Green is? He is not at all respectable."

            "I was not afraid he would ruin me-"

            "Ruin you? I am not at all talking about ruining you. What do you think Green would have done had he caught you?"

            "He would not have caught me-"

            "What do you think he would have done had he discovered an intruder in his house? Dear God, how could you ever have taken such a risk?"

            "I am very capable of taking care of myself."

            "Damnation, Abby, I don't care that you think that. Promise you're going to stay away from Green from hereon out."

            "I have no reason to associate with him, other than to help Lucy."

            "Promise me you won't associate with him, even to help Lucy."

            "And I will have you know that I am offended that you think that I couldn't handle-"

            "Give me your little finger," he said.

            She paused, astonished. "What?"

            "Give it to me."

            She hesitated, then reluctantly held it out.

            "Now. I am making here no editorial comment on your independence or capability, et cetera. I merely ask you to promise me that you will stay away from Sylvester Green in the future." He held out his own little finger. "Promise me."

            She frowned darkly but she linked her little finger around his. "I promise," she sulked.

            "Thank you." He leaned down to kiss away her frown. "I'm your husband," he reminded her. "I am allowed to worry about you, even if you think it is irrationally. You are, after all, carrying all of my future with you."

            "What do you mean by that?"

            "I mean the baby, of course."

            "What baby?"

            "The baby we have made."

            "Do you think we have made a baby?" she asked, wide-eyed.

            "I feel fairly sure we have made a baby. If we have not made one tonight, it will be the night after that or the night after that. But, at any rate, there will be a baby. And while you are carrying the baby, and thus my entire future, I am allowed to worry even more irrationally than I do when you are not carrying the baby."

            "That speech has made me dizzy," she protested.

            He chuckled and settled back against his pillow. Abby snuggled into him.

            "I have no brothers and sisters," she said, after a moment.

            "It is just you?"

            "Yes. That is why I wish to have so many children. I was so lonely as a little girl. Until I met Lucy and Meg. We all lived within the same block in New York. And we all made our debuts together. And then we came here together, to hunt for husbands."

            "And look how that has turned out."

            "I think it has turned out reasonably well." Abby lined her hand up against his, studying how much longer his fingers were. "We have a long way to go, mind you. Never think you are done courting me simply because I have decided to allow you to exercise your husbandly rights."

            He chuckled. "Never," he agreed.

            "You are much younger than your sisters, aren't you?"

            He was quiet for a second. She had her back to him, so she could not see his face, but she guessed he did not relish this topic of conversation. She traced her index finger along his fingers, outlining his hand. "Much younger," he said, finally. "Lydia is my elder by ten years, Pamela by nine."

            "They were married extremely late," she commented.

            "No dowry. And, as you have pointed out, they are not exactly charming women."

            "No, not charming." And not very beautiful either, she thought, tracing now the lines of his palm. "How did your father end up with your mother?"

            "You mean, how did a man known for being dazzlingly handsome marry such a plain woman?"

            As he said it, the answer came to her. "She had money."

            "Yes."

            I don't like it here, she wanted to say. I'm not sure I like you here. She had a thought that if she got Stephen away from his family, he would be so much more free, so much happier. He would be as young and jubilant and playful as he had been playing croquet. She remembered how he looked when he was sleeping, like he was desperately in need of protection, and resolved to get him away from Camberley. She would spend the whole of their marriage keeping him far away from Camberley, she thought.

            She turned to face him. "Can we go to the Continent, Stephen? Please? I have never been, and I so wanted to travel before we had children, and if you are correct that I am with child now, then I have so little time to see everything."

            Oh, damn, he thought. When had it happened that he was unable to deny what his pretty wife with her bottomless blue eyes asked of him? He could not afford to go traipsing all over the Continent with her. But, he recalled, it was her dowry. It was really her money. "Maybe Paris," he allowed. "Would you like to go to Paris?"

            She looked rapturously happy at the prospect. "Yes. Thank you."

            "We'll stay in Paris for a little while, and then we can set up housekeeping in London. Would you like that?"

            "My own house? And I can run it how I like and you won't say anything?"

            He hesitated. "I don't know if I'll agree to that. Why don't I agree that I won't say anything unless you are doing something I absolutely can't live with?"

            She considered. "Fine." She held up her little finger.

            Smiling, he solemnly hooked his little finger around it. "And, you know, we needn't not travel once we have children. I mean, while the children are still in the nursery it would probably be difficult, but after that we can traipse all over with them."

            "Even to exotic places?" she asked, eagerly.

            "Define exotic."

            "Like Russia. And Morocco."

            He smiled. "If you like." There would be money by then, he thought. God willing, there would be money by then. Money enough to give Abby the sort of life she was so obviously entitled to.

            Abby looked satisfied as she settled against him. "We will have the most brilliant children of all time."

            "If not actually, we will certainly think so."

            "Obviously."

            "We'll need to talk about your allowance," he said, after a moment. "How much money will you need?"

            "I really have no idea."

            "How much money does Newcombe give Lucy?"

            She looked up at him. "You needn't base it on that. Derrick is quite rich."

            Stephen looked irritated. "And I can provide for my wife. I do not want you to want for anything. I will not have it be said that the Earl of Chesham does not keep his countess in the proper style. You are quite the most dazzling woman I have ever encountered. You will stay that way. I want every man in the ton to envy me violently."

            "Why?" she asked, curiously.

            "What?"

            "Why do you want every man in the ton to envy you violently?"

            He was confused for a second. "Well...I suppose because I don't think I ever thought I would marry, well, you. Someone like you. And I don't think anyone else expected me to, either."

            "But why not? You are exceedingly handsome, and you are not at all ungentlemanly, and you have, I have been told, an impressive title. There is every indication you would make a brilliant match."

            "Yes. You would think." Even he looked puzzled. "And, for some reason, no one, including me, thought that I would. I wish I could explain why."

            Abby could not figure it out, but she thought that Stephen was not impartial enough to explain why he felt that way. She would have to resort to asking someone else about it, eventually.

            "Well," she said, lightly. "You have made a brilliant match, if I do say so myself." She grinned. "And I do."

            "Do you?" He grinned suddenly in return, and startled her by moving with lightning quickness to pin her on her back underneath him, the bedclothes tangled all around them. "Now that is what I call brilliant."

            "What?" she asked.

            "The curve of your breast here." He leaned down, where the bedclothes had slipped away from one bare breast, and took a delicate sip of the honeyed taste of it. Abby closed her eyes and tipped her head back. Her hands tangled in his hair. "Positively brilliant," he rasped over her skin.

            "Mmm. I call it positively indecent."

            "Well, yes, it is that, too. Are you cold, madam wife?" He blew playfully on her nipple.

            "That depends."

            He smiled at the response, drew his hand lightly down the valley between her breasts, watching the flush creep over her skin. "On what?"

            "How you intend to warm me up."

            He chuckled, lifted his head to look into her eyes. "Would you like to hear some suggestions?"

            His gray eyes were warm with the wickedness of his suggestions. She did not know when she had discovered the possibility that she loved him. It seemed unbelievable to her that it was true, since it seemed she knew little about him and had not spent very much time with him as yet. But, looking straight into his playful, inviting eyes, she felt herself melt with love for him. And, because she did not feel comfortable saying that she loved him, not until she was confident of a favorable response, she said, "I would love to hear your suggestions."

Stephen dragged his eyelids open. He had never been so exhausted in his entire life. Then again, he had never been so exquisitely satisfied in his entire life, either. So it was a trade-off. But the sun was bright in the room, and he was extremely hungry, so it was time to get up.

            Abby was cuddled close against him. And she was a little cold to the touch. Stephen looked ruefully at the empty fireplace. Camberley was always drafty when the fires weren't lit, and he had not allowed any servants into the room the night before.

            He slid out of bed, careful not to wake Abby, and piled blankets on top of her. Then he walked into his room and quickly chose clothing to put on. And then he went in search of food.

            He, luckily, encountered a chambermaid almost immediately. "Light the fire in her ladyship's room," he said. "But don't wake her."

            She bobbed a curtsey at him and went scurrying off.

            Stephen, whistling, set off down the stairs.

            "He emerges," remarked Pamela, ironically, coming out of the front drawing room.

            "Yes," he said, shortly.

            "Where is your lady?" demanded Lydia, coming out of the room behind Pamela. "Linus is sick, and I feel it is her fault."

            Stephen paused on his way to the dining room. "What's wrong with Linus?"

            "He has developed a horrid cold."

            "I am sure it is not as bad as all that." Stephen resumed walking and whistling.

            "Where are you going?" asked Lydia, clearly shocked that he was not taking her seriously.

            "I am going to fetch us breakfast."

            "Breakfast?" laughed Pamela. "You will not get breakfast out of the kitchen now."

            "Why? What time is it?"

            "It is nearly three o'clock."

            "Three o'clock?" Stephen could not hide his astonishment. He walked over to the grandfather clock and ascertained the time for himself. "My God."

            "Exactly what we were thinking," noted Pamela. "It is quite shameful, Chesham. You are the talk of all the servants. Everyone is atwitter with the news that you cleared out a stable for the benefit of your countess. Does she like that sort of thing, Chesham?"

            "I don't see what is shameful about a perfectly happy couple."

            "It is embarrassing," sniffed Lydia. "Couples shouldn't be happy in public."

            "Or in private," drawled Pamela.

            "Well, give us time," Stephen rejoined. "I'm sure, if we're lucky, Abby and I will regress to the same level of bored resentment that the two of you have managed to achieve in your marriages."

            Both of his sisters narrowed their eyes at him.

            "The only good thing to come out of this," snapped Pamela, "is that we will not have to waste precious money on your keeping a mistress."

            "Yes. Because God knows my bad habit of keeping a mistress is the reason why the Merritt fortune is so badly depleted. I am going to get food." Stephen, annoyed and annoyed that he had allowed himself to become annoyed, marched to the kitchen and ordered the servants he found there to assemble him a tray of whatever food they had laying about. He did not know why he had allowed his sisters to irritate him so much. Except that, possibly, he was happy with Abby, and what sort of sisters were they to not congratulate their little brother on finding such happiness?

            He was in a grumbly mood when he swung his way into Abby's bedchamber, and he was surprised to find her awake, standing by the window wrapped in a dressing-gown and brushing out her hair.

            "I thought you would be sleeping," he said.

            "The maid woke me when she came in to light the fire."

            "I told her not to."

            "I think she tried not to. She was very, very quiet. I thought she was you. I believe I shocked her by saying something incredibly unladylike."

            Stephen, chuckling, set the tray down on the secretary next to the window. "What unladylike comment was this?" he inquired.

            "I believe I will not tell you."

            "Why not?"

            "Because it will make you take me back to bed, and at the moment I am much more interested in food. Bless you, my lord husband." She kissed his cheek as she reached for some bread.

            He found he did not so much mind my lord when it was said so playfully. "I do not like this business of you preferring food to my attentions."

            "Yes, it is sad for you to have a wife so disinterested in your attentions."

            He smiled, took his own bread and added a piece of cheese and walked over to the bed, where he sprawled out, crossing his legs at the ankles. "I will not press the matter. I confess you have quite worn me out, madam wife."

            Abby looked at him, as he ate his bread and cheese, and hesitated. "That is good, is it not?"

            "What?"

            "Do not say ‘what,'" she smiled. "It is good that I have worn you out?"

            "Oh, it is marvelous," he assured her.

            Abby, picking up more food for them, crawled onto the bed and settled against him. "Do you know what I like?"

            "What?" he asked, lifting his arm to drape around her.

            "Do not say-"

            "Stop," he told her, good-naturedly, nuzzling behind her ear.

            "I like the fact that I fit so nicely right here." To emphasize her point, she snuggled deeper into his embrace.

            Stephen didn't really know what to say to that. He didn't really know how to react to many of the things she said to him-part of the reason why he much preferred to smother her in wordless kisses that did not require him to articulate things to her. He cleared his throat. "Oh. Yes. When we are done eating, we probably need to begin getting ready."
            "Getting ready? To go out?"

            "Yes."

            "I cannot believe we're going out. I thought you would want to collect your two weeks."

            "I am going to collect my two weeks when we are in our house in London. I want to collect my two weeks without my family being aware of every move that we are making."

            "Ah," she said. "That explains it."

            "That explains what?"

            "You were out of sorts when you came into the room with the tray of food. That was because you had a run-in with your family."

            Stephen looked down at her and shook his head a bit. How did she know that? It was uncanny. "Not so much a run-in as an encounter."

            I cannot wait for us to go to Paris, she thought, but did not say.

            "The ball is tonight," he continued. "The ball you were so desperate to attend. Remember?"

            "Oh! Yes! The ball! I cannot wait to go to the ball." She twisted in his arms, jostling the food on his lap. "You will waltz with me, will you not?"

            "As many waltzes as you like. And that will probably not be many. I am really not a tremendous waltzer. I have not had much practice."

            "You were very good at it in the front hall yesterday."

            "There were no other couples for me to jostle into."

            "Why do you not go to any balls?" This was suddenly a pressing question to her. There were so many factors that had had to fall into place for them to meet: Lucy's indiscretion with Sylvester, Sylvester's blackmail, the timing of Sylvester's meeting with Lucy, Sylvester's decision to go to the brothel before stopping at home, her own decision to go in the brothel, to climb through his particular window, not to scream bloody murder as soon as he walked into the room. It alarmed her how the exclusion of any of those events would have meant they would never have met. And how was it that suddenly she could not imagine not having met him? Not being married to him?

            "I did not intend to be married," he said, honestly. "And, if I wasn't putting myself on the market, so to speak-"

            "Then there was no need to attend events of the marriage mart," she finished. "Why did you not intend to be married?"

            "I am young," he pointed out. "I felt I had plenty of time."

            "Did you have mistresses?"

            "What?" he asked, plainly startled by the question.

            "My mother told me that you were choosy with your mistresses."

            "Why would your mother tell you that?"

            "She thought it would recommend you."

            "Hmm," said Stephen, pulling himself up out of the bed. "It is time to get ready for the ball."

            "You have not answered my question."

            "No, and I am not going to, either. The matter of my mistresses, prior to our marriage, is not any of your concern. Now. Get ready for the ball. I plan to request that the orchestra play nothing but waltzes." He disappeared into his room, closing the door behind him.