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Drew crawled into bed, three sheets to the wind. His friends had retired to his bachelor apartment for a second evening, and the first light of dawn crept about his curtains when they left.

His friends spent half the night commending him on his choice. The second half they spent constructing more verse, only this time Peter said it should praise Mary’s nature, not her beauty. Apparently, she’d told Peter she did not care for compliments. Lack of vanity was another credit to be notched in her favour.

A considerable amount of laughter had followed and an inevitable quantity of wine.

When he woke, he lay hot and sweaty in a tangle of sheets, his body thrumming with the need for Mary. In his dream she had said yes in the glasshouse.

He reached for his pocket watch. It was only midday. He generally lived a nocturnal life, sleeping in the day and staying up all night. But there was no way he would be able to sleep again.

He threw the covers aside, got up, washed and shaved, planning to ride in the park to vent his frustration. Rewriting the latest letter would have to wait until he’d dealt with the pain of unsated lust. He could seek a willing woman to assuage it but he had abstained for a year waiting for Mary, and he would not break that now. To share a bed with another woman, now, would feel like treachery. It was Mary he needed, no one else.

A bitter taste filled his mouth, and it was not from last night’s excess of drink; it was the taste of fear. If I fail and lose her…

On his ride he stretched out Hera’s strides, hurtling the mare across the open meadow of Green Park, leaning low, holding his body close to the horse’s, pushing his bodyweight into his heels, and keeping balance with his shins and thighs, riding like a madman.

He felt close to insanity. Desperate.

Still, if she was easily caught, he would be bored of her in weeks. No, her determination to withstand him only bore out his belief that she was the woman for him. Her strength of character was admirable.

Returning home, he rewrote the letter his friends had constructed in their cups last night, and as he reached its end found his own words flowing from the quill, a diatribe falling from his mind onto the paper as words had come to him last night while they danced. He blotted the ink briskly then folded the paper before he lost the courage to include his own words and sealed it with wax.

He found a young lad he trusted in the street and sent the boy off to deliver it.

* * *

Mary was sitting in the family drawing room, alone, reading. Her mother and father, John and Kate had taken the children to Hyde Park. Having declined their invitation to accompany them, she had no chaperon with her. Her father had bidden Mr Finch to say no one was at home if anyone called.

‘Miss Marlow.’ Finch stood in the room, balancing the silver tray on his hand.

‘A letter?’

‘Yes, miss.’ When he bowed, offering it, Mary saw Drew’s handwriting and her wicked heart leapt with joy.

She broke the seal as soon as Finch left the room.

The letter began with another poem, commending the extreme good nature of her soul, and then gushing about her charm and eloquence.

She smiled; Lord Brooke had been telling tales.

The following paragraphs spoke of commitment, of lifelong happiness. They were only words. They meant little in reality.

But the last paragraph… The strokes of Drew’s writing seemed somehow sharper, and the words on the page lifted out with feeling.

My Mary, you are, you know, mine. You always will be, accept me or not. You and I are meant to be one, half to become whole. Put us together, Mary, darling, make us one, a single being. I want you. I cannot say I love you, not yet, I do not even know what on earth love is, but I do know that I cannot sleep for thinking of you, or avoid dreaming of you. I think of you and I lose my breath. I see you and my heart begins to pound. I hear you and my spirit wants to sing. I am yours, Mary. Be mine. I cannot walk away. I will not.

Think of the possibilities. If this is love? If this is our only chance? If we are meant to be, would you throw that away? Throw me away?

Do not! Let us be.

Yours truly,

D

She could hear the words in her mind, as if he were here reading them to her.

She’d told him many times she barely knew him; now it felt as if she’d known him all her life. Perhaps it was true – he was meant for her.

A sigh slipped past her lips. If she did not agree soon, he would marry someone else. He could not live without money forever.

Her gaze drifted to the window. Birdsong permeated the glass. She did not want to marry someone else. She sighed again. She had thought that last night, and yet not thought about what he would do… She did not want him to marry anyone else. She could not watch him with a wife.

Why did her heart favour a forbidden man? She had no idea how to break free. I do not want to be free. I want to be his wife. She did not see a bad man in his eyes.

John would be furious if she chose Drew. Her father and mother would be disappointed. But they would not disown her. They would forgive her, because they loved her.

She folded the letter and took it to her room. There, she searched out his address. Then sat at her writing desk.

The quill hovered over the paper. She would not make promises. But could she have her family and Drew? Would he love her? How could she bear to hurt her parents, though? Yet, how could she bear it if Drew married someone else? She began to write.

Make me believe, if you wish . You make us be . Prove that I may trust your words. Prove that you will love me and not hurt me.

She wrote no more. She could not think of anything else to say. His ego was too big to offer him compliments. The rogue would only bask in them.

She folded the letter, reached for the wax, melted a little and sealed it.

She smiled when she rose from the desk.

Was she really doing this?

It appeared so.

The letter fluttered in her fingers, drying the wax as she hurried downstairs. Now she had made up her mind that this was the right thing to do, she no longer felt guilty. Her parents would learn the truth about him.

When Mary reached the hall, she avoided Finch’s unwanted questions, left the house through the servants’ stairwell and went to the stables. She found one of the boys who fed the horses and cleaned the stalls, gave him a ha’penny and sent him to deliver the letter.

Less than an hour later, the boy burst into her private sitting room with a broad grin, waving a reply in his grubby hand. ‘The gent sent this back, miss. I brought it up meself ’cause he said it was a secret between you and me. I’ve snuck through the ’ouse. No one saw me, miss.’

Mary took the letter and found out another ha’penny – the price of deceit. ‘Wait here, please.’ Breaking the seal, she turned and walked into her bedchamber, closed the door and sat on the edge of her bed.

How may I prove it to you? Tell me, and I will do it. Anything. I will climb the highest mountain for you, swim a lake or run across a continent. Only tell me and I shall prove it, Mary, darling.

Are you alone? How long for? Look from the window.

He was outside!

She went to the window.

Carriages passed at the edge of the garden in the middle of the square. People walked the pavements.

She saw him. He stood against the garden’s railing on the far side of the street from John’s house, smoking a cigar in a nonchalant blasé pose, the rim of his hat tipped forward, shadowing his eyes.

She returned to the sitting room where the stable lad waited. ‘Let the gentleman in, Tom, please. Take him to the summerhouse and tell him to wait there. But remember, this is a secret. I will reward you for your silence later. No one must see him, you understand?’

‘Yes, miss.’ The lad gave an awkward bow, tugging his forelock, then he raced out of the room.

Mary went back into her bedchamber and looked in the mirror on her dressing table. Strands of hair had fallen from the silver comb she’d styled it with. She tucked them back into place, then raced downstairs as eagerly as the stable lad.

She slowed halfway down the stairs, a dozen butterflies taking flight in her stomach as she saw Finch in the hall.

He looked up and bowed, as did the footman he was speaking with.

‘I am going to read in the summerhouse…’ she said when she stepped off the bottom stair, ‘and I may fall asleep, so please do not let anyone disturb me.’

‘Of course, Miss Marlow,’ the old bulldog answered. He was her family’s guardian, and now she was deceiving him too. Her parents would send her home to the country if they knew.

She went to the library first as she’d left her book upstairs, and picked out another without even looking at its title, then let herself out through a French door.

Heat touched her face as she crossed the lawn. She did not hurry in case Finch was watching from the house.

The summerhouse was at the end of the garden, tucked away among tall shrubs. No one could see it from the house and no one could see anyone approaching it from the stables.

The path passed through a row of archways that were covered with gloriously scented flowering wisteria.

When she reached the summerhouse, he stood at the far end of the narrow wooden veranda, with his back to her. He had removed his hat and ruffled his hair.

‘This is very bad of you,’ she stated as she climbed the steps of the veranda. She did not walk to him, she stopped and leaned against the post at the opposite end to where he stood, holding the book in both hands in front of her.

He turned and faced her, a broad smile parting his lips. ‘But exhilarating,’ he answered. ‘What will you do if we are caught? Think of the repercussions.’

He was teasing her; laughter danced in his eyes. She had not seen him in daylight since the morning they rode together. She had forgotten how the sunlight gilded his eyes, turning the hazel gold.

He walked towards her, pulling off his gloves. ‘How long do we have?’

‘An hour, perhaps more.’

‘A whole hour to ourselves…’ He threw his gloves aside. They landed beside his hat on a low table. He took the book from her hands and put that down with them.

‘So, tell me…’ his fingers raised her chin, ‘how may I prove that we are meant for one another?’

She could not answer, she could not draw air into her lungs. It didn’t matter; his lips pressed to hers. It was unlike any other kiss they’d shared – it was not urgent or hurried, or persuasive. It was just a touching of lips.

A sigh escaped his mouth when his lips left hers and the side of his nose stroked across hers. ‘I’ve thought about you all night.’

Her head tipped back, away. ‘So, we are back to seduction.’

He laughed as his hands braced her waist and shook her gently. His hands made her feel safe not in danger.

‘Lord, I love you. You have convinced me of it,’ he said. ‘You are the only woman who can say no to me. I adore you more because you fight me. You just do not trust me enough.’

‘Enough to do what?’ The words I love you rang in her thoughts, but they had been casually said with a pitch of amusement. He had said in his letter he did not even know what love was.

‘To become my wife, obviously, sweetheart.’

‘What would it be like to be your wife?’ When she looked into his eyes this closely, the hazel had streaks of colours, amber, ochre, copper, cinnamon. She looked beyond the colours, trying to see into his soul. She could not see any artifice. People were not all one shade, one attitude; they were a myriad of attitudes, beliefs and emotions. He was not all bad, there was good too.

Put us together, Mary, darling, make us one, a single being. I want you. I cannot say I love you, not yet, I do not even know what on earth love is, but I do know that I cannot sleep for thinking of you, or avoid dreaming of you.

‘I hope we will be happy. I want to make you happy. We will buy our own estate and make it a home. It need not be large. It will take time to become profitable, but I will make it so.’

I think of you and I lose my breath. I see you and my heart begins to pound. I hear you and my spirit wants to sing. I am yours, Mary. Be mine.

‘How will you be with our children?’

His smile dropped, and his gaze turned inward as he pondered the idea.

If he was unable to give her an immediate answer without thinking about it, that was surely evidence his earlier words were not a lie.

Her palm rested against his cheek. She did not see the man who watched her in ballrooms. This was who he was beneath the pretentious rogue. This was the Drew who had written those impassioned words.

‘I have never thought of having children,’ he replied solemnly.

He was human, as vulnerable as any other, no matter his reputation.

‘But I would like our children.’

Mary lifted onto her toes and touched her lips to his, briefly, as he had done.

‘Perhaps, God willing, we will have a dozen.’ A broad smile parted his lips and his eyes shone with a new light. ‘You must teach me how to be a father, as you will teach me how to love you.’

He was a good man, people just didn’t know it. She longed to prove to her parents that there was good in him.

‘Are you tempted?’

‘To marry you?’

He shook his head, the smile lilting on his lips. ‘Stop doubting me. I am not speaking of physical intimacy.’

‘Yes.’ The word slipped out before she had chance to consider it. Her heart had said it. ‘I am tempted.’

His lips pressed to hers in a strong kiss.

When he broke the kiss, his nose stroked hers again, in a sensitive gesture of affection. ‘I love you. I really think I do.’

And I love you. She did not say it. She did not dare. Her head did not trust him enough yet. But her heart…

His hands tightened around her waist and he picked her up. She clung to his shoulders.

‘You are perfect for me, Mary.’

She laughed.

His eyes gleamed gold and then amber, changing and changing again in the light, as he swung her up into his arms and carried her inside the summerhouse. He gently put her down on the soft, cushioned, sofa.

Smiling like a fool, she sat upright.

She did not just love him, she adored him.

He dropped to one knee. ‘Mary…’ He took her hands from her lap and held them. ‘Marry me.’

Her stomach rolled a somersault.

His eyes were so earnest she believed he genuinely did care for her.

But what about her family? ‘I cannot answer yet. I am sorry. I need to think.’

His expression darkened. ‘But I may hope you will say yes?’

‘You may hope. I am not saying no.’ Mary bit her lip, afraid of what she’d said, of what she wanted to say.

His palm braced her cheek, they leaned towards one another, then kissed, as he remained on one knee, a supplicant before her.

The kiss burned like fire, as her blood ran with hunger and thirst.

He broke it. ‘Let me touch you. Let me love you. I will not take your virginity, I swear, I will leave you choice. You are right, marriage is more than a physical thing, but this is what I know, let me give you this and show you.’

The agreement was her body’s choice, the desire spiralled in her stomach, coiling to the point he’d touched between her legs. She nodded, her fingers sliding into his hair and pulling him back to her.

This kiss was firm, pressing against her mouth, as he rose from the floor, leaning over her so she had to lie back. His warm hand raised her knee, encouraging her to move her legs on to the sofa and lie down. His knee dipped the cushion beside hers as he lay down beside her.

His tongue came into her mouth, invading and caressing, and the heat of his palm caressed her breast.

Her nipple hardened with a sharp pain.

He broke the kiss and sat up. ‘I am too hot.’ He shed his morning coat and threw it on to a chair near the sofa. Then lay down beside her again, raised on one elbow, leaving one hand free. That hand reached to her dress and began lifting the hem.

Her heartbeat thundered. She should stop him. She had said no in the glasshouse. But she did not want to feel na?ve with him. If they married, she wanted to be his equal. It was better she knew about this…

She pressed her heels into the sofa’s cushion, lifting her bottom and thighs so the material could slide up more easily as she held on to his gaze for reassurance.

When her hem slid to the top of her thighs he stopped.

A breath trembled in her lungs as he leaned in and kissed her. His hand settled on her breast and kneaded.

Her fingers shook as she swept the hair from his brow.

A firm column within his trousers pressed against her hip.

Need coiled through her abdomen again.

Her mother had told her very little about the marriage act, but Mary knew what happened, she had seen animals and she had seen her brothers naked when they swam in the lake, and she knew her own body.

His kiss urged her to reciprocate as his tongue circled hers. She did, her fingers holding his hair as their tongues played a breathless game, while her hips pressed up against his, feeling the column of his arousal.

His fingers left her breast and undid a few of the buttons securing her bodice, then his hand was within, and found its way beneath her chemise to the flesh of her breast.

Her fingers left his hair and searched for the buttons of his waistcoat.

A sound of amusement rumbled in the back of his throat as his hand closed about her breast, but his body lifted to let her undo the buttons.

When his waistcoat opened her fingers pulled at his cotton shirt, yanking it out of the waist of his trousers so she could touch his skin too. Her fingertips followed the architecture of his muscles, as his explored her breast.

His lips left hers.

She looked into eyes that looked into hers. ‘You’re beautiful, Mary, within and without. I do love you.’

I love you too.

His head bowed. His lips touched her chin then travelled down her neck, nipping and biting gently.

She shut her eyes, shut out embarrassment, as he moved her dress aside and kissed her breast.

A summer breeze swept in through the open doors, caressing her naked skin.

With her eyes closed she could hide in the darkness.

As he sucked her nipple with a sharp tug, the pain of desire struck like a dagger between her legs. Her body wanted him there; to know how it felt to join with a man.

A moan left her lips as she instinctively arched, pressing her breast towards his mouth.

The warmth of his mouth left her.

She opened her eyes. He was looking at her.

‘Let me touch you fully.’ His voice flowed over gravel.

She didn’t understand at first, but then his hand lowered. ‘Will you allow it?’

‘Yes.’ It was what she desperately wanted.

His fingers brushed the smooth inner surface of her thigh, drawing slow intoxicating circles.

A shiver raked her body.

A smile lifted his closed lips.

She wished to hide behind closed eyelids but she could not while he watched. Her lips fell open. She wanted to weep, whimper and cry out with pleasure all at once.

Suddenly his fingers swept up and touched her between her legs, pressing against her.

She bit her lip as her fingers clawed into the skin at the back of his waist.

‘You’re wet for me, darling,’ he said as his fingers touched her.

She was terrified… and excited. She wanted him to stop and she wanted him to continue. If my parents find us…

The thought was swiftly swept away as his forefinger slipped inside her body, only slightly, but… He stroked her. Gently. Carefully. The coil in her lower body wound tighter, the tension as tight as a spring.