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H arrington had to admit, Diana had been right—the seagulls did not taste very good. The meat was tough and had a distinctly fishy flavor.

But the soldiers and sailors were all so hungry after two days of limited rations that everyone ate the humble meal with good humor.

Diana sat next to him on a rock, gnawing on a spitted breast without complaint.

They were gathered around a campfire with the other officers, who were debating the merits of sending men overland to obtain food supplies from the storehouse on the island versus sailing for the fishing town of Bearhaven.

The distance to Bearhaven was trifling, but given how unreliable the winds had been of late, there was some disagreement.

Harrington heard little of their chatter.

He was dreading his impending conversation with Diana when he had to inform her that there was no bed to be had.

He had churned the question of her sleeping arrangements over in his mind during the hours he’d spent stalking seagulls.

The Martello Tower was out, and they hadn’t brought any tents, as there were barracks for the troops in Bandon.

But he could ask Captain Bannister to have some of his men row the two of them back to the ship.

He hated to create extra work, but he didn’t see what choice he had.

It wasn’t as if he could ask his lady wife to sleep on the bare ground.

It was fully dark when Harrington finally found a chance to pull Diana aside. “About our sleeping arrangements tonight. I paid a visit to the tower, and although they offered to put us up, I would not recommend it.” He dropped his voice low. “They seem to have an infestation of lice.”

Diana’s eyes widened. “Indeed, that is not a good option.”

Harrington nodded. “I’ll ask Captain Bannister to prepare one of the small boats to ferry us back to the ship.”

“Oh!” Before he could turn to go, she grabbed his arm.

She gestured to the men, who were starting to bed down in the soft grass.

“That won’t be necessary. Benjamin prepared us a pallet.

” She glanced over her shoulder. “I believe he said he was going to arrange it a short distance from the main group, so we’ll have a bit of privacy. ”

Harrington shook his head. “It’s out of the question. I would never expect you to sleep on the muddy ground.”

He wasn’t sure what response he had expected from Diana.

But it wasn’t for her to laugh.

“Is that what this is all about?” she asked.

He frowned. “What what is all about?”

“This,” she said, reaching up to stroke his creased brow. “You’ve had that expression on your face for the past three days.”

Something inside of him snapped. “Well, let’s see—in the past three days, you’ve been tossed about in a cramped cabin, been served such illustrious fare as salt pork and pea soup, had to hunt for your own dinner, eaten seagull , and now, you’re going to be forced to bed down on the bare ground!

And, in case it wasn’t abundantly clear, this is the closest thing to a bridal trip I am capable of giving you.

” He huffed. “I can’t imagine what there is to frown about. ”

Her smile was strangely tender. She looped her arm through his. “Come with me.”

She led him away from the group to what he presumed were their blankets. They were positioned at the edge of the meadow, just above the rocks leading down to the sea. She sat, cross-legged, and pulled him down beside her.

She gestured to the sky overhead. “It’s been years since I’ve slept out under the stars.”

Harrington paused, peering up at the sky. He had to admit, it was a nice night. There wasn’t a trace of clouds, and without any residual light from houses or streetlamps, thousands of stars twinkled overhead.

Diana squeezed his arm. “You never see a sky like that in London. Not that they were common in cloudy Yorkshire. But Aunt Griselda used to take me stalking on the moors all the time. For grouse and pheasant, mostly. And sometimes, when the weather was fair, we would sleep beneath the stars.” Diana chuckled.

“Of course, in Yorkshire, the weather has a way of turning, so it didn’t always stay fair. And yet, I survived.”

She nudged him with her elbow, and when he glanced down, she was smiling. “I’m not the delicate hothouse flower you seem to think me.”

He shifted uncomfortably. “I know you’re not. I’m not implying that you’re not capable of roughing it for a night. Merely that you deserve better.”

“But what if I prefer roughing it?” She shook her head. “I was miserable in London.”

He turned to her, surprised. “Were you truly?”

She nodded sadly. “I know it seems strange. At first glance, you could be forgiven for assuming I had everything a young lady could possibly desire. All the pretty dresses I wanted. Life in a glittering mansion with servants to wait on me hand and foot. A dowry that ensured that handsome young men danced attendance on me wherever I went.” She looked back up at the stars.

“I know how fortunate I am. And I must admit, it was diverting at first.”

She shivered, and he wrapped an arm around her. She immediately scooted closer to him, which made him feel good. “Only at first?” he asked softly.

She shrugged. “It didn’t take long for a few things to become apparent.

One, the vast majority of my so-called suitors didn’t care a whit for me .

They only had eyes for my dowry. Two, although it is diverting to dress up in a pretty gown every once in a while, it is much less enjoyable when you’re expected to be turned out to perfection at all times and for all occasions.

I shudder to think how many hours I have spent over the past three years changing clothes.

” A shudder passed through her, proving her point, and Harrington chuckled.

“Three,” she continued, “the vast majority of my new acquaintances were neither witty nor clever.” She cast him a sly look. “Especially after a certain lieutenant left Town to join his regiment.”

He ducked his chin. “That’s me, a veritable court jester. Always good for a laugh.”

Her eyes flashed in the starlight. “That is not what I meant. Don’t think I haven’t noticed this habit you have of disparaging yourself.”

“I’m in good company,” he countered. “Everyone else thinks I’m a wastrel.”

She drew herself up. “Well, I don’t. Consider this, husband—I could have married anyone, anyone in the world. And who did I choose to marry?” She jabbed him in the chest with a pointed finger. “ You .”

Harrington didn’t know what to say to that. Not that it mattered, as he didn’t think he could get any words around the lump that had sprung up in his throat.

Diana continued, unrelenting. “It’s as you said to Joseph Cumberworth and Berkeley Blachford when you caught them disparaging me back in London—I do not suffer fools. So, if I suffer you, what is the obvious conclusion?”

He was only able to clear his throat by way of an answer. Why was it so much easier to make a jest, to refer to himself as cannon fodder —which, when he thought about it, was pretty awful—than to even consider the possibility that he was a decent sort of chap?

He always told himself he didn’t care what other people thought of him. Except that was all wrong. Clearly, he did care because the thought of Diana regarding him as worthy made him feel things . Things like joy—just a sliver of it, but it was definitely there. A hearty portion of longing.

But mostly what he felt was dread. Because she had no idea that she’d married a crackpot who dreamed of her spanking him.

She thought they were building their marriage on a solid foundation. But it was really just a house of cards, and he knew with a horrible certainty that the whole thing would come crashing down if she were ever to find out what a degenerate he really was.

Her face softened, and she slipped her arms around his waist and squeezed.

“I won’t belabor the point. I can see you’re struggling with this.

But the important thing for you to understand is that I am not tolerating being here with you, eating seagull for dinner, and sleeping on the bare ground.

I prefer it.” She laughed. “I would a thousand times rather be here, with you, than be back in London, trapped inside my gilded cage.”

Ah. It made more sense now, why she had wanted to marry him. It wasn’t so much him , per se, as the opportunity to escape the life she had hated. He had been a means to an end, nothing more. He didn’t mind. Really, he didn’t. He understood.

Although perhaps a tiny part of him was… disappointed.

There was no use thinking like that. Had he known before the wedding, would he have done anything differently? Hell, no. He would have seized upon any chance to be with Diana. And he refused to tarnish his time with her by feeling sorry for himself.

Diana was still speaking. “The other thing you need to understand is that I’m coming with you.”

He gave her a wry look. “I’d noticed that. I mean, here you are.”

“Not just on this assignment, but wherever you get deployed,” she clarified. “I intend to follow the drum.”

Now that got his attention. Never once had he imagined that Diana would want such a thing. “It’s too dangerous.”

A mulish set came over her jaw. “And yet, other women do it.”

It was true. It wasn’t uncommon for officers to bring their wives along on deployments, even in times of active warfare. Sometimes, this meant renting lodgings in the nearest town, which might be two miles from where their husbands were encamped, or two hundred.

But some women insisted on staying much closer to their husbands’ sides, sharing their billet, when housing was available, or sleeping with them in their tent when it was not.