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H arrington was silent as Diana marched him back to their cottage as efficiently as any general in the British Army.

He was dreading the conversation to come.

They had things to discuss , according to his wife.

Damned if those were words any man wanted to hear.

Still, he didn’t see how he could avoid the conversation other than making a run for it and hiding behind a tree, which seemed unbecoming for an officer and a gentleman, to say nothing of a man of nine and twenty.

So instead, he allowed his petite wife to drag him down the lane and propel him through the cottage door to face his doom.

Sunday was Maeve’s day off, so they had the cottage to themselves. Diana let Inge out into the back garden, then whirled to face him.

Harrington cleared his throat. Maybe if he ignored the problem, it would magically go away. “Are you hungry? Would you like me to?—”

“Harrington.” It was just his name, but she said it with a sharpness that he secretly liked, one that let him know she wasn’t here for any of his nonsense. She regarded him cooly with crossed arms and still blue eyes. “Would you care to explain what that was about?”

No, thank you . It was God’s honest truth, not that it mattered a whit. It was the wrong answer, and well did he know it.

This called for a diversion. “You mean the part where I said I loved you?” He swallowed, because this was only a mite less nerve-wracking. “I do. I’ve been trying to work up the courage to tell you. I’m sorry I did it in front of your?—”

“And I love you, too,” she said in that voice that brooked no argument.

He would have thought hearing those words fall from her lips would fill him with elation. But he would have been wrong, although perhaps there was a sliver of joy mixed in with the queasiness.

“But,” Diana continued, and he suppressed a groan. He’d known there was a but . “We will discuss that after we have resolved the issue at hand.”

“Right.” He was rapidly running out of options. “What, exactly, is that, again?”

She seized his hand in a surprisingly strong grip for a girl who looked like she could be the model for one of those frilly porcelain figurines ladies liked to put on the mantelpiece and dragged him to the sofa.

She boxed him into the corner by the fireplace so there was no possibility of escape, then turned to him, her eyes solemn.

“When we were marooned on Bere Island, we had a good talk. At least, I thought we did. I thought we had resolved your concerns that life as an officer’s wife was somehow beneath me.

I thought you finally understood that this is what I want.

” She brushed her thumb across the back of his hand. “That you are who I want.”

“You did,” he reassured her. “It’s like I told your brother—you prefer adventure to comfort. I received your message, loud and clear.”

She looked at him steadily, and he could tell she wasn’t fooled.

“I noticed that you were able to muster a defense of my desire for a life outside of the gilded cage where my brother would prefer to keep me. But I also noticed that you presented no argument whatsoever when my brother—my idiotic, wrongheaded brother, might I add—suggested that you were not good enough for me.”

Well, shit . He usually loved the fact that Diana was so clever. Came in bloody handy when he was trying to untangle some political mess.

It was a damn sight less appealing when she was turning all that perspicacity on him.

“I…” He cleared his throat, then attempted to smile. “I mean, isn’t a fellow supposed to feel dumbfounded that his beautiful wife would even glance at a poor sod like him?”

Diana’s gaze did not waver. “No.”

He gave an awkward laugh. “There’s a compliment in there somewhere.”

She crossed her legs, scooting closer to him.

“Except there isn’t. I would have no problem with you waxing rhapsodically about how wonderful I am.

” She waved her hand airily. “In fact, I look forward to hearing you expound upon that subject later this evening. But there is a world of difference between praising your wife and castigating yourself.” She peered at him. “Do you see?”

Deciding another diversion was in order, he pulled her in for a hug. “There, there, Diana. You know I don’t mean anything I say.” He patted her back once… twice… three times. “Off you go.”

She pulled back, narrowing her eyes. “What is wrong with you? Did you truly believe I could be placated with such an asinine statement?”

“A man can hope,” he muttered.

She tossed her head, a gesture that would have looked patently ridiculous on ninety-nine people out of a hundred. Naturally, Diana pulled it off with aplomb. “The issue is not that I do not wish to hear those remarks. It is that I do not wish for you to think them.”

He forced a chuckle. “That’s going a bit far, don’t you think? I’m sure you wouldn’t like it if I gave you a list of things you weren’t allowed to think.”

She dismissed this with a flick of her fingers. “I believe we have stumbled upon a rare exception to that general rule.”

Shit . Why did she have to be so bloody clever?

He sat there struggling to come up with a response. After a moment, Diana continued, “What I would like to know is why you persist in thinking that you are not good enough for me. This is the only way we can resolve this—to identify the cause and pluck it out at the root.”

Because I’m a degenerate and a freak . Not that he could say as much, even if it was true. “Um…”

When he did not elaborate, Diana took matters into her own hands. “Is it because of the pranks you pulled on my brother?”

He answered honestly. “No.”

She was studying him in a way he didn’t much care for. “Is it because you were not academically inclined during your school days, and perhaps you compare yourself to your brother?”

As far as excuses went, this was a good one.

Of course, the fact that he was the village idiot while Edward had been the bloody Senior Wrangler, the top student in mathematics in all of Cambridge, had done a number on his confidence over the years.

He could have said, yes, that’s it , and let Diana go chasing down the wrong rabbit hole.

But to his surprise, although he couldn’t muster the courage to tell her the truth, he also couldn’t seem to form the lie with his lips. Diana deserved better than that. So, he whispered, “No.”

Her eyes softened, as if she realized that even this much honesty was hard for him. “Then what is it?” she asked gently.

Harrington shifted in his seat. Perhaps he could tell her something that wasn’t an outright lie. Hint at the truth without telling her everything. “As I’m sure you’re aware, I wasn’t exactly a choirboy prior to our marriage.”

She stiffened. “Are you trying to tell me you contracted a disease?”

“No!” He jerked back, shocked. “God, no. I was always very careful.”

She blew out a breath. “That’s a relief.” She threaded her fingers through his. “Then what is it that you think is so bad?”

He made a jerky motion with one shoulder. “It wouldn’t be inaccurate to call me… you know. A degenerate.”

She looked unimpressed. “I’m sure the same thing could be said about my own brother.”

This was unequivocally true. During his time at university, Trevissick had kept not one mistress, but two—a pair of buxom blondes who reportedly liked to do everything together.

Trevissick had been at Cambridge, but the rumors had reached Harrington and his friends at Oxford, where the duke had been the envy of every student, most of whom couldn’t afford more than a half-hearted tug job from their bedmaker once a fortnight.

If there was anyone who could rival Harrington in terms of depravity, it was Marcus Latimer.

When he didn’t respond, Diana added, “I’m sure the same thing could also be said about your friend, Henry, who is now married to your sister. And yet, you seemed pleased about that match. Why are you so willing to overlook his past transgressions, yet so severe upon yourself?”

“Because I’m worse than Henry,” he blurted.

“How so?” Diana asked softly.

His neck felt hot and itchy because they had veered alarmingly close to the truth. How had Diana maneuvered him so adroitly? “I just… am.”

Her eyes sharpened to diamonds. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”

“I can’t.” His voice came out gruff, and he found that he was blinking rapidly. Was this it? The moment his marriage fell apart? And not even an hour after Diana told him she loved him. That was just his fucking luck…

Diana’s voice was surprisingly gentle as she said, “You can. In fact, you need to.” He tried to look away, but she ducked her head, scooting into his field of vision. “Because we need to trust one another, Harrington. What kind of marriage would we have if we can’t do that?”

He tried, and failed, to make his voice light. “One like the vast majority of the ton ?”

She shook her head. “That’s not the kind of marriage I want.”

He could feel sweat dripping down his collarbone. This was it, then. There was no getting out of it now. He was going to have to tell Diana the truth, going to have to see the disdain in her eyes, the derision. His happy little idyll was coming to an end. How the fuck could he even explain it?

That was when he recalled that Diana’s brother had the same book of pornographic prints as him, and that she had perused it. If she had seen the particular print he liked best… at least it would be a starting point in trying to explain.

“You know that book of prints of your brother’s?” he said in a clipped voice. “The one that shows couples in different poses?”

Her eyes were steady on his. “Yes.”

“Some of them are… pretty bad.” This seemed to be as much as he could muster.

Diana’s eyes flared with comprehension. “And you are trying to tell me that one of those prints shows something you like.”

“Yes,” he said, his voice as gruff as scouring paper.

Her eyes were stern. “Which one?”

Panic rose in his throat. “I… I can’t tell you that.”

She pressed his hand so hard it hurt. “Which. One?”

Fuck . As if he could deny her anything when she was giving him that look.

He squeezed his eyes shut. “There’s one that shows a man on all fours. And his lover is”—his mouth had gone dry, but he somehow forced the words out—“spanking him. With a birch.” He hung his head. “That’s it. That’s what I like. I’m… depraved. Disgusting. Horrible,” he added weakly.

“Harrington Astley!” Diana released his hand, and he felt the sofa cushions shift beside him as she stood.

It was as bad as he’d thought. She couldn’t even bear to be near him. He ran a hand across his face and realized it was trembling.

Her voice was sharp. “Look at me. Now!”

Terrified, he opened his eyes to find her glowering at him, her hand on her hip.

Her eyes were furious as she said, “Is that all?”