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T here was no conversation inside the carriage as it bounced toward Burkhill Manor, the country house the Duke of V?rmland had rented to serve as his temporary home.

Marcus had insisted on accompanying Diana and Harrington as far as he was permitted to go, so here he was, serving as third wheel to what should have been a happy pair of newlyweds.

Not that Diana felt much like a new bride.

She and Harrington had been married by special license two days prior.

The ceremony had taken place in the turquoise parlor of Latimer House.

The bashful elation with which Harrington had spoken his vows, his eyes never wavering from hers as he pledged to love and honor her, was everything Diana could have hoped for.

But as Harrington leaned in to kiss his new bride, Marcus grabbed Diana by the arm and pulled her away, leaving him standing alone before the makeshift altar, pursing his lips awkwardly into the empty air.

Harrington had borne this stoically, glancing down sheepishly as if he had been the one at fault for presuming he would be permitted to kiss his own bride.

There had been no wedding breakfast. Marcus had latched onto the ridiculous notion that she would want to have the marriage annulled after spending five days in Harrington’s company, and that this was nothing more than a temporary measure.

After the wedding, the Astleys, including Harrington, had returned to Astley House, leaving Diana alone in a cold, empty chamber on her wedding night.

Diana was so furious with her brother that she had not spoken to him in three days. She could not wait for the carriage to arrive so she could finally have a moment alone with her husband.

At last, the red-brick facade of Burkhill Manor came into view.

It was a medium-sized country house built in the Queen Anne style.

It was rectangular in shape and adorned by flat pilasters and a white stone cornice ringing the house’s perimeter.

A tiny fountain burbled inside the circular drive, creating a very charming prospect indeed.

Marcus began droning on about how they were not to be caught in any compromising situations that could prevent the marriage from being annulled. Diana ignored him. She had, after all, heard this particular lecture any number of times over the past three days.

As soon as the carriage stopped, Diana opened the door and climbed out, waiting for neither the footman nor Harrington to assist her. Harrington scrambled out behind her, and at last, they were rid of her brother.

She smiled up at Harrington, looping her arm through his. “Alone at last! And just in time—if I had to spend five more minutes in my brother’s company, I fear I would have committed a crime for which I would face, at a minimum, transportation.”

He chuckled, but said nothing, perhaps sensing that, while it was one thing for her to grouse about her brother, he would do better not to insult him. “Thank you for doing this.”

“It is my pleasure.” Or at least, it was about to be. Her wedding night . A thrill of anticipation shot down her spine. This was a part of her marriage that she was very much looking forward to.

They stepped inside the foyer just as a handsome young man came jogging down the stairs. He wore a dark blue officer’s coat with a gold collar and a blue sash. “Lieutenant Astley,” he said warmly, clasping Harrington’s hand before turning to Diana. “This must be your new bride.”

Diana dropped into a curtsey. Carl Frederick didn’t so much as blink at her missing hand.

Not that this came as a surprise—although he was a royal duke, he was also a military man.

Diana preferred the company of officers because, unlike most members of the ton , they had seen something of the world and did not seem to regard her missing hand as noteworthy, much less scandalous.

As Harrington made introductions, Carl Frederick bent over Diana’s hand, properly stopping an inch shy of her glove. When the duke turned to Harrington, his eyes were bright. “I can see why you were so eager to wed that you could not wait for the banns to be called.”

Harrington rubbed the back of his head. “Oh, er…”

Carl Frederick laughed. “Come! You must be tired from your journey. I will show you the way.” He turned toward Diana as he led them up the stairs. “I received the letter from your brother about your need to have separate rooms.”

Diana attempted a breezy laugh, hoping she didn’t sound as annoyed as she felt.

“My brother is as fussy as a mother hen. There is no need to go to any trouble on my behalf. I should like nothing better than to share with my new husband.” She cast a fond smile toward Harrington, but his eyes were fixed on the stairs.

“Oh, it is quite all right,” Carl Frederick said.

“I have hit upon the perfect solution! This house has a master suite.” He opened a door and ushered them into a corner bedroom with a fine view of the grounds.

The walls were adorned with a dignified dove-grey wallpaper decorated with white quatrefoils.

The room was large enough to contain a canopied four-poster bed with dark blue hangings and a spacious seating area by the window.

“And look over here.” Carl Frederick opened a side door with a wink. It led to another bedroom, identical in layout to the room in which they stood, except the wallpaper was rose-pink instead of grey and the bed hangings were the color of claret. “It is ideal, is it not?”

Harrington frowned. “I appreciate this, Carl Frederick. I really do. But we couldn’t possibly turn you out of the master suite.”

“I insist,” Carl Frederick said. “I am already settled at the other end of the house, and my room has the most charming view. I would be loath to leave it. Besides, newlyweds should receive certain… considerations.”

Harrington opened his mouth, but Diana stepped in front of him. “And we appreciate that. So very much. My husband and I will be quite happy here.”

Carl Frederick beamed. “Wonderful. I have adopted your English country hours so dinner will be at seven. I will leave you two to get settled.”

The duke departed with a bow, leaving Diana and Harrington alone.

She considered her strategy. The servants would be arriving any minute with their trunks.

Diana’s lady’s maid, Veronique, had accompanied them from London.

But, like most junior army officers, Harrington had grown accustomed to dressing himself and no longer employed a valet.

This meant that, while Veronique would be fussing around Diana’s room, unpacking her things, Harrington’s bedroom would be free of servants.

All she had to do was make it clear that she would not object to holding their wedding night at half two.

Whirling around, she looped her arms around his neck. He did not lower his head, so she began pressing kisses against his jaw. “We have some time.”

“T-time?” he stammered.

“Time,” she confirmed. “Before dinner. To be alone .”

From the wild look in his eyes, you would have thought that he was the skittish virgin and she the experienced rakehell. “A-alone?” His voice was half an octave higher than its usual register.

“Of course!” She laughed. “You can’t tell me you haven’t thought about it.” She leaned forward, rubbing her stomach against the bulge that had sprung up behind the placket of his trousers, and made her voice sultry. “That you aren’t thinking about it right now.”

He jerked back as if he’d been stung. “I, er… I think I hear the servants. With my trunk. I’d best go and unpack!”

He hurried back to his room. Diana tried to follow but found the glossy white door shut firmly in her face.

Her shoulders sagged. That was strange. He was clearly interested in consummating their marriage, physically, at least.

So why had he fled as if terrified?

She didn’t know, but she meant to find out.

Harrington pressed his back against the connecting door to Diana’s room, breathing hard.

Damn, but the next five days were going to be torture.

The woman he’d been infatuated with from the moment he first spoke to her was on the other side of that door, and by all appearances, she was not only willing but eager to make love with him.

And here he was, having sworn on his little brother’s grave that he wouldn’t touch her.

Shaking himself, he spun around. The connecting door between their rooms did have a keyhole, but there wasn’t a key in the lock. He dashed around the room, checking in drawers and on tables, but he couldn’t find the key.

A pair of footmen arrived bearing his trunk. He pointed toward the wardrobe in the corner. “Set it down over there. Thank you.”

As they turned to leave, Harrington gestured to the connecting door. “Say, I don’t suppose you know where the key to this door might be?”

They exchanged a glance, and no wonder, because what newly married man wanted to bar his new bride from his room? “I’m not sure,” one offered, “but I’ll ask the butler.”

“Great. Thanks.”

Harrington tried to distract himself by unpacking his trunks. It wasn’t long before a knock sounded at the door. “Come in.”

It opened to reveal a grey-haired man with a butlerish look about him, who bowed. “Gavin said you inquired about a key to that door,” he said, nodding. “I am sorry, Lieutenant, but we did not receive many keys when His Grace let the house. I am not sure where it might be.”

Harrington grimaced. “I understand. Thank you for checking.”

The butler bowed again and was gone. Harrington searched the room for some means by which he could secure the door.

There were a couple of plush wingchairs in the sitting area, but they weren’t the right height to wedge beneath the doorknob.

He could tie something around the knob, but there was nothing he could connect it to.

He supposed he could push the sofa or the wardrobe in front of the door, but how odd would that look?

Besides, he doubted it would be heavy enough to keep Diana out.

If he had learned anything about Diana, it was that she was not easily deterred.

That thought made him smile. He quickly wiped the expression from his lips. The last thing he needed to do was moon over her. He had it bad enough as it was.

He threw himself back onto his bed and draped an arm across his face. The next five days were going to be the longest of his life.