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R obert woke to a sensation of relaxed contentment. He opened his eyes slowly, and turning his head, spied his wife— his wife— asleep beside him. She was curled toward him, her hair loose on the pillow, one bare shoulder showing above the covers.

He stretched his body, feeling muscles and bones crack deliciously. He watched her sleeping for a bit. Sarah’s responsiveness and her eagerness to join with him the second time filled his chest with warmth and his groin with heat.

He quietly left the bed to relieve himself and wash. A noise behind him made him turn to find her regarding him sleepily.

“Good morning,” she said round a yawn.

He came back to the bedside, sitting down on the edge.

He took her hand and kissed it. “Thank you for last night.”

Her cheeks stained a deeper pink. “Why are you thanking me for something that is expected between a husband and a wife?” She glanced up at him. She was shy this morning, that was what it was. Understandable in the circumstances.

“Because I experienced great pleasure. And I hurt you more than I intended to.”

She shook her head, “I too experienced great pleasure, so I should thank you, too.”

“I will pleasure you more, given the chance,” he said softly.

She blushed. The air crackled between them, and he fought the impulse to flatten her to the bed and have her again.

Where have these brutish impulses come from?

I have never in my life wanted to behave so much like an animal as I do with Sarah.

It is completely inappropriate; she is my wife!

He found himself pressing kisses to her hand and then taking one finger into his mouth and sucking, all the while his eyes holding hers.

Her mouth fell open as he did it, her eyes widening, and her gasp was audible.

Fuck!

He did groan then, and releasing her finger, he leaned forward and kissed her, taking her mouth in another devouring kiss.

His hand loosened his robe, and he shrugged it off, easing her down into the pillows.

He maneuvered himself under the covers with her and took her in his arms, renewing his fervid kisses.

His hands all over her body, cupping, squeezing and stroking her lovely breasts, her belly, her hips and waist, her delicious thighs and buttocks.

Her response was no less than it had been last night.

Whatever constraints they felt in talking seemed to fall away when he touched her.

His hand slid between her legs and cupped her, a finger splitting her lips and sliding into slippery wet heaven. He groaned, “Sarah! My Sarah! So deliciously wet for me!”

He kissed her again, his fingers pressing inside her as she shifted her legs to accommodate him. He lifted one of her legs over his hip, pulling her to lie facing him as his hand continued to delve between her legs, making her ready for him.

She panted and mewled at this treatment, and he pulled his hand free to set his cock at her entrance.

“Ready?” he panted, hoping she was. Fuck, I want you, Sarah!

She nodded, panting. “Yes Robert, please!”

Fuck yes!

Holding her close against him, he pushed inside her, until they were fully joined. His hand clamped onto her bottom, and he moved his hips against her, finding her mouth with his.

This position would slow him down, prevent him from ravaging her into the bed like a beast; he wanted this to be good for her, too. His breathing was ragged, and his heart raced. Wanting her was like a fire in his blood.

He rubbed against her, rather than thrusting, her body responding in like fashion, her inner flesh clenching on him in a way that made him delirious with lust. “Fuck, Sarah!” Did I say that out loud?

His hips began to thrust, he couldn’t help it. His hand held her bottom, mashing her against him with every deep thrust. He was panting and groaning as the stabs of pleasure built. It felt so fucking good to be inside her.

“Sarah!” his voice cracked.

“Yes, Robert! Yes!” she responded brokenly, clinging to him. Then he felt it, the pulsing clench of her climax as she trembled in his arms and buried her face in his chest, her arms tight around his waist and neck.

Her muffled moans of release were too much, and his cock loosed its seed in a flood of hot pleasure, accompanied by a deep groan. He held her tight through the crisis, his face buried in her hair.

“Sarah, my sweet Sarah!” he whispered, kissing her hair repeatedly as the paroxysm ebbed, and his body slowly relaxed. His pulse dropped to a slow heavy beat and his breathing returned to normal. But he didn’t let her go.

Not until his body was ready to withdraw from hers did he finally relax his tight hold on her. Rolling onto his back, he said, “I think we’re getting better at this.”

“Are we?”

“You don’t agree?” He moved his head to look at her.

“I’ve no basis for comparison. It all seems incredible to me.” She flopped an arm above her head on the pillow. “I had no idea it would be like this. No one warned me.”

“Warned you? Of what?”

“That it would feel so good!” she said with disarming frankness.

“Now I know what all the fuss is about! I shall have to warn my sisters. Mama is most remiss. I perfectly understand now why I have so many siblings!” He laughed, and she caught his eye and giggled.

“I cannot for the life of me picture my parents doing this, and yet I know they must have, at least eight times!”

“Our children will think the same thing of us no doubt,” he responded with a smile, a certain contentment at the notion of children taking up residence in his heart.

He had always been so focused on the idea of finding the woman he would marry; he had not thought much about its natural sequel.

But with the house now full of young ones, he was reminded that he might find himself a father in less than a twelve month.

“Yes, I suppose,” she said slowly as if the idea was just settling in for her, too. “Naturally you will want an heir.”

“And another boy and a couple of girls as well. My sisters will love to be aunts.”

“Mine will, too.” Her expression changed, and he reached for her hand and kissed it.

“Don’t be too concerned. It may take a while.” He fondled her fingers.

“Or it may take no time at all.” The hollowness in her tone prickled at him.

“You are concerned.” His tone was more accusing than he meant it to be.

“What makes you say that?” She looked startled.

“I would have thought that as the eldest of eight, you would be eager for children.” His tone getting an edge in spite of himself, the disappointment in his stomach at her seeming reticence making him querulous.

“I didn’t say I wasn’t.” He couldn’t mistake the defensive note in hers.

“You’re not. I can tell,” he insisted, even as he wanted to drag the words back, return to the peace and congeniality of their previous conversation.

She sighed and he flinched internally. She doesn’t want my children. He swallowed the lump forming in his throat. After what they had just shared, the knowledge cut him to the quick.

He flung the bedclothes back and got up. They were arguing again. How could they go from that level of affinity to this in no time at all? His chest ached.

He picked up his dressing gown and shrugged it on, tying the belt with a jerk. Disappointment, hurt, chewed at him. He felt like crying, for fuck’s sake! He hadn’t cried since his father died.

“Good morning,” he said stiffly and headed for the door to his room.

He didn’t slam the door because he wasn’t that petty, but the harmony he had felt with her earlier was in tatters and the pain of loss ached like the devil.

Why, oh why, did this happen every time they got close? Was it her? Was it him?

It was while his valet was shaving him that it hit him.

He had a fixed idea of what happiness looked like, and Sarah refused to fit into the picture.

Every time she said or did something that didn’t fit, it hurt.

And when he was hurt, he lashed out in some fashion.

Which made him feel even worse for being nasty toward her .

He seemed determined to push her away, despite his avowed desire to bring her closer.

If I keep this up, she will loathe me, and very rightly so.

*

Sarah watched the door snap shut behind him and gasped for breath. She felt flattened. What had happened?

But she knew what had happened. Her face had betrayed her.

When he said an heir, she had been reminded of the terms of their marriage of convenience and the shadowy Madeleine, a lurking darkness between them.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want his children.

God help her, she would adore having his children.

But her reaction had told him otherwise.

What could she possibly say to explain her peculiar reaction without revealing the real cause?

The prospect of motherhood on top of all her duchess duties was a little daunting.

Perhaps she could make more of that, use that as an excuse for her hesitancy?

It was weak, but what else could she say?

She couldn’t tax him about his relationship to Madeleine—Daphne had made that very clear.

She wiped tears from her cheeks and flung back the bedclothes.

She would find a way to apologize, reassure him that she did indeed want his children. The idea that she had hurt him in that way made her heart ache.

But by the time she came downstairs, the duke had left the breakfast parlor, and she learned he had gone riding with his cronies.

She sat and forced down some tea and toast and then went to consult with Mrs. Jardin, the housekeeper, on the orders for the day.

She was the duchess now, and she needed to behave like one.

*

When he got back from his ride, Robert went in search of Sarah.

He had spent the ride thinking about their conversation and realized that he hadn’t asked why she’d reacted the way she had.

He had jumped to conclusions, put the worst construction on her reaction, and taken immediate umbrage.

Even worse, he had behaved rudely, walking out on her.

He needed to apologize for his bad manners and find a way to restore harmony between them.

If he let this fester, it would just grow worse, and the notion of being at outs with her was unbearable.

He found her supervising a game of croquet for the children with Miss Pringle on the south lawn. She wore a broad-brimmed hat to protect her face from the sun and a simple but tasteful white muslin gown. She was always well dressed, he reflected, watching her through the drawing room window.

The adult guests were taking tea on the front terrace, and he ought to be with them, but he needed to apologize to Sarah first for his appalling behavior this morning. Opening the drawing room French windows, he stepped out onto the lawn and made his way round the croquet field to her side.

“Which team is winning?” he asked, coming to a stop beside her.

She glanced at him and returned her gaze to the field. “Mary’s team is leading by one point, but I believe Heather’s team will steal a march on them soon.”

The two eldest girls were heading each team of four made up of the younger ones, except little Ewen, who was curled up asleep on Miss Pringle’s lap. At only three, he was too young to play and would have made the numbers uneven in any case.

“Shouldn’t you be with our guests?” she said, crossing her arms. Hostile or defensive? His chest ached; he had to fix this.

“Yes, but I wanted to speak with you.”

She made no response to that, and he said softly, “I wish to apologize for my rudeness this morning.”

She stiffened. “It is of no matter, Your Grace. In fact, it is I who should apologize.” She turned to face him.

“I led you to believe that I did not want children,” she said softly.

“Nothing could be further from the truth. I do. I just—” she stopped and swallowed, blinking rapidly, and his heart contracted to see her distress.

He stepped toward her, but she held up a hand to stop him.

“I just need a little time to adjust to my circumstances,” she finished.

“Really?” His heart lifted and softened. He seized her arm and pulled her through the gap in the hedge that ran around three sides of the field.

“What are you doing?” she protested, half laughing, half alarmed.

“I understand,” he said, moving closer and slipping his arms around her. “And I am oversensitive, forgive me.” It was a lesson not to jump to conclusions or make mountains out of mole hills.

“Perhaps a little?” she said, peeking at him from under the brim of her hat. He wanted to toss it away and kiss her senseless. He did neither.

“Of course,” he said, moving closer and slipping his arms around her, “I shall endeavor to be less in sensitive to your circumstances in future.”

“And less sensitive to imagined slights?” she asked, smiling, teasing, a light of relief in her eyes. She didn’t like to be in disharmony, either.

“That too,” he acknowledged with a rueful smile.

She returned the smile, and he bent his head and kissed her, his heart lifting at the restoration of peace between them.

He kept the kiss gentle, and she responded in kind, her hands clutching at the lapels of his jacket.

He pulled her closer against him and deepened the kiss.

A shout from the other side of the hedge forced him to break the kiss which had elevated his pulse and breathing and stirred his flesh to hardness once more.

He simply couldn’t get enough of his wife.

She was flushed and breathing quickly, too.

At least in that respect they were equally affected.

“I had better return to the game,” she said.

He nodded. “And I to our guests.” But he didn’t let her go, instead diving in for another kiss, which he eventually broke lingeringly. “Until tonight,” he said softly, loosening his hold on her.

She nodded and stepped through the hedge. He gave himself a few moments to calm his pulse and restore order to his breeches before striding off for the front terrace, well pleased with the outcome of his apology.