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M onmouth had been grand, but this was so much more than that. And I am the mistress here now. That thought filled Sophie with trepidation. She had visions of failing horribly as his countess, even as Patrick had told her he had a competent staff and they would take things slowly.

“Letty sent your clothes on ahead, my lady,” Jenny said, emerging from behind the screen. “Would you like a bath?”

“I would love one.” Sophie sighed. It had only been one day, and yet it felt like she had been traveling for weeks.

“Dear Lord!” Sophie gasped as she went behind the screen and found her dressing room, which was also huge. In the middle was a large bath.

“It is quite something, my lady, is it not?” Jenny said, coming to stand beside her mistress. “I have everything ready for you,” she added, helping Sophie undress. “I have poured in some of the rose oil Lady Carstairs packed. Let me take the bandage off your arm first.”

The wound was still tender, although there was no sign of infection.

Sophie let Jenny’s chatter flow over her as she stepped into the warmth. She sighed as the water settled over her.

“What do you think of Garland Hall, Jenny?”

“The housekeeper, Mrs. Pitt, and cook, Mrs. Gumbrill, have been here for years, and they run the place, according to Mr. Ribble, the butler, who is lovely. They can be a bit mean, but the other maids and footmen seem nice.

“I’m glad you are settling in, Jenny. But please come to me if anything or anyone bothers you.” Having worked belowstairs, Sophie knew how things went, and she would not allow anyone to upset Jenny.

Climbing out of the bath, she let Jenny dry her off.

“Lady Carstairs wanted me to give you this tonight,” her maid said, holding out her hands.

It was a wisp of satin in the softest emerald. The straps were two slender strips, the bodice curved low, and each satin cup would clearly outline her breasts. The skirts fell to the floor in silken folds.

“I’m not wearing that.” She held it out for Jenny to take from her.

“Why not? It’s lovely.” Her maid lowered it over her head. “There is nothing wrong with wanting to entice your husband.” She then eased Sophie’s arms into the nightdress, taking care with her injury.

“Jenny!”

“I know you’ve got a sore arm, but still, let him do all the work. Here, now let’s slip the robe onto your shoulders.”

“I can’t believe you just said that.”

“You’re married now, so someone needs to. I will say good night now, my lady,” the maid said with a knowing smile, and then she was gone.

What was she meant to do now?

Sophie noted that the door to Patrick’s room was slightly ajar. Should she just go to bed or tell him she was? These were all new and unknown waters she was navigating. Letty had told her how to be a countess but not the real wife of an earl.

Moving closer to the door, she listened at the threshold but could hear no voices or snoring.

She tapped on the wood.

“Come in, Sophie,” he called.

Entering, she found him rising from a seat before the fire, wearing his dressing gown.

“I thought to say good night.” She stopped a few feet from him.

Sophie saw the fire in his eyes as they traveled over her body.

He wanted her, and it made her feel hot all over because she remembered what his touch had felt like.

Knew that it would be different between them now…

here, as husband and wife. She was no longer innocent.

His eyes devoured her.

“Your arm?—”

“Isn’t hurting,” Sophie said, moving closer—close enough to place a hand on his chest.

“Sophie.” Her name came out a warning. “I want you.”

“Yes.” She rose to her toes and kissed him. She’d never willingly done that before but felt the power as he moaned low in his throat.

“Your skin feels like warm silk,” he whispered.

Sophie arched into him as Patrick swept a hand down the length of her spine. Heat seemed to brand her wherever it traveled. He ravished her lips with sensual, mind-drugging kisses that robbed all thought but one: him.

“Where the hell did you get this?” He pushed the robe from her shoulder and then lowered one of the tiny straps and replaced it with his lips.

“Letty.” Sophie sighed as he licked the skin he’d exposed.

Patrick’s laugh was harsh as he pushed the other strap aside and moved to administer the same treatment to the other shoulder. With a gentle tug, he had her breasts freed, and Sophie felt the fabric pool around her ankles.

“I could look at you for hours,” he said, stroking a hand up her stomach to cup a breast.

“I-I want to look at you too,” she whispered.

He tore off his robe, and they both stood before each other naked now.

“You are beautiful,” she whispered, trailing her fingers down his chest, over the slopes and planes of muscle.

“I’m not entirely sure a man feels comfortable being called beautiful,” he rasped. “You, however, are that and more.”

He let her explore his body. She touched his shoulders and arms, stroked the hard skin of his stomach. His breath hissed as she reached his waist. Sophie stopped.

“I want your hands on me, Sophie. In here, there will be no barriers between us, only honesty. What happens outside these doors doesn’t come into this room.”

He took her hand and lowered it down his body. “Wrap your fingers around me, Sophie.” She did, feeling the hot, hard length. His eyes closed as she squeezed gently.

“I knew your touch would drive me wild,” he whispered.

She moved her hand up and down now, and the breath hissed in and out of his mouth. He withstood it for three more strokes.

“Enough, or there will be no pleasure for you.” Easing her hand off his body, he then kissed her again. “I want to know every inch of you, my sweet Sophie.”

“Yes,” she hissed.

“Do you trust me?” He cupped her face, and she nodded.

Releasing her, he lowered to his knees and ran his hands up her thighs, slowly parting them.

“What are you doing?” Sophie cried as she felt his breath between her legs.

“Trust me,” he whispered.

Dear Lord. He was kissing her there. Her hands went to his hair to stop him but instead gripped handfuls as she felt the stroke of his tongue along her folds. Pleasure spiked through her.

Sophie felt the pressure build with every wicked lick of his tongue, and when he touched the tiny nubbin between her thighs, she could do nothing to stop the low moan.

Patrick’s response was to do it again. It was sensual torture as the pressure built to an unbearable level.

She begged him to release her, and only then did he push a finger inside.

A blinding wave of pleasure raced through Sophie, and had he not been holding her, she would have stumbled.

Regaining his feet, he lifted her into his arms and lowered her onto his bed. In seconds, he was thrusting deep inside her wet heat.

“Wrap your legs around me, Sophie,” he demanded, and she obeyed. He thrust in and out, stretching her to accommodate him, and unlike last time, she was with him the entire way.

Sophie couldn’t think, only feel. He surrounded her, each thrust better than the last.

“Let go for me again,” he ordered.

She wrapped her good arm around his neck and held on as he took her to another release. She flew again, pleasure crashing through her. He followed one thrust later and lowered himself to the bed beside her.

“Did I hurt you?”

“No.”

He pulled the covers over them, and his large hand settled on her stomach.

Sophie knew she should leave and go to her own bed, but she would lay here for just a few more minutes until he was asleep.

Only when she heard the deep, steady rhythm of his breath did she slip out of bed.

Grabbing her robe and nightdress, Sophie tiptoed across the floor to her room.

Once there, she dressed and climbed into her cold bed and instantly missed Patrick.

But this was the proper thing to do, she was sure.

“What the hell are you doing in here?”

Sophie came awake with a start, her heart thumping wildly as she looked at the large figure standing at the foot of her bed.

“Patrick?” She pressed a hand to her chest to ease the pain as it knocked hard against her sternum.

“Why are you in here and not in my bed?” the large naked male demanded in a menacing tone.

“I… I had thought it proper to leave you, Patrick. I believed this was what you would want. That it was the right thing to do.”

“Well, you thought wrong!” Patrick growled, moving to her side of the bed. He tore back the covers and lifted her into his arms.

“Patrick!”

“Sorry, did I hurt you?”

“No, but what are you doing?”

“Taking you back to bed.”

“Did you have to yell at me? My heart nearly stopped,” Sophie said.

“I think you’re more worried about the right thing to do than me,” he muttered, walking back to his room. “The only time we will sleep apart will be if you have a contagious disease, and even then, I believe there are masks I can wear.”

“But—”

“Be quiet.”

Back in his rooms, he slipped her beneath the still-warm sheets and climbed in beside her, pulling her gently into his side.

“You sleep here. Is that understood?”

“Yes,” Sophie whispered, sighing as she rested against him.

“We are not proper in here,” Patrick whispered, winding his fingers through a handful of her curls.

Minutes later, there was only silence.