Author: Anne Stuart

Lady Whitmore failed to look mollified. "Then who?" she demanded.

"You, darling," Montague said airily. "He's madly, stupidly in love with you. Now sit down and be quiet.”

Lady Whitmore sat, too stunned to say anything more.

There was a faint smile at the corner of Haverstoke's mouth, one that vanished when he turned back to look at his son. "We still haven't decided what—"

Adrian rose, finally having had enough. "I'm afraid, sir, that it's not your decision. It's Charlotte's. I think you've kept me from her long enough." And he strode out of the room, without a backward glance. Though he could have sworn he heard his father's approving chuckle as he went.

He took the steps two at a time in his haste to get to her. Charlotte was lying in bed, her red hair a coppery halo around her pale face and he felt the unfamiliar panic fill him. She looked so unlike her usual fierce self.

His mother looked up from her needlework and gave him a warm smile. "Did they ring a peal over you, dearest boy?"

"Of course." He moved to her side and kissed her cheek. He adored his mother, but he needed her out of the room. "Do you mind if I speak to Charlotte alone?"

"Don't leave!" Charlotte protested, but Elinor, Marchioness of Haverstoke, had already risen.

"I'm sorry, my dear, but I believe he's about to abase himself, and you shouldn't miss the chance to let him." She drifted out of the room on the scent of lilacs, and Adrian turned back to Charlotte.

He did look chastened, Charlotte thought, staring up at him. Which everyone probably told him he deserved, but she was more charitable. He'd saved her life. He'd tried to do the right thing. And when she'd been trapped in that hellish church she'd told herself she should have said yes to him, taken anything she could get of his love.

Now she knew she had no choice but to say no.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you," he was saying. "Back at the chapel. I was afraid he was going to kill you."

"I understand," she said politely. "And I should thank you for saving my life."

"If it hadn't been for me you wouldn't have been in danger in the first place." He moved closer.

Her aim ached, her head hurt, and she wanted to cry. But first she needed to let him go. "I think you've been blamed too much for one day," she said. "You shouldn't be blamed for...er.. .compromising me. I never said no to you.”

"Until today. When I asked you to marry me."

She could do this, she told herself, putting a calm smile on her face. "In fact, you didn't ask me to marry you. You told me we would get married."

"I know," he said ruefully. "I botched it completely. Do you want me down on one knee? I'll do it."

She shook her head. "No. I won't marry you, Adrian. You don't need a wife you don't love. You're only twenty-eight, you have more than enough time to contract a respectable marriage and have heirs. This probably won't be your first by-blow." She put a protective hand against her stomach.

”Don't call it that," he snapped. "In fact, it would be," he added more calmly. "If the child were going to be illegitimate. But it's not going to be. Remember, I came here with a wedding license before I knew you were pregnant. I already knew I wanted to marry you."

She stared at him. "Why?"

"We would deal extremely well together. You're just being stubborn—you know you love me, you've admitted it. Why wouldn't you want to marry the man you love?"

"Because I deserve better. I deserve a good man who loves me."

He reached out and brushed his long fingers against her cheek, and they came away wet with tears, when she hadn't known she was crying.

"I'm not a good man," he said. "But I do love you. And I can do better." And without another word he climbed up onto the bed with her, pulling her into his arms.

And finally, finally she believed him.

By the time Adrian carried his new bride to the tiny church in the village it was already bedecked with flowers. Lina had worked on the preparations, a whirlwind of energy keeping her as far away from Simon Pagett as possible. They hadn't spoken a word since Monty's unexpected announcement, which was fine with her. She was never going to get married again, certainly not to a prosy old preacher who'd lied about his identity.

She was half tempted to put on her most outrageous ball dress with the shocking decolletage while she acted as Charlotte's attendant, but something stopped her. The ceremony was short, sweet, with Lady Haverstoke weeping happily and even the marquess looking pleased with the situation. She had suggested they wait a day or two, but Adrian had insisted he wasn't leaving Charlotte's side, and Simon had announced that he couldn't countenance cohabitation, and it suddenly seemed all for the best to just do it before Charlotte could change her mind.

They had left to go back to Hensley Court, where everyone would most likely retire to bed. Everyone but Lina, who'd waited in the shadows until they'd left. The last thing she wanted was a tete-a-tete with Monty's disapproving brother. She'd always known Monty had a malicious sense of humor, but she'd never realized that Simon might share it. Then again, everyone had failed to mention that they were half brothers.

She'd seen him climb into the carriage that held his frail brother, and she'd ducked back into the shadows. There was one small chaise left, and she moved out into the moonlight. She could sneak back into Hensley Court and no one would ever see her.

"I wondered when you were going to emerge." His voice came from out of the shadows, and she whirled around.

"It's been a long day," she said, trying to hide her unaccustomed nervousness. "Don't start with me now.”

Simon Pagett looked at her with wise, knowing eyes. "I believe we started weeks ago, whether you realized it or not." He took her hand. She knew she should snatch it back, but he wasn't wearing gloves, and neither was she, and the night was cold and his hand was strong and warm.

"Lady Whitmore," he said in his rich, minister's voice, "would you do me the honor of becoming my wire?”

"A vicar's wife? Me?" she said in a sarcastic voice. "I believe you've taken leave of your senses. The parishioners will rise up in outrage."

"The good thing about being the heir as well as the vicar is that I don't have to listen, and if the parishioners have a problem I'll give sermons about redemption and casting the first stone."

"Even though you're marrying Mary Magdalene?"

His smile was warm. "Am I? I'm so glad you're being more sensible than your cousin. But I'm afraid you've got a long way to go before you can equal Mary Magdalene. She ended up a saint, you know."

His thumb was rubbing back and forth against her fingers, a small caress that felt strangely erotic. Arousing. Why this man? she thought. Why did this man have to be the only man to move her?

"I don't want to get married again," she said in a small voice, trying to avoid temptation. Something she'd never been very good at.

"Because I don't enjoy the marriage bed." There, the awful truth was out.

He looked confused. "Then why have you been so, shall we say, experimental?"

"'Because I was hoping I was wrong. But I'm not. A man's touch leaves me cold. So unless you're thinking of a celibate marriage, you definitely don't want me.”

"My dear Lina, celibate marriages are a dead bore. And if you think you don't like making love then you simply have to trust me. My many years of practice are good for one thing after all. I can make you change your mind."

She looked at him, long and hard. It was foolishness beyond hope. But then, she was a fool. "You can try," she said.

"Does that mean you'll marry me?"

She took a deep breath, and said the one thing she thought she'd never say again. "Yes. I'll marry you."

Adrian sat in the pew, Charlotte tucked close beside him. II was three weeks later and they were here again, watching Lina marry her vicar, and a glow of contentment, that unlikely condition that now seemed permanent, washed over him. Charlotte was healing well, even though she did have a distressing tendency to cast up her accounts at inopportune moments, but he didn't care. They'd been able to enjoy wickedly vigorous sex despite her injury and pregnancy, and he had to admit that it would take two hundred years for them to tire of each other. She leaned her head against his shoulder, and he put his arm around her, drawing her even closer.

"Do you think they'll be as happy as we are?" she whispered.

"No one will be as happy as we are, not even my parents," he said gravely, glancing over at his mother's cheerful, tear-streaked face. His mother always cried at weddings—she'd been practically sobbing at theirs.

"Still... Lina looks really happy, doesn't she? For the last three weeks she's been in a panic and then suddenly this morning she's positively glowing. I'm not sure why. I thought I was going to have to drag her to the altar.

He let his fingers trail along the side of her neck surreptitiously, delighting in the softness of her skin. "Oh, I can explain that. I saw her leaving Pagett's room very early this morning, a ridiculously happy smile on her face. I think she must have convinced him to anticipate the marriage vows by a day. The vicar must not be as strong-minded as he thought he was," he said with a soft laugh, leaning over to placing his lips against her temple.

"Who would be when faced with Lina's charms?”

"Not even tempted, my precious," he whispered, brushing his lips against hers. Why his darling wife needed reassurance was beyond him, but he was happy to give it. She was exquisite, even in the most wretched of circumstances, and he loved her.

There was an ominous throat-clearing. His father was giving him a disapproving look for whispering in church. Adrian simply smiled at him, undaunted, and his mother reached out and caught her husband's hand, drawing his attention away. For the first time he really began to understand what lay between his parents.