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When Kate rose and led the women from the room, to leave the men at the table, Mary heard Caroline tell Andrew she was going to her room.

‘Then I will leave the table and walk up with you,’ he answered. He smiled at Mary. ‘I will meet you in the drawing room.’

She nodded.

The men were still at the dinner table when Andrew came down, and the women were listening to Mary’s cousin Margaret playing the pianoforte. He looked about, unsure what to do. Mary stood and went to him, and in the same moment the men came back, drifting in in groups.

‘Let us dance!’ Mary’s cousin Eleanor called, clapping her hands to silence the room. Some of the men moved furniture aside to make space.

‘I am only participating if we are dancing waltzes!’ Mary’s father shouted at Eleanor.

‘And he will then only dance with Mama,’ Mary whispered to Andrew. ‘Will you dance with me? We have never danced a waltz.’

He smiled. ‘Yes. If that is what you want.’

He had promised her tolerance; she knew this was that. ‘I will sit it out if you prefer.’

His smile twisted and he leaned to her ear. ‘I am sorry if I seemed reluctant, it is just all evening I have felt your family watching. I do not like to be the entertainment. At least if they are dancing, they will have another occupation.’

‘Look at me. Do not think of them.’

Margaret played a slow waltz. There were too many couples in the room, and too much furniture, for them to dance boldly.

‘Happy?’ Andrew asked, as he spun her over-exuberantly.

‘Now you are here, yes. And only when you are here.’

His smile tilted sideways and he leaned to her ear. ‘Your father called me son.’

‘Then he approves of you.’

‘He approves if I am good for you. I am being good.’

‘You were always good for me, even when you were very bad.’

A chuckle rumbled in his throat. ‘Do I have permission to be bad sometimes then?’

‘As if you have ever awaited permission.’

She was pulled flush against him in response, her thighs moving against his, as her breasts crushed against his chest.

She would have backed away and told him off, but every couple in the room danced closer than they would in a ballroom among the rest of the ton .

It was enticing. She understood when it was danced like this why some matrons hated the dance.

When Margaret ended the piece of music, as they waited for the next tune, Mary looked into wide onyx pupils with glimmering gold edges and knew what he was thinking.

As Margaret began another tune, his head bent and his teeth nipped her neck just below her ear, so it might look as though he had whispered.

She nearly fell, but he held her, a note of humour in his throat.

‘You are being wicked.’

‘You said you like me bad.’ He missed a step, and she tripped, only to be caught in his arms. ‘You muddle me up, Mary.’

He did it again and made her laugh out loud. It was what he had intended. But he could not have intended that they bump into her father and mother.

‘Sorry, Papa, Mama. Andrew is making mistakes to make me laugh.’

Her father lifted an eyebrow, but he smiled before dancing on.

Andrew leaned to her ear. ‘Have you told your parents about the child? Your father said nothing to me.’

‘No.’

‘Your uncle knows. I told him in town. So, we had best tell your parents before they hear it from him.’

When Margaret played the last notes, Andrew broke their embrace, took a firm hold of Mary’s hand and walked the few steps to where her father and mother stood. ‘Sir?’

‘My name is Edward.’ Her father smiled.

‘Edward, then, sir, we would like a word if we may?’

‘What is it?’ Mary’s mother asked.

‘My lady, I?—’

‘It is Ellen, Andrew, until you are able to think of me as a mother.’

Andrew took a breath to get the words out. ‘Mary is with child. She has just informed me that you did not yet know and I wanted to tell you.’ His fingers threaded in between Mary’s while he spoke.

For a moment they were silent. Mary’s teeth pressed into her lower lip. Then her father reached out to shake Andrew’s hand, moisture glinting in his eyes.

Her mother’s eyes swam as she reached to embrace Mary. ‘I am happy for you, I have been so worried…’

‘Are you pleased, Andrew?’ her father said.

‘Sir, I mean,’ Andrew sighed, ‘Edward, yes, very much, and John is selling me a property adjoining his. We will live near here so Mary will have her brother close?—’

‘I know about the property. John does talk to me.’ Mary’s father patted Andrew’s shoulder, then he turned to the room and raised a hand. ‘A moment! Let us have your attention! My son-in-law has some news!’

Margaret’s fingers stilled on the keys of the pianoforte and couples swung to a halt.

Andrew swallowed, as though his throat were dry. ‘Mary is with child!’

More handshaking and good wishes followed.

‘If you desire more waltzes, then,’ Margaret’s husband shouted, ‘someone else shall have to play. I want to dance with my wife!’

Laughter rippled across the room.

Eleanor swapped places with Margaret, and Eleanor ignored the size of the room and the number of couples and played a raucous tune, which had everyone bumping into each other and laughing.

After three dances, Andrew leant and whispered in her ear, ‘I have had my fill of playing happy families, Mary, darling. Do you mind if we go outside?’

‘Of course not.’

They escaped through a French door that stood ajar to cool the room. The evening air outside was tepid but not cold, and a full moon hung in the sky illuminating everything.

She walked backwards towards the terrace’s balustrade as he withdrew a cigar and a match from his coat pocket.

‘The night is lovely, the stars are beautiful.’

‘You are lovelier,’ he answered.

She leaned her bottom against the balustrade. ‘Idle flattery will earn you nothing.’

‘So you said when I sent you that damn poetry.’ He struck the match on the stone, and lifted the flame to the cigar’s tip, illuminating his face. She had quite liked him with his beard earlier, his handsomeness was always borne of rugged masculinity.

He shook the flame out and tossed the match away. ‘Poor Peter put so much effort into those words. They were mostly his. If you would ever like prose, tell me and I will call on Peter. I have asked him to be godfather, by the way. I hope you do not mind.’

He rested his buttocks on the balustrade, one hand on the stone, the other holding his cigar.

‘I do not mind.’ In the moonlight, beneath the stars, their story felt a little like a fairy tale, only she had not fallen for a prince. If it was a fairy tale, it was beauty and the beast.

‘Are you surviving?’ she asked him.

‘Your family?’ A low, deep, mocking sound slipped from his throat. ‘Yes, they are a little overpowering when one is not used to them. Though, I surprise myself at times, I think I am coping admirably. I surprised myself when I wrote out those letters too. I thought I could not write sweet nothings, but when I sat down and rewrote what they scribbled half drunk, the emotions flowed into my words.’

She frowned. ‘Your words? Your friends wrote them.’

‘The last paragraph of the second letter was my own, and the letters thereafter.’ He gave her a self-deprecating smile.

“‘My Mary, you are, you know, mine. You always will be ,’” she quoted.

His lips twitched, a smile hovering but not forming.

“‘You and I are meant to be one, half to become whole. Put us together, make us one, a single being. I want you,’” she progressed as he sucked on the cigar and blew the smoke upwards, away from her.

Mary’s heart thumped hard against her ribs. “‘You and I are meant to be one, hand and glove, half and whole. Put us together, darling, make us one, a single being…” Were they your words?’

A frown creased the skin of his forehead. ‘Yes, probably, I do not remember them in that much detail. But I sat down that morning and they came spilling out of me. I did not want to lose you.’

She had read those words again and again in the last few days. Even though she had believed they were not his, she had clung on to the sentiment in them. “‘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…

‘“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?”’

He smiled his roguish grin and shook his head. ‘You memorised those letters. No wonder you were so hurt when you found out they were not written by me.’

‘I did not memorise that other nonsense, but those words… They were yours?’

He sucked on his cigar again, eyeing her with amusement. ‘Yes.’

‘It was only those words that made me believe you.’ Tears misted her gaze.

‘I wanted it to be like this,’ he said.

‘Like this?’ She straightened up and turned towards him. ‘I am sure you did not imagine us here, with my family a few feet away.’

‘No.’ He laughed. ‘I did not imagine them. But you loving me, as I loved you, that is what I longed for.’

‘That you have always had,’ she answered.

He extinguished his cigar and threw the stub into the flowerbeds. ‘Let us be naughty and abscond. I do not want to go back in there. I have a better idea than waltzes.’

She glanced at the open French door.

‘Come on, my rebel. They know you are safe.’

Her loyalty belonged to him first, and she did not want to bridle her wild, restless stallion tonight when he had only just earned his freedom again.

‘Come on.’ He grasped her hand. He must have seen the decision in her eyes.

They ran down the steps and across the lawn.

‘Where are we going?’

‘To the lake!’

He pulled her on.

With her free hand, she lifted her evening dress above her knees and ran as she had done earlier. When they ran from the formal garden into the meadow, the long grass swiped at her legs, and their footsteps flooded the night air with the scents from the heads of clover.

She was breathing hard when they reached the water.

The lake was absolutely still, reflecting the night sky and the full moon.

Andrew slowed to a walk, but led her further around the lake, not stopping until the house was out of sight.

‘Here.’ He stripped off his evening coat and lay it down. Then released the buttons of his waistcoat.

‘What are you doing?’ she asked.

‘We are going for a swim, sweetheart.’

‘Andrew, I am in an evening gown.’

‘Did I say we were swimming in our clothes? Undress.’

‘What if someone comes?’

‘We will make lots of noise and they will hear us and leave us in privacy.’

‘They will think…’

‘That we are a newly married couple enjoying ourselves.’ He dropped his waistcoat on the grass.

‘Andrew—’

‘Mary. We are married, no one will judge.’ His fingers pulled the knot of his cravat loose. ‘If you say no, you will always wish you had said, yes. Do not lack courage.’ His cravat slid from around his neck. ‘Let me undo your dress for you.’

Giving in to his urging, she turned her back.

He released one button, then the next, his fingers brushing against bare skin. ‘You are not wearing stays, or a chemise.’

‘The satin falls better with nothing beneath, underwear spoils the silhouette of this dress, and now I am married I may be daring and wear what I like.’

‘See, I said you were a rebel. You should have told me earlier you wore no underwear beneath, I would not have bothered dancing,’ he joked as his fingers released the rest of the buttons. When they were loose, his hands slipped about her, beneath the satin, and cupped her breasts. His lips brushed kisses across her neck as his palms squeezed.

When she had met him in the dark glasshouse, long ago, hiding from her family, his caresses had been dangerous and desperate. Now they felt like home; a place she wished to be.

‘This has just become my favourite dress,’ he said as his fingers slid it off her shoulders and in one fall, the dress slithered to the ground, leaving her wearing an odd combination of gloves, stockings and shoes.

The night air felt cooler here, by the lake.

While she finished undressing, he picked up her dress, folded it carefully and lay it on his coat.

‘My hair…’ It was ornately styled, held in place with many small pearl-headed pins.

‘I shall take out the pins, and you can plait it.’

‘I cannot swim,’ she confessed.

‘I will hold you up,’ he said as he pulled off his shirt. He threw that on the ground, kicked off his shoes and released the buttons at the waist of his trousers. ‘You do not realise how beautiful you are, even now, do you? You are head to toe perfect. Flawless.’ He stripped off his trousers, underwear and stockings in one swift movement, and left them in a small heap. ‘Your skin is luminous in the moonlight.’ He smiled. ‘It draws my eyes to that mound of dark hair at your womanhood, and it pleases me that you are not trying to cover yourself.’

When she turned her back to him, so he could begin removing pins, one cheek of her bottom brushed his hip. Desire pulsed, but she ignored the urge to lie down with him.

She shivered in the breeze sweeping up from the lake. Her arms crossed over her breasts, rubbing her upper arms. ‘We should have fetched a blanket before coming out here.’

He placed the cupped hand full of pearl-headed pins into a pocket of his coat.

She released the clasp of her pearl necklace and handed it to him.

As he slipped the necklace into another pocket, her fingers wove her long dark hair into a braid.

‘I shall dive in from that branch,’ he said. ‘Then you can jump in after me and I will catch you.’

She was not convinced she could do it.

He pulled her close and kissed her briefly, before leading her to the willow tree that had a thick branch stretching out over the water.

When he dived, Andrew slipped into the shining jet-black water like an arrow, fracturing its surface and leaving only a ring of ripples as he disappeared beneath. A moment later, he reappeared a few yards from the bank, shaking the water from his hair. That devil-may-care grin on his lips.

‘Jump in!’ he called. ‘Be brave, darling! I will catch you!’

The dark water shimmered with the reflected light of the moon and stars.

She had watched her brothers swimming with her father but she had never swum.

‘Come on!’

If she was to trust him now, then she should trust him in everything.

She walked along the branch he had dived from, holding the smaller branches above her head. Then before she could renege, she jumped in, feet first. The water consumed her in a cold grip and her feet kicked at a tangle of weeds. Her arms flailed, her heart pounding.

Then a solid band caught about her middle, below her breasts, and pulled her to the surface.

‘Relax, I have you.’

She rested her body back against his chest as he floated up beneath her, his legs kicking at the water.

‘Don’t let me go.’

‘I would not, darling. I do not want to lose you. Now, I will hold your hands, but I want you to lie flat on your back, floating, with your arms and legs wide as though you were lying on a bed. Let every muscle slacken, as if you were falling asleep on a bed of water.’

Mary looked up at the stars, and felt her body rise as his hold slipped to her hands. Her feet bobbed up on the water, and it lapped at her breasts that her pregnancy had increased. Her stomach touched the surface too, and the sway of the water was a gentle caress on her naked skin.

‘There, stay just so. I will let you go and you will not sink if you stay relaxed. I shall be here, just behind you.’

Her heart thumped, as he released her hands, and her bottom sank a little, but she did float. For a moment it was wonderful as she stared at the stars and felt like she was in the heavens with them. But then her feet started sinking, and she forgot how to be weightless. He grabbed her arm and stopped her sinking further.

‘Put your arms about my neck and I will swim for us.’

She kicked clumsily at the water, holding his shoulders, riding on his back, his body sleek and strong beneath her while he swam, his legs and arms moving like a frog’s legs.

The moonlight glittered on the ripples they created.

The park seemed even more beautiful in the darkness. It felt like a secret beauty.

He turned suddenly, his body floating up beneath hers.

‘Do you want to try and swim?’

‘No.’

‘Wrong answer, darling. Of course you do. Do not be afraid, I will hold your hands, put your legs out straight and kick your feet.’

She did as he bid her; he held her hands and swam backwards while she swam forwards, her feet splashing at the surface.

‘If you keep your feet beneath the surface, it will propel you better.’

She did as he said.

‘I shall let go of your hands, then you must slide your hands backwards, pushing the water out of your way, bring your hands forwards and do the same again.’

Panic caught in her throat as he let her go, but she did as he said, and her body moved without sinking. He swam backwards in front of her, speaking words of encouragement.

‘You said you could not swim, but you can, see.’

‘You said my family would not like you, but they do, see.’

‘Do not make me laugh, I will drown, and then where will you be? There is a river near our property, we can swim often when we live there. Do you not agree it is much better than waltzing?’

‘Yes.’ Her legs kicked hard, as her arms pushed the water back and circled around to do it again.

‘Are you ready to get out? I think this is enough for your first lesson.’

‘How will we get out?’ There were no shallow places along the bank.

‘The boating jetty. Hold my shoulders again and we will swim there.’

‘The boating jetty? How did you know about that? Did you plan this?’

He smiled his roguish smile. ‘I admit I noted the places where the lake cannot be seen from the front of the house after John said they watched us when we sat down here. Then while you rested in the afternoons, I had time to explore the places to get in and out of the water. But the opportunity to indulge never came until now.’

‘You are wicked.’

‘And you love me for it.’

‘Yes, I do.’

The jetty reached out about seven yards from the shore.

‘You climb out first, press your palms down on the wood and I will push you up.’ He pushed on one cheek of her bottom, which had her tumbling onto the jetty in giggles.

His palms pressed on the wood, the muscles bunching in his arms as he rose from the water, the moonlight glistening on his damp skin and hair, highlighting the ridges and hollows of his muscular architecture.

I am a lucky woman.

They walked along the jetty and back about the lake holding hands. She did not care she was naked, because she knew what would come now, and she ached for it to happen. But he waited until they reached the willow tree before he kissed her; his palm embracing her nape and the pressure of his lips warm and strong. She opened her mouth, leading the touch of their tongues. His erection pressed against her stomach and his other hand cupped her buttock, while her hands trailed over his damp skin.

‘I wanted to be patient and slow, Mary, but I cannot.’ His lips lifted to a smile against her lips. ‘I love you too much. I am too eager with you.’

His hands wrapped about her upper thighs, firm and strong, his fingertips pressing into skin and muscle as he lifted her legs to his hips. He dropped to his knees, leaned her back and lay her down, the water on her skin probably staining the silk lining of the evening coat he put down for them earlier. He held her so carefully, it was as though he thought if he was too rough, she might break. Then he slid into her, pressing deep into her soul as well as her body.

‘I love you,’ he said as he withdrew to his tip and pushed back in, beginning a slow firm rhythm. He pressed kisses across her face, on her cheek, her eyelids, enthralling every inch of her.

‘Andrew!’ She called out his name as the inner sensations spun, whipping up into a whirlpool.

His movements became swifter and stronger. Pain and pleasure fought.

His movement changed to a shallow pulse that made her want to scream for his depth. Then his hands, fingers splayed, drew her thighs wider apart and his strokes became ruthless with unsatiable hunger.

‘Mary.’ He growled her name. ‘I want you undone. Have no restraint!’

A whirlpool raced inside her. The sensations spinning through her nerves. The soles of her bare feet pressed into the backs of his thighs as her fingertips clung to his shoulders, and her breasts rocked with his heavy thrusts.

Then… She slipped across the edge and fell. Crying out, with a long animalistic sound she would not have thought could come from her throat.

‘You are everything I have ever wanted,’ he said as his pelvis struck hers with a new force. His weight pressing down on her and into her repeatedly.

Her thighs trembled as she tried to push back against him, until she fell to her little death again.

He held still, his release pulsing inside her body as his head dropped, hanging down so that his damp hair brushed her cheek.

When his head lifted, he smiled. She smiled too.

‘You beautiful woman. You make me feel like a king.’ He withdrew and rolled onto his back.

She laid against his side, one arm and leg slipping across his body as her palm settled on his chest.

They laid in silence then. She could hear the music from the house. Someone must have opened all the French doors for the music to travel so far.

‘I wish we could sleep here, but someone will find us eventually. We must dress and go back.’

‘I am still wet, the water will ruin my dress.’

‘Then wear my shirt. We can go in via the servants’ hall.’ He got up.

‘I would horrify the servants if I walked in in your shirt. They will be tidying up after dinner and preparing for the morning, their hall will be full at this hour.’

He held out his hand to help her up. ‘Then go in through the front door and hope no one is in the hall. The choice is yours, sweetheart, ruin your dress or take the risk.’

She accepted his hand and he pulled her to her feet.

He picked up his trousers. ‘I will add that as I now love that dress, I vote for the latter option.’ His smile was wry.

She pouted, and made a face at him, that made him laugh. ‘You did not plan this as well as you thought.’ She huffed, then picked up his shirt. It fell to her mid-thigh, covering very little.

‘In the future, I shall include you in my planning.’ He gathered up the rest of their clothes, careful not to let her hair pins or necklace slip from the pockets of his coat. He in just his trousers, and she in just his shirt, with their other clothes under his arm, she held his hand and they walked towards the house, the white cotton of his shirt catching the moonlight and making her stand out in the dark meadow.

She hoped everyone was still at the back of the house, and no one was looking out from the front windows.

When they reached the gravel drive, she stepped tentatively on to it.

‘Wait.’ Drew slipped on his shoes. ‘Here, take these.’ He passed her the pile of clothing, then swung her up into his arms so swiftly she squealed.

‘If you are trying not to be seen, shouting is not the way to go about it, Mary, darling.’

When they reached the smooth stone steps of the portico, he let her feet fall, took their clothes back and held her hand again.

She turned the door handle slowly and quietly, hoping not to alert a footman. There was no one inside, and the noise from the drawing room was loud, meaning they were unlikely to be heard. She ran across the cold marble floor, smiling at their scandalous behaviour, and hurried upstairs with Andrew ahead of her. They encountered no one.

Within her rooms, as soon as she had shut the door, Andrew pressed her back against it, their clothes dropping on the floor.

Once he had asked her if she thought she had stepped from her heaven into his hell. No, this was her heaven.