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At half past the hour of ten in the evening, Drew sauntered into the Everetts’ drawing room. Conveniently it was the supper hour.

Mary’s absence had tugged at him all evening, like the pull of a magnet. He wanted to be near her, no matter that he would have to endure the presence of her brother and father. He had decided to brave it for the benefit of his beautiful wife’s company. Of course, London’s high society, the ton, would observe the bruise on his chin and his flourishing black eye; but it would be Pembroke and Marlow who bore the embarrassment of that. A quarter of the room had seen it yesterday anyway, when he drove Mary from Pembroke’s town mansion to his bachelor apartment in The Albany. So, everyone in the room probably already knew about their marriage and his bruises and had probably assumed her family were unhappy with the match.

He had brought his friends with him, to shield him somewhat from society’s attention. They were easily persuaded when he advised them that Mary’s friend, Miss Smithfield, would be present. The lady that Drew’s best friend, Lord Peter Brooke, had in mind for a wife. They walked into the house in their usual pack, like wolves. But once inside he separated from them. They headed towards the buffet. He searched for Mary.

‘Drew.’ A hand touched his arm.

He turned. ‘Caro. How are you?’ He always had time for his younger sister. ‘Is something wrong?’

Her lips lifted into a warm smile as he studied her face, checking. There were no bruises beneath her powder today. Her palm rested against the bruised side of his face. ‘What have you been up to? I hear you married Miss Marlow.’

‘I did.’ His lips would have lifted to a grin, but that hurt so his smile fell.

‘Do you think yourself in love?’ she whispered, her eyes studying his expression. ‘I have never seen you at a musical evening before.’

‘I do not think it, I am in love. However, Mary… After her family had words with her, is not so sure.’

‘I wish you happy.’

‘Thank you. But you should be happy too. I have the money to smuggle you away from your husband now, Caro.’

‘I will never get away. He would find me.’

‘No. I will buy a property where he will not look.’

‘I cannot?—’

‘Caro. You must come into supper with me.’

They both turned, responding to the sharp, fierce, command. The Marquis of Kilbride approached to retrieve and control Caro.

She glanced back at Drew, fear in her eyes, as she nodded before turning away.

Drew sighed as she left him. For years he had not been able to help her, but now he would insist she ran away from her vicious bully of a husband.

Mary was standing among her usual knot of friends. It took her all of seconds to spot him, and her mouth dropped open a little as she did so, unable to hide her shock. She smiled.

He smiled too. It did not look as if he were an unwelcome shock.

She turned to him as he neared. He gently held up her hand, bowed over it and kissed her satin-covered knuckles, then tipped over her hand and kissed her wrist above her glove.

When he straightened, he said, ‘Good evening, wife.’

‘I did not expect you.’ She sounded stunned.

‘I did not intend coming, but I missed you, so I changed my mind.’

A blush flared on her pale cheeks but if his arrival had embarrassed her, she hid it well and turned to introduce him to her friends. He had watched her with these young people for two seasons. They were only a few years younger than him but they all seemed so na?ve, it was as if he had a dozen years on them not four or five.

They stared at him as if he were an oddity. He forced himself to be polite, and all the while Mary’s fingers rested on his left forearm.

It felt as though her fingers clasped his heart.

When the introductions were complete, he turned to her. ‘Have you eaten?’

‘Not yet.’

‘Then may I escort you to fetch some supper before the performance recommences?’

‘Thank you, yes.’

She excused herself from her dull friends and walked away with him.

Drew’s world flooded with a light only Mary could bring to it.

He helped her fill a plate, positioning himself so Mary could not see his friends clustered in a corner about poor Miss Smithfield and another young woman.

He led Mary to an empty table, but within minutes her cousin, Lady Eleanor, and her husband, Lord Harry Nettleton, joined them. Drew knew Lord Nettleton, though not well. Mary’s mother and her aunt, Lady Wiltshire, then also orientated in their direction. So, therefore, did Mary’s father and her uncle, Lord Wiltshire, the Duke of Arundel. The Duke gave Drew a measuring stare as he withdrew a chair for his wife.

When Pembroke saw Drew seated at the table, though, he turned to another table, taking his Duchess with him.

The final seats were occupied by another aunt and uncle, the Duke of Bradford and his wife.

When the time for introductions came, Drew cringed internally, his instincts prickling with a desire to run. This was an endurance test, but his determination was set. He would survive it for Mary. Let her family believe whatever they wanted to about him, and say whatever they would. He knew his reputation, but he also knew the truth.

Her father watched, hawk-like, as Drew answered questions and participated in the conversation as best he could, while Mary glowed beside him, like the sun, burning bright and keeping him warm. It was novel indeed to have watched her seated among her family like this, as an outsider looking in, and now to be within.

He actually began enjoying himself as Lord Nettleton shared a joke and the table broke into laughter. Then the bell rang, indicating the performance was about to recommence.

He had never attended a musical evening. He expected to be bored.

He rose and offered his arm to Mary, then led her back into the drawing room among her family. Mary’s father sat on the other side of her, and Drew had her sister-in-law, the Duchess of Pembroke, beside him. The lady he had flippantly propositioned once.

She kept her distance, leaning against Pembroke’s shoulder, her hand clasped in Pembroke’s, resting on his thigh. The man must have some redeeming qualities because she still looked in love with him.

Drew lifted his right leg, his body jolting a little as the rib her father had broken jarred, and set his ankle on the opposite knee. Then he reached for Mary’s hand and wove his fingers through hers, leaving their joined hands in her lap.

‘I did not think you were attending,’ Pembroke whispered in Drew’s direction.

Drew turned, lifting one eyebrow. He was here to be with Mary, he had no intention of making the place a battleground. ‘I changed my mind.’

‘John.’ Pembroke’s wife dug an elbow into her husband’s ribs.

Smirking, Drew looked away. At least Pembroke’s wife was sensible. Mary squeezed Drew’s hand. Drew looked to see the tone he had heard in the Duchess’s voice reflected in Mary’s expression – she was annoyed with her half-brother too. He smiled, pleased with his restraint. He had come here to continue making peace with her, not start another fight.

He faced forward as a harpist began to strum.

Mary’s shoulder touched his arm, her delicate weight leaning upon him.

A tight constraint clenched about his heart. It hurt that she did not believe he loved her, that she thought him a rogue, a wastrel and a fortune-hunter. He had come to prove those things were not true. He wanted her to trust him, to rely on him, to lean on him always, just like this.

When the harpist sang, the music reeled him in. Perhaps his awakening emotions gave him new ears. Music had never touched him before. The woman’s voice was haunting. A piano concerto followed, and then the night’s entertainment was closed by a soprano, who again was outstanding.

Letting go of Mary’s hand, he applauded the performers with the rest.

When everyone stood to leave, Drew possessively rested his hand at Mary’s waist as they filed from the row. Her father looked down at his hand, then up to Drew’s face, but he said nothing.

‘Will you ride home with us, Lord Framlington?’ the Duchess of Pembroke asked. ‘We were to take Mary, so we could take you both.’

Her words were an olive branch. He was willing to accept it but he wished Mary to be reliant on him not her family. He turned, smiled and bowed to Pembroke’s wife. ‘Your Grace, thank you, but I shall take my wife home. We can hire a hansom.’

Pembroke eyed Drew with a hard glare.

Ignoring the judgemental look, Drew turned to Mary. ‘I will say goodnight to my friends, then we will go. Please excuse me a moment.’

Her eyes opened wider at the mention of his friends but she did not deter him, merely nodded and turned to her father.

Drew could not see them in the room, and Miss Smithfield stood with her parents. He presumed they were in the room set up for cards and headed there.

‘I cannot believe Mary would take a man like Lord Drew Framlington willingly. Do you think he forced her?’

Looking sideways, Drew sought the owner of that voice. It came from a group of young people, some of whom were Mary’s friends. They had not noticed him.

‘Emily said she ran away with him, and now Mary told her not to trust any of his friends, or even Lord Framlington himself.’

‘Have you seen his black eye? It’s a beaut. I heard Marlow did it. He caught them up, knocked the hell out of Lord Framlington and forced him to wed her there and then.’

The last came from a tall young gentleman – one of Lord Farquhar’s boys. Drew knew the family, far too well. His mother was a friend of Drew’s mother – and that was not a good recommendation.

The woman clutching Farquhar’s arm caught Drew’s eye and her jaw dropped open.

‘Do you think he intended marrying her?’

‘Of course he did, at some point,’ Farquhar answered. ‘He was after her fortune.’

His lady companion pulled on Farquhar’s arm.

Half of Drew wanted to laugh, the other half would willingly knock the boy down…

The first woman who had spoken squealed, her hand covering her mouth as she noticed Drew approaching. Farquhar turned scarlet.

‘Your voices are carrying,’ Drew stated in a hard, measured voice. ‘If you malign a man, at least have the guts to do so to his face and not behind his back. And if you’d care to observe what you risk, you may meet me at Manton’s practice range on the morrow, Farquhar, to see how well I shoot. Or, you may prefer, to simply not speak ill of myself or my wife?—’

‘We were not—’ one of the young women began.

‘My dear, I heard…’ Drew stared at her, ‘and I’ll not have it repeated.’ His gaze travelled about the group. They were all cowed.

And these are her friends… Drew scoffed as he walked on.

‘Can you believe he?—’

‘He is still in earshot, Bethany, and even if he were not, I do not fancy giving him cause to call me out.’ Farquhar at least had received and understood the message.

Drew saw his friends leaving the card room.

‘Gentlemen!’ Drew called. ‘Have you had a good night?’

‘A very good one for me,’ Mark answered, patting a pocket.

‘A not so good one for Peter,’ Harry said.

Drew looked at Peter. ‘Ah, well, you can afford it at least.’

‘I played ill, I am out of sorts. Your wife has shattered my hopes of the fair Miss Smithfield.’

Drew laughed. ‘Did you have any honest, decent hopes, you scoundrel?’

‘I do not recall even mentioning decent or honest, but whatever my intent, my hopes are dashed. Your wife warned her off.’

‘Ah. I can explain that. She was not asleep last night, she heard you talking. I am afraid you shot yourself in the foot.’

‘Bloody hell!’ Peter barked with a laugh, drawing eyes from about the room.

‘Bloody hell indeed. I took a battering for not being the author of those love letters…’

‘Then we must apologise in person,’ Harry stated with bravado.

‘Yes,’ Peter agreed. ‘You have to let us speak with her, you cannot keep your wife from us. Or are you ashamed of us now you are rich?’

‘I am still not as rich as you, Peter,’ Drew responded, ‘and therefore why would I have reason to cut you? Come, I will let you speak with her, as long as you behave.’

‘I am wounded,’ Peter said theatrically, pressing his hand to his chest over his heart. ‘Do I not always behave?’

‘No,’ Drew answered, looking at them all, ‘we do not, but I must start behaving now I am married, and you must respect my wife when you speak to her, understood?’

They laughed, not taking him seriously in the least.

He turned, with a sigh, wondering if he had just cast his marriage a death sentence. But these were his friends, who were more like brothers to him than his brothers had ever been. They were, and always would be, a part of his life. Mary had to accept that, it was not negotiable.

Her eyebrows lifted as she saw them coming and her skin pinked. Clearly she did not wish to meet them, but there was a point to be made here. He would do much for her, but he would not reject his friends.

The Dukes of Bradford and Arundel stared as Drew and his friends neared; his pack of wolves approaching the Pembroke pride of lions.

Drew beckoned Mary, to bring her away from them. He did not fancy a full-blown war breaking out in the Everetts’ drawing room.

She came, although she looked nervous, but obviously his turning up here had gone some way towards building bridges as opposed to hurdles.

He hoped this did not knock them down.

‘Sweetheart,’ he stated as she came over, ‘my friends wish to apologise, they did not mean to offend you last night.’ She blushed harder as he took her elbow and turned her to the others.

‘Lady Framlington. Felicitations on your marriage,’ Peter stated with a brief bow.

‘Lord Brooke.’ She bobbed a slight curtsy. ‘Thank you.’

Drew doubted she was thankful at all.

‘I am pleased the prose worked.’ Peter claimed one of her hands and lifted it to his lips. ‘And glad you deemed our dear friend worthy.’

Discomfort rippled through Drew; he did not like Peter touching her.

Mary withdrew her fingers before Peter could kiss them. ‘Your prose was very good, Lord Brooke, but I have told you before, I do not value false flattery.’

‘But my dear, it was never false.’ Peter couldn’t help flirting with any woman.

The hairs on the back of Drew’s neck prickled because this woman was not any woman, she was his.

‘Now if you would simply unsay whatever it is you said to your friend?—’

‘Congratulations, Lady Framlington,’ Harry interrupted.

‘You have my good wishes too.’ Mark vied for her attention as he and Harry bowed, both reaching for her hand. Mark claimed it first and pressed a kiss on the back of it, then passed her hand to Harry.

‘And Miss Smithfield…’ Peter prodded.

‘Will have nothing more to do with you, I am afraid, Lord Brooke, if she is sensible.’

‘And from that I conclude you think yourself not sensible.’ Peter’s eyebrows lifted as he glanced in Drew’s direction. ‘So, all is not roses in heaven then, Fram.’ Peter slapped Drew’s shoulder. ‘But you are still rich…’

Drew shrugged. He would not discuss his issues with them. ‘But not as rich as you,’ he quipped again, to hide his unease.

‘May we call on you at Drew’s?’ Mark asked Mary.

‘You have such lovely eyes,’ Harry complimented.

Drew stepped closer to her. ‘No one is to call unless invited. Mary will not wish to be hounded by you reprobates.’

‘And if you do call, she is likely to be out!’ The deep pitch came from behind Drew.

Marlow.

Drew turned.

The Dukes of Arundel and Bradford stood at her father’s right and left shoulders.

Would Mary be the rope in a tug of war every day of their marriage?

Perhaps, Drew should have stayed away and left her to her family here.

At least his friends recognised the moment to bow out. They withdrew, rather than begin a brawl, laughing, presumably at Lord Marlow and his in-laws.

‘Why would you subject my daughter to their lechery?’ Marlow accused when Peter, Harry and Mark were barely out of earshot.

‘Papa…’ Mary touched her father’s arm.

‘Mary.’ Drew held out his hand. This was another moment when she must make a choice. He was all or he was nothing to her. ‘I will take you home.’

To his irritation she hesitated. Drew’s jaw clenched and he lifted his hand higher. She had taken a vow to obey him but he wanted her to come because she wished to.

Her pale blue gaze met his, just as Pembroke joined the altercation. Her father was the brother of an Earl, but her wider family commanded influence across the whole of society through her mother’s connections.

‘I will go home with Andrew, Papa. John.’ She looked at them, and her uncles. ‘I’ll call on you tomorrow, Papa.’

When she took Drew’s hand, he held hers tightly, emotion wrapping about his heart. ‘Good evening, Lord Marlow, Your Graces,’ Drew said, before turning away with Mary.

He strode from the room briskly, meaning Mary had to hurry to keep up.

They were watched by other guests the entire length of their flight. When they reached the door, he could not help himself, he looked back and glared at everyone who still stared.

The men of her family had huddled together in the centre of the room, forming a conference, undoubtedly planning what to do about him.

Fuck them!

He obtained Mary’s shawl and his hat and had a footman send a stable boy to find a hansom carriage. The same footman held the carriage door as Drew handed Mary in.

When he climbed in beside her, she had pressed herself into the far corner of the small two-seater carriage and looked through the window.

After the door shut, the carriage lurched into motion.

She would make a wonderful subject for a portrait in the lantern light of the carriage, staring at nothing in the darkness, her face reflected in the glass.

‘Did your friends come just to play their games with Emily?’ she asked the window. ‘Could you not have stopped them?’

He sighed. The ground he had gained earlier was lost.

She looked at him. ‘I was pleased to see you until you said they were with you.’ Her voice grew in strength. ‘How can you condone their behaviour?’

Her condemnation of them was condemnation of him, and she knew it. ‘Lord Brooke is not such a bad catch, he is remarkably wealthy.’

‘But we both know he is not thinking of marriage, is he?’

‘If she is properly chaperoned, what does that matter? You never know, he might fall for her.’ The last was a quip at his own expense, which of course she would not understand as she did not believe he had fallen.

‘But we both know chaperones can be avoided.’ Her pitch soured as she shot a wisecrack back at him. ‘I suppose you have all played these games a hundred times.’

Drew turned, one knee lifting onto the seat between them as he faced her, his arm stretching across the squabs behind her shoulders. His body jolted with the pain from the rib her father had broken – when he discovered the deeply in love runaways they were two days ago.

‘So we are back to how many, are we? Well, for your information, you are the first woman I have courted, and the first woman I have known who had any need of chaperones, and for all Peter may play around and act the fool, he has never courted a virgin before either. Judge them how you like, but at least my friends are loyal. I caught yours gossiping about you.’

How did she have the power to make him feel like a belligerent child? Because I love her. This was what love did. It made you weak and miserable. This was why his heart had forgotten love as a child. But he was not giving in yet, he was fighting for her.

‘I suppose you frightened my friends into silence.’

‘Do I frighten you?’

‘Yes. Sometimes. When you feel threatened and become angry with me.’

Her admission shocked him. His anger fled instantly. ‘Then, I am sorry. I do not mean to make you afraid.’

His hand lifted, needing to hold her, and without his urging, as though they had the same desire in the same moment, she rose and turned to sit on his lap. Her arms reached about his neck, but then a sob sounded against his shoulder. ‘I do not want to argue.’

Damn it. He leaned back further, breaking the embrace to look at her face. Tears sparkled on her cheeks.

‘How else do I make you feel?’ he asked, wanting her to say something good.

‘Sad. I wonder if you will ever love me, or I will ever understand you.’

‘I do love you,’ he answered.

Their lives were worlds apart. She could never walk in his path but he could walk in hers. He should try. The onus to make their marriage work rested on him. ‘When you go to Pembroke’s house tomorrow, I will come.’ If nothing else it would stop her family influencing her in his absence.

‘Do you think that wise? Papa is still angry with you.’

‘That is the reason I should go.’ The familiar surge of love for her raced through his blood and his gaze dropped to her lips.

She smiled, then, her fingers slipping into his hair, she brought his mouth to hers.

When the carriage pulled to a halt, they were only prevented from being thrown onto the floor by Drew bracing his feet hard and holding onto her.

He moved her from his lap as the hatch below the driver’s seat slid open. ‘We’re ’ere, sir, ma’am.’

Drew freed the lock and pushed the door open. He climbed out, helped Mary down, then paid the driver.

A night porter opened the front door of The Albany. As Mary stepped over the threshold, awe stole his breath away. He could not quite believe she was here. A lopsided smile tilting his lips, he bent and caught her up in his arms. She held his shoulders. ‘Andrew!’

‘I omitted to do this before, didn’t I? It was remiss of me. A bridegroom should carry his wife across their threshold.’

The doorman grunted his amusement, stepping aside, so Drew could carry her past him and up the stairs.

The pain in his rib hurt like hell, but despite Marlow’s bitter words and violence, Drew was going to make his marriage happy. He would prove them wrong.