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Drew kept the horses at a steady pace. He used more of the money he’d borrowed from Peter at each of the toll gates, his purse draining at a rate of knots. He spoke to the men as he paid, leaving a trail of crumbs they would recall when Mary’s family followed. When they reached Banbury, Drew asked the man at the toll gate to recommend an inn. If Marlow caught up with them earlier than expected he should know where they were.

He turned the horses into the stable yard of the Black Bull, at five in the evening. He could have driven the horses for another three hours but there was little point.

A young lad ran out to take the horses’ heads. The animals whinnied.

Drew looped his reins over the vehicle’s bar, then leapt down. An ostler came forward. He told the man they would be staying the night, and to stable the horses and his carriage. Then turned to help Mary.

She’d slid across to his seat.

They had been mostly silent since luncheon, though she held his arm as he drove. He should have spoken but he disliked the clinical dissection she’d made of him while they ate. He did not like remembering his childhood. He lived for now, and now he lived for her… She was all he wished to think of.

Her slender fingers held his firmly to steady herself as she climbed down.

When she reached the cobbles, he tugged her close and kissed her lips. It was the only thing he could think to do to ease the awkwardness his silence created.

She blushed.

In a couple of hours, they would be in bed. Heat flared in his stomach and his breath caught in his lungs… The surge of emotion he was becoming used to, in her presence, ripped through him. Only today it was a dozen times stronger. Lust. Need. Responsibility. Caring. Hope. Fear.

Do I love her? His heartbeat thundered.

Turning away, still holding her hand, he drew her with him.

He ordered dinner served in their room and French wine to accompany it.

Their room was the first off the landing. It faced the street and the broad four-poster, dark oak bed within it stood against the wall, its canopy and covers the colour of port.

He would take her virginity on that bed.

Her hand slipped from his.

The uneven floorboards creaked as she walked to the window and looked out.

He smiled. He was avoiding her questions; she avoided the bed.

Two winged armchairs stood before the hearth, with a small table between them, and on it, a three-arm candelabrum. Another unlit branch of candles stood on a chest beside the bed. Then against the wall there was a set of drawers, with a basin and a jug on top.

Drew’s gaze drifted back to the bed.

He turned away from it too, lifted off his hat and put it on the table.

A knock struck the door. ‘Y’ur bags, m’lud.’ A man’s voice breached the wood.

‘Come in!’ Drew shouted.

When the man had set down Drew’s and Mary’s bags, Drew tipped him with coins from his pocket and shut the door.

Drew pulled off his gloves and dropped them beside his hat.

There was another knock.

The wine.

The maid informed him it would be an hour until dinner.

When the door shut again, Drew stripped off his coat, watching Mary.

She had not moved.

Noises permeated the window, voices, vehicles, horses. This was no solitary haven and yet it felt like a private island. Mary was his sanctuary.

She untied the ribbons of her bonnet and brought it across the room to put it on the table with his items. His gaze was drawn to the delicate curve of her nape.

His heartbeat thundered as the turmoil of emotion clasped in his chest. He picked up the wine, uncorked it, poured a little into each of the glasses and drank from his as though it were water.

Patience had never been in his nature. But she was a virgin. He could not hurry this. He’d heard women bled their first time, that a man had to tear a membrane within her body and it hurt the woman. He did not want to hurt her.

He refilled his glass.

He felt her approach. It was a whisper passing through his senses, then her hands slipped over his waistcoat to his stomach as her cheek pressed against his back.

He stared at the wall, stilled. Whatever the emotion in his chest was, it fisted and clasped harder as his mouth dried. Sometimes it was as if her fingertips touched his heart.

‘Will we share the bed tonight?’ she asked quietly.

‘We will. Does the idea frighten you?’ That was a stupid question, of course it must.

‘A little.’ She let him go, walked past him and collected her wine, watching him as she sipped from the rim.

How I love her. He did not heed the thought. He was still unsure it was true.

‘How will it be?’ she asked.

He took another sip of wine. A bride’s mother usually explained these things. He had avoided an interview with her father but she had lost the opportunity to ask questions of her mother.

‘It will be beautiful, I hope. But I believe there will be some pain for you this time. I shall do my best to make the pain brief. Even if the first time is not good for you, I will make it wonderful in the future.’

A blush coloured her skin. ‘Wonderful… You have a high opinion of yourself.’

A rough sound of amusement made him almost spit out his mouthful of wine. He gave her a wicked grin. ‘It is not my opinion.’

She looked away, towards the window. Damn… That had been the wrong thing to say, he should not have boasted about other women’s views. He must remember she was not the same as those women; they would have appreciated the boast.

He put down his glass and took Mary’s glass from her hand. ‘Now my skill is all for you.’

His palm braced her nape and he kissed her.

Her fingers combed into his hair.

Within hours…

Today was the first day he would put any woman’s needs before his own.

He broke the kiss, picked up her glass and gave it back to her.

There was a tremor in her hand.

She is afraid. Remember it!