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After hours of travel, Drew stopped at an inn for luncheon and to change his winded horses for a hired pair. Mary’s bottom and back were sore and her neck stiff.

They had shared that one brief conversation and then he’d been silent again.

She’d assured him she was committing herself to him and he’d said nothing since.

The day was hot, but Mary felt cold. Her reticule dangling from her wrist, Mary crossed her arms, holding her elbows as Drew spoke to the ostler taking care of his horses.

‘Please feed them and brush them down.’ Drew handed him money. ‘There will be more if you look after them well and let no one else near them.’

The ostler lifted his cap in a salute.

Drew spoke with self-confidence and strength. She doubted anyone would dare naysay him. But she had seen a vulnerable side to him today too. His external severity seemed to protect whatever lay beneath.

An ache clutched about her heart, and her stomach teemed with butterflies. She’d thought she’d met the real man in the summerhouse. But he was not that man today and he’d been different among his friends too. There were many layers to the man she was about to marry.

Drew checked the legs of the animals he’d chosen to replace his with. He glanced at her before looking at his horses as they were led into a stable. He said something else to the groom then turned to her.

A grim look of determination set his jaw.

Did he not like leaving his horses? ‘They will look after them, I am sure.’

A smile touched his lips. ‘My horses are the most expensive thing I own. I cannot leave them with any ease. I am sorry if I look troubled, I have my weaknesses, and my horses are one of them.’

He offered his arm. She held his upper arm through the cloth of his coat, rather than laying her fingers on his forearm. She had often walked with her father and John like this, it felt more intimate with Drew.

His arm lowered as they entered the inn.

‘What are the others?’ she asked.

‘Others?’

‘Weaknesses…’

‘Oh. I shall wait until we’re wed to share them. I would hate to put you off.’ He said the words with humour but she discerned that touch of vulnerability again.

A man in livery stood in the inn’s hallway which contained stacked travelling trunks. It was a posting inn.

‘A private parlour, please, for myself and my wife,’ Drew said to the man. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a card. The card gave Drew’s name, which she knew was a way men promised payment. Here is my card, I am a lord so I must have money, I just have none on me today. ‘We’ll want luncheon, and I will take a tankard of ale. My wife, I assume, will want tea.’

When Drew glanced at her, Mary nodded.

Heat burned in her skin. She was not his wife yet, but he had to say so, or say he was her brother, otherwise she would be considered a whore.

He smiled, as though sensing her insecurity but the smile twisted to a roguish lilt when he looked back at the man, his expression returning to the veneer he showed everyone but her.

The man bowed, then bid them follow. He led them past a busy taproom to another door which opened into a small rectangular parlour. An armchair stood in each corner and in the middle a circular dark oak table with four chairs about it.

‘Make yourself comfortable, sir, ma’am.’

Once he had bowed deeply again, he left and shut the door.

Drew took off his hat and gloves, tossed both into one of the armchairs then smiled at her. ‘Please tell me you will take off your bonnet and your spencer, it is sweltering out there. We can surely have a break from being baked like kippers when we are alone.’

She smiled, though her stomach wobbled like aspic, and pulled loose the ribbons securing her bonnet with shaking fingers.

She put her bonnet, gloves and spencer in the chair with his articles.

A dark heat burned in his gaze as he came towards her, and then his lips were on hers, brushing hers slowly.

Her hands lifted to his shoulders, as his rested on her back, urging her against him as his tongue dipped into her mouth.

A delicious curling sensation twisted low in her abdomen.

A sharp knock rang on the parlour door. Her arms fell as he stepped back. He caught her elbow, steadying her.

‘Come in!’ Drew’s voice sounded unsteady.

As the door opened, Mary caught sight of herself in a mirror above the mantle. Her cheeks shone red and her lips dark.

She turned her back on the maid and crossed to the window. It looked out across a broad valley. She could see for miles. Her arms folded over her chest as she absorbed the view and listened to the maid put down his tankard of ale and set out her tea on the table.

Drew thanked the maid, then the door closed.

Mary’s senses tingled at the sound of his footsteps approaching her. ‘There was no need to blush, they think you are my wife. It will be true soon.’ His arms came about her and folded over the top of hers. She rested back against the firm muscle of his chest. For a moment he was still, then his lips brushed her neck and his hands fell to her hips.

He pressed a kiss behind her ear. She turned and kissed him, his hands embraced either cheek of her bottom through the layers of her dress and petticoats.

When another knock struck the door, she had become breathless and her heartbeat raced.

‘Come in!’ Drew called, stepping away again.

The maid cast Mary a sly look before putting down her tray.

Drew withdrew a chair for Mary, encouraging her to sit.

The maid glanced at Mary’s left hand.

Mary slipped her hands to her lap, beneath the table. She wore no ring. She sent the maid the condemning glare her deceased grandfather, and now John, were known for.

It made the woman blush at least as she bobbed a curtsy. Then she left and shut the door.

Drew laughed as he sat. ‘I did not know you could set a person in their place so easily, Mary.’

‘There are some things you cannot help but learn when you live in the company of Dukes.’

‘Should I be warier then?’

She reached for the teapot. ‘You may be warned I am stubborn. Papa often complains I never give in.’

He grinned, both proud and amused. ‘So, you are stubborn and now I am wary. We have both discovered one new thing about each other.’

‘What do you wish for?’ She indicated the food.

‘I’ll serve myself. You select what you wish.’

As he helped himself to a piece of rabbit pie, awkwardness descended again.

How long would it be before she was used to being constantly in his company?

She cut herself a slice of bread. When she lifted it to her plate, she caught him watching her. The roguish glint in his eyes said he was laughing at her, perhaps because she was still blushing from her encounter with the maid. ‘You are very bad,’ she said. ‘You do not care what anyone thinks, do you?’

‘And you adore me for it, it is what enchants you.’

‘I take bad back, you are devilish.’ It was a joke, but when he had that dangerous look in his eyes a part of her did fear he could be wicked.

Steel gripped at his jaw, as it had done when he’d parted from his horses. ‘I will take that as a compliment. All women love a rogue, and the devil is one better.’

‘The devil is one worse.’ She wished she had not said it. It made his eyes even darker.

‘Should I become an angel when we are wed?’

Why did his words sound bitter?

Turmoil spun through her head as Mary searched for something to say quickly to redeem the conversation. She was not sure why it had become a conflict. ‘Well, the devil is a fallen angel… Perhaps there is hope for you yet…’

A strange expression passed across his face. A pained expression. She reached across the table and lay her hand over his. He pulled away; he did not care for her comfort.

She cut herself a wedge of cheese and changed the subject. ‘Tell me what you were like as a child.’

A callous-sounding laugh answered her as he lifted a slice of cold ham to his plate. ‘When I was a child I behaved so badly the servants removed the “an” from my name and cut it short with a capital “D” for devil.’ He picked up his knife and fork. ‘To save them having to say, “ you devil, Master Andrew ”. Instead, they yelled “D-rew”, and the name stuck. Even my mother uses it.’

He found the story amusing.

She found it sad.

‘How many brothers and sisters do you have?’ She skewered a piece of the pie with her fork.

‘I have three brothers and two sisters.’ He filled his mouth with ham.

‘Are they all married?’ She cut a smaller forkful and ate too.

He swallowed. ‘Two of my brothers are not.’

‘But you are not close to them, you said…’

He set his knife and fork down. ‘No, Mary, I am not.’ He reached for bread.

‘I cannot imagine that. I have always looked up to John. Our entire generation admires him, my cousins too. Robbie is the brother I am closest to, though. He is eighteen months younger than me. We were thick as thieves until he went to school. When he hears I am married he will hate it that I did not write and tell him what I planned.’

‘Is he eighteen now, then? That is an awkward age. Most young men have an unrealistic view of the world.’

‘Did you?’

His gaze met hers as he swallowed a mouthful. ‘I was different, I had a very real view.’

‘Why?’

‘Believe me, you do not want to know.’ There was that hard look in his eyes, as he ate more. It warned her away from the subject. He swallowed. ‘If you had told your brother about us he would have been torn between whether to tell your parents or tackle me himself. I doubt he would have been happy for you…’

She changed the subject, another forkful hovering in front of her lips. ‘Tell me what you do with your days in town.’

His eyebrows lifted. ‘I thought by eloping I was avoiding an interview with your father…’

His words stung. ‘I am marrying you – I need to know more about you than the colour of your eyes and that you care for your horses.’

‘The colour of my eyes? You like them then?’ His eyes lit up now, dancing with deviltry.

‘Yes.’

He smiled. ‘I like yours too. The blue is so pale your eyes shine like jewels. Your beauty kicks me in the gut each time I see you, Mary.’

Mary looked at her plate. She’d never cared to be complimented on her looks, her entire family had the same appearance. Gentlemen always looked. She found their interest vulgar. She wanted him to like who she was; appreciating her looks was a shallow emotion.

‘I’m sorry. I forgot you do not care to be complimented on your appearance.’

Her gaze lifted.

‘You may compliment me.’ If you love me for more than my appearance.

‘Then I consider myself honoured and if any other man compliments you now, I shall knock him down. This is another thing you must know about me – I will not be played.’

‘Played?’ She did not understand.

‘No games, Mary, no beaux, no flirting and no frolics. I will not be cuckolded nor made a mockery of.’ His eyes had changed. The man who looked at her was the man he was among his friends.

She was being warned.

Yet she saw more in him, something deeper in the jet at the heart of his eyes. Fear?

‘I would not—’ she began, intending to reassure him.

‘I know you will not. I shall not allow it.’

‘I would never consider such a thing anyway.’ She would not be told, but she was happy to promise. She sipped from the cup of tea, hiding her disquiet. The Drew she had agreed to marry was the vulnerable man who’d come to the summerhouse. She wished he would let his guard down and be that man. She faced him as she lowered the cup to its saucer. ‘I will not call you Drew. I shall call you Andrew, your real name.’

His eyes widened but he did not look displeased or ask her not to use that name.

He was not a devil. He had faults and felt fear. He was Andrew beneath D-rew’s sharp edges. She hoped the rogue’s veneer would disappear when they were wed.