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H aving spent the last hour trying to figure out what she wanted to say to Harrington, Diana was pacing the floor when he got home. Part of her was afraid that he would dismiss her concerns, as Mrs. Monroe and Mrs. Phipps had done.

But part of her was also concerned that he would respond the way Marcus typically did—by locking her in a gilded cage in response to the slightest risk.

She could not decide which reaction she feared more.

She whipped around as the door swung open. There was Harrington, brown eyes crinkling into a smile as he scraped his boots against the mat. “Good evening, darling. How was your…” He trailed off, and she could mark the moment he noticed her drawn expression.

He was across the room in four strides. “Diana. What’s wrong?”

She took him by the hand and led him to the sofa.

There, she explained about the man she kept seeing again and again.

About how he did not seem to have any obvious occupation or reason for being where he was.

And about how he promptly disappeared each time she spotted him.

Harrington listened quietly, eyes intent on hers, not saying a word until she had finished.

He rose and paced over to the mantelpiece. “In light of this, I think we need to make some changes.”

Diana’s spine stiffened. That didn’t sound promising, but she reminded herself that she should hear him out rather than rushing to judgment. “What kind of changes?”

He turned to face her, raking a hand through his hair. “To your daily routine.”

No, no, no! She had been so happy here, happier than she’d ever been in her life. She had thought that in Harrington, she had found not just a husband but a partner. Someone who respected her, someone who would let her have a say in her own life.

Had she instead exchanged one tyrant for another?

She could not keep the sharpness from her voice as she asked, “And what, precisely, would you have me change about my daily routine?”

“For starters, these walks you go on.” He waved a hand dismissively, and Diana bristled. It was as bad as she’d feared. He was going to forbid her to leave the cottage!

But when he looked at her, his brown eyes were full of concern. “Do you bring your sword with you?”

She blinked. “My sword?”

As he had resumed pacing the room, Harrington did not seem to notice her discomfiture.

“Because I would feel much better knowing that you had your sword at hand.” He stroked his chin.

“I know you bring Inge on your rambles. But perhaps it would be a good idea to take her with you everywhere, even just to the other side of the village.” He paused, meeting her eyes. “What do you think?”

She found herself discomfited. She had not realized that What do you think? were the most romantic words in the English language.

But, given the way her heart had started to trip over itself, they were clearly as good as anything to emerge from Shakespeare’s pen. “I think… those are both good suggestions.”

He sat back down on the sofa, propping his elbows on his knees.

“Don’t take this the wrong way. I don’t mean to imply that you’re not capable of defending yourself if it should come to blades.

” He chuckled. “Indeed, I can’t imagine the man who would best you.

But I wonder if you should also carry a firearm. ”

She could not quite wrap her head around the direction the conversation had taken. “A firearm?”

“Mmm. You know my sister, Anne, of course. She has occasion to visit some of the worst neighborhoods in London.”

Anne ran a charitable organization, The Ladies’ Society for the Relief of the Destitute, and the nature of her work occasionally brought her into rough areas of Town. “Oh?”

“I set her up with a little Queen Anne pistol.” He held his hands about eight inches apart. “They’re remarkably compact. Not nearly as cumbersome as carrying a rifle or even a dueling pistol. They’re still heavy, of course, but I’ll wager Mr. Kincannon could make you a holster.”

Mr. Kincannon was the village’s cobbler. She blinked at him. “Let me make sure I understand—your plan is to buy me a gun and holster.”

Harrington brightened. “We could have one custom-made to hold both your sword and the pistol.” He turned to face her on the couch, taking her hand and stroking its back with his thumb.

“I know it will be an annoyance, having to lug a pair of heavy weapons around with you everywhere you go. But I wouldn’t risk you for the world. What do you think, darling?”

Diana did the only thing she could possibly do under the circumstances.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, crawled into his lap, and kissed him.

Harrington’s eyes went wide with something that might have been confusion. But then he groaned, placing his hands on the small of her back and pressing her against him.

When she lifted her head, they were both breathing hard. “What’s this?” he asked, swiping his thumb across her cheek, sweeping aside a stray tear.

“It’s not what you think,” she said quickly, dabbing at her other eye with her sleeve. “They’re happy tears. I was afraid your solution to my problem would involve telling me I couldn’t leave the house.”

He drew back in surprise. “Couldn’t leave the house? But that would make you miserable!”

“It would,” she agreed.

He rubbed her back with a warm hand. “But Diana, surely you know I couldn’t bear such a thing.”

She shrugged. “Marcus would tell you the same thing. And in his next breath, he would lock me in my room without a second’s hesitation. A paradox, my brother.”

Harrington shook his head. “You have good judgment. Probably better than mine, if you want to know the truth. I can’t imagine the situation in which I would have to force you to do anything.”

“Thank you,” she said softly. “And you don’t give yourself enough credit. I think your suggestions are excellent, and I mean to adopt them all.”

He brushed a stray curl back from her temple, smiling softly. “Do you want me to procure you a Queen Anne pistol, then?”

She slipped from his lap, sinking to the floor. “I already have one.”

His eyes flew wide as her fingers went to the buttons on the placket of his trousers. “You… you do?”

She smiled wryly as she flipped one open. “As I’ve mentioned, Aunt Griselda packed my trunk. I’m probably better armed than the King’s German Legion.”

He gave a breathless laugh. “I don’t doubt it.” He frowned as she popped two more buttons loose. “Say, Diana, you don’t have to, err…”

The final button gave way, and his cock, which was already fully erect, sprang free of his trousers. “Are you sure? You seem rather interested.”

“No, I mean”—he gasped as she wrapped her hand around him—“I am.”

She smiled, loving the way his voice had turned husky. “I feel a sudden, irrepressible urge to pleasure you with my mouth.”

He really was adorable when he was confused. “But… why?”

Because you’re not trying to lock me in a gilded cage. Because you asked me what I thought. Because you respect me.

Because I love you.

She wasn’t quite brave enough to say all of that aloud. So instead, she said, “Because you are the best husband in the whole entire world, and you deserve a reward.”

As she uttered the compliment, he groaned, and his cock pulsed within her hand. “Say… say that again.”

Diana was not surprised by this request. She had noticed that Harrington seemed to grow excited—and by excited, she meant, sexually excited—whenever she gave him a compliment.

She decided an experiment was in order.

“You’ve been so good to me,” she purred, pulling his cock out of his trousers. “So thoughtful. So caring.” She pressed a kiss against his tip. “You deserve some appreciation.”

He was breathing hard, head tipped back, eyes closed. “I do?”

“Mmm.” She ran her tongue up the length of the underside of his cock, pausing to swirl it at the base of his head. “You’re such a wonderful husband. So very, very good to me. And so, I’m going to make things very, very good for you.”

He made a strangled sound, and his hips shifted desperately on the sofa. She decided to put him out of his misery, closing her lips around him and sliding down. She stroked him with her hand at the same time, and the bead of moisture that had formed at his tip made his length slippery.

“Diana!” he gasped, threading his fingers into her hair. “I… I’m not going to last long. That feels so good , what you’re doing, I?—”

She responded by wrapping her lips around his tip and sucking, and he broke off with a cry. She gave him no quarter, sliding her hand down to the place behind his sack and massaging him deeply there, the way she knew he liked so well.

“ Jesus fuck !” he shouted, squirming on the sofa. “Diana, I… I… You’re going to make me…”

He cried out in pleasure as his hips bucked against the sofa. She sucked down every drop of his release, rubbing him firmly with her hand, then gentling her touch when he started to squirm.

He was boneless afterward, collapsed against the sofa with his head lolling to the side.

After a moment, he stirred himself enough to scoop her up and place her on his lap.

He wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her hair.

She smiled against his neck as she listened to his breathing gradually slow.

He pressed a kiss against her temple. “Thank you.”

She turned her head to kiss him back. “Thank you . I meant what I said, you know. If you’re going to insist on being so wonderful, you’d best be prepared, because I won’t be able to stop myself from shoving you down on the sofa and having my wicked way with you.”

He laughed. “You’re providing me with a powerful incentive to behave.”

She twined her fingers in his curly hair. “Upon further consideration, I should not like for you to behave all the time. I’m also quite fond of your rakish side.”

His eyes were closed, and a soft smile graced his lips. “And if I misbehave, you could always…”

He trailed off, and she felt him stiffen beneath her. Was it Diana’s imagination, or did a faint flush rise to his cheeks?

“I could always?” she prompted.

It wasn’t her imagination. He was blushing. “Nothing.”

She could not help but think of the page he had marked in his book of naughty prints. The print that showed the gentleman bent forward while his lover paddled him with a birch. Had the words he had stopped himself from uttering been, you could always punish me ?

Diana thought of the print again, of the pure, unadulterated bliss on the man’s face as he received a spanking. Which Diana had to admit, she did not understand.

But if it was something Harrington would like, something that would bring him pleasure, then she wasn’t opposed to trying it.

She summoned her courage. “Because if there is something you would like to try?—”

“There’s not,” he said at once. “What you just did for me was wonderful.”

She tried to catch his eye, but his gaze was fixed on the empty grate in the fireplace. “I’m glad. But if there is something that could make it even better?—”

“Better than that?” He laughed. “Impossible.” She started to speak, but he silenced her with a deep kiss.

He rose from the sofa, lifting her high in his arms, and strode toward their bedroom. “Now, quit distracting me, minx. I have plans for you.”

She decided to let it go, as Harrington clearly didn’t want to discuss it. “Plans, you say? What sort of plans?”

He tossed her onto their bed and lay on top of her. “The kind you’re going to enjoy.”

She raised a haughty eyebrow because she knew he secretly liked it. “You think so, do you?”

His grin was a mixture of wickedness and delight as he reached down and started rucking up her skirts. “I know so.”

In the end, Diana was not too proud to admit that her husband had been right.