Chapter 16

Such scenes shocked customers at the usually quiet pub in the village of Hardacre, as never had they seen such excitement in their sleepy environs. This reporter can confirm conclusively that Lady Fidelia Ponsonby not only jilted her fiancée, Lord Malmsey, but ran away with the gardener!

A source at the hall confirms their passionate love affair began shortly after Mr Hartley De Beauvoir arrived at the hall.

"Not that I blame her," said the maid, who has worked at the hall for several years. "For a finer, lustier looking fellow you never did see."

The couple eloped after a violent altercation, during which Mr De Beauvoir ruthlessly knocked down Lord Malmsey before attacking her brother, Lord Richmond, as he tried to save his sister from her folly. Richmond, having lost his head with despair at his sister's scandalous elopement, attacked Mr De Beauvoir with a broadsword, only to be routed by the lady herself. Lady Fidelia struck her brother with a whip, distracting him for long enough for her lover to deliver the blow that felled him and allowed the two to escape into the night.

―Excerpt of an article in the Morning Post's society column.

11th March 1850, Isleworth, London.

Hart hurried down the stairs and out into the fresh air, sucking in a deep breath in a vain attempt to cool the fire in his blood. Some hope. He'd known from the start Fidelia was dangerous, that she tempted him into desiring things he knew better than to want from such a high-bred lady. Too late now.

She'd agreed to marry him. The realisation was still sinking in that Lady Fidelia Ponsonby, daughter of the Duke of Beresford, was marrying him, of all men, too ridiculous to believe. Not only was he a workhouse bastard, but he was in trade, a situation terrible enough to estrange her from society for the rest of her days. He wondered if she had really thought it through, but then what choice did she have? The idea of Fidelia trying to live alone with an illegitimate child made him so terrified he broke out in a cold sweat. She would be insulted at every turn by men who would consider her fair game, and he did not know how she would fend for herself, cooking and cleaning, when she had never done such manual work in her life. She would try, though, he thought, an odd sensation of pride bursting through him. Fidelia would fight and she would try, for if she had something to fight for, she was a woman to be reckoned with.

Hart grinned to himself as he recalled the vision of her using the whip to strike her brother, speaking to him with such utter contempt. She had been as proud as a queen and completely in control of herself. God, but she was wonderful and he… he adored her.

The admission was so alarming it made him stop in the middle of the street. A fellow cursed, muttering crossly as he almost ploughed into the back of Hart, but he was too shocked to even notice. His mother had been right, as she too often was. God help him, but he'd fallen in love with Lady Fidelia. He wasn't marrying her because he had to, because it was the honourable thing to do, or because she needed him. He was marrying her because he couldn't bear the idea of her being anywhere else but at his side. The thought of a man like Lord Malmsey taking her as his wife made Hart so thoroughly nauseated, he thought he might puke right there in the street.

"Christ," he muttered, raking a hand through his hair and taking a deep, steadying breath.

He waited for the sensation of terror to assail him, for the feelings of frustration and anger at having been so bloody stupid as to have given his heart away without even knowing it. Rather to his surprise, he felt nothing of the sort. Instead, there was a peaceful sense of inevitability, of hope and anticipation for the future that he'd never known before.

All his life Hart had striven to better himself, to build an empire, to make a name for himself that proved he was worthy of having taken it as his own when it was not his by blood. Suddenly that powerful drive to succeed eased a little, merging with a new and equally powerful need to build a life with Fidelia and her son, to see her happy and to give her everything she could dream of.

Hart let out a shaky breath and forced himself to walk on, finding his steps growing faster as he strode to the church. The bloody vicar would marry them today no matter what, for he couldn't risk losing Fidelia, not for any price.

They were married that afternoon, after Hart had given the church a generous donation and endured the vicar's scandalised muttering upon discovering who he was marrying.

His parents and Lord Alex were in attendance, and the service was mercifully short. The sun shone as Hart escorted his wife from the church and, despite knowing there were many challenges ahead, he felt unexpectedly and foolishly pleased with himself. In fact, he could not keep the smile from his lips as his mother threw a handful of rice over them, most of it hitting him in the face.

"Congratulations! Oh, I'm so happy for you both," Minerva said, hugging Fidelia before reaching up on her toes to plant a big kiss on Hart's cheek.

"Thanks, Ma," Hart said, glancing down at Fidelia, who was looking a little dazed.

"Thank you, Mrs De Beauvoir," she said, gathering herself as she turned to his mother. "You've been kinder than I had any right to expect from you."

"Oh, pish," his mother said crossly. "What nonsense, and do call me Minerva, my dear, or Mama if you prefer. Whatever you feel most comfortable with."

"Thank you, Minerva," Fidelia said, appearing touched by the invitation, if not yet at ease enough to call her Mama.

"And Alex is coming to stay with us until you're settled," she added firmly, taking the boy's arm.

"Oh, but…" Fidelia began anxiously, only to have Hart's mother wave her protests aside.

"Newly married persons need privacy and their own space, which will be challenge enough in those poky rooms Hart keeps at his place of work. You will hurry and arrange that house, won't you, dear?" she demanded, giving him a stern look.

"I said so, didn't I?" Hart said reproachfully, suddenly feeling queasy at the realisation that Fidelia would have to live in his rooms for the next few weeks. Good God, Lady Fidelia Ponsonby, living over the shop. The scandal sheets would crucify them.

"Besides, we are looking forward to having Alex stay with us," his mother went on, blithely unaware of Hart's sudden sensation of approaching doom. "Aren't we, Inigo?" she added, prodding her husband, who had been studying a brightly coloured lichen on a tombstone with interest.

"Oh, certainly," he said, recalling himself to the conversation. He actually looked as if he meant it, too. "Alex wants me to show him my laboratory," he added, which explained a lot.

"You'll be all right?" Fidelia asked her brother anxiously.

Alex laughed and leaned over to kiss her cheek. "Of course I will. I'm looking forward to it. Good heavens, Lia, where would you rather be, at Hardacre with his grace or with Mr and Mrs De Beauvoir, being fed too much and talking about all manner of things, from science to architecture? I know my answer if you don't!"

"Well, when you put it like that," Fidelia replied with a soft laugh. "I'll see you soon then, love."

"You will, and congratulations, Lia. I'm so happy you've married Hartley."

There was a bit more handshaking and kissing before Hart handed Fidelia up into the waiting carriage.

"Do you mind that there was no wedding breakfast or a celebration or the like? It's just if you want to find Ambrose…" Hart began, feeling guilty as he considered how far removed this marriage must be from anything she'd dreamt of as a girl.

"Not in the least. Securing our marriage and finding my son are all I care about for the moment. There will be time enough for celebrating once we are settled," she said calmly, reaching for his hand. "When can we go and find him?"

Hart's fingers linked with hers. "First thing in the morning," he said.

"Not now?" she asked, a little crestfallen. "I thought that was why we didn't celebrate the wedding. So, we could go at once."

"Not exactly," Hart said, feeling an uncomfortable swell of guilt.

"Then why?"

"Because we need… I need… Fidelia, the marriage needs to be legal. I can't risk your father or Malmsey demanding an annulment if they decide to come after us."

Fidelia's eyes opened wide. "Oh! Oh, what a fool I am. Hart, I didn't think. Why, of course, we must… we must…"

Hart's lips quirked into a smile. "Yes, we must, and I, for one, am looking forward to it. Do you mind waiting very much? I promise we'll continue the search for Ambrose in the morning."

Fidelia leaned into him. "I am anxious to find my boy, Hart, you know that, but of course I understand. You think of everything when I'm so oblivious at times. I know you're looking after me and I'm just so… so very—"

"Don't say you're grateful," Hart said fiercely, suddenly certain he could not bear to hear her say such a thing. He glanced at her, seeing the surprise on her face.

"I was going to say happy to have married you," she replied, a considering look in her eyes.

"Oh," Hart said, the tension in him ratcheting down a notch. "Oh, well, that's… that's good. I'm glad."

"I'm glad too. So very glad. You've made me so happy and given me hope for the future, when I did not believe I could ever feel that way again."

Hart snorted and shook his head and then started as Fidelia got up and sat on his lap, sliding her arms around his neck. "You said you liked it when I was brave."

He smiled and put his arms around her. "I do."

"And I am glad, Hart," she insisted.

Hart let out a groan and rested his head on her breast. "How can you be? Good God, Fidelia, you realise until the house is ready, you'll have to live with me in my rooms, over my place of work. You've married a tradesman. You'll be ridiculed and shunned and—"

"Hartley De Beauvoir, is this the kind of love talk you intended to give your new bride? For I am not feeling the least bit romantic yet," she scolded, though there was a glimmer of amusement in her eyes.

"It's not funny, love," he said in an agony of self-recrimination.

"No, I should say it isn't. I didn't expect poetry or declarations of undying love, but I did think you'd kiss me. And, as for being ridiculed and shunned, by whom, exactly? No one I give a damn about, I assure you."

Hart looked up, so intrigued by hearing his well-bred lady wife swear he could not help but smile. "Truly?" he asked her softly.

She let out a breath and put her hand to his cheek, stroking it with such tenderness he felt quite taken aback by the sweetness of the gesture. "Oh, Hart, my own, dear Hart, do you still not realise that I am quite hopelessly in love with you? I'd live with you in a hole in the ground if that were the only way of keeping you near me."

Hart stared at her, hearing the words but not quite able to register them. Yet the way she was looking at him, the way she reached up and pushed the hair away from his forehead, all of it showed him the truth of her words. There was a possessive quality to the way she touched him, a besotted expression on her face that was quite incomprehensible but definitely aimed at him.

Hart cleared his throat, a little startled to hear his voice was not quite steady. "You… you are in love… with me," he repeated, deciding he'd best have clarification of that fact before he went getting himself in a lather over nothing.

Fidelia laughed, shaking her head at him in despair. "Of course with you. Who else, you silly devil?"

Hart considered this before frowning at her. "I don't think you ought to call your husband a silly devil on your wedding day. Very ill-mannered of you, love," he said gravely, though his lips were twitching.

"I beg your pardon. I don't know what I was thinking, only you really must be a fool if you cannot see how desperately I love you," she said, smiling at him, her eyes sparkling a little too brightly.

Words crowded on Hart's tongue, love words and declarations and confessions of the kind that made his heart thud so hard and fast he felt giddy. Too unsettled by the onslaught of emotions, Hart did the only thing that seemed appropriate, and kissed his wife thoroughly and well.

By the time they reached De Beauvoir Nurseries and Landscaping, Fidelia's hair was mussed, her dress rumpled and her cheeks burning. She felt exceedingly pleased with herself on all counts.

It seemed she had finally got through her husband's thick head and made him believe she had not married him only to get herself out of a terrible situation, but because she had wanted to, because not marrying him would have broken her heart. It was rather strange to her to discover how difficult he found it to believe, for whenever she looked at him, she had the great desire to pinch herself. When she thought of the boastful, ignorant fool who had fathered her child, she could only contrast the two men and wonder what on earth she had been thinking. Hart was so much the better man in every way, it was a ridiculous comparison.

Her estimation of her husband and all he had achieved only grew upon her first sight of the empire he had built for himself. Huge wrought-iron gates pronouncing De Beauvoir Nurseries And Landscaping spanned an impressive tree-lined driveway that led their carriage down to the most beautiful and extraordinary building Fidelia had ever seen. Single storey, with an elegant balustrade all around, it seemed to be topped with a beautiful roof garden surrounding a lovely pagoda. That Hart had designed and built something so enchantingly pretty gave her an even deeper sense of pride and a little more insight into the heart of a man who was outwardly so down to earth and practical.

"Oh, Hart, it's wonderful," she said, staring out of the window with wide eyes. "I've seen nothing so lovely in all my life."

Hart said nothing in response to this but when she glanced back at him, she saw the pleasure in his eyes at her words and knew this was a sure way to reach him. He took pride in his achievements and rightly so, and knowing she appreciated them meant something to him.

"We'll go around the back entrance," he said, rather to her regret for she wanted to see everything on the other side of the colourful striped awning that greeted visitors to his kingdom. "I don't want everyone gawping at you and the place is busy."

She was as grateful for his thoughtfulness as much as she was disappointed, for she did not wish to make her first appearance as his wife in the gown she had run away from home in. Though she was sorry not to have the chance to see his business for herself at once. It was busy, though, with carriages lining every inch of the driveway. It impressed Fidelia to discover that his clientele comprised not only the upper middle classes, as she had assumed it might, but the fashionable and upper ranks of society, too. How far he had come, she thought with a sudden burst of pride.

The carriage took them around the back of the splendid building, past dozens of intriguing glass houses that Fidelia could not wait to explore, and acres of nursery beds planted with various shrubs and trees in different stages of growth.

"Here we are," Hart said, swinging the door of the carriage open and jumping down. He reached back a hand to her. Fidelia climbed out and Hart led her inside to what was clearly the business end of the building, never to be seen by clients. Crates and packing boxes lined the walls. The scent of damp earth and greenery reached her nose.

"Afternoon, sir," called several men, who gave Fidelia curious glances as they respectfully touched their fingers to their caps. "Ma'am."

"Good afternoon to you, Mr Gower, Fred, Charlie. How is it going?" Hart asked.

"Frantic as ever. That display of spring bulbs was a roaring success. We've sold out of the lot. Reckon we'd best do the same again next year, but we'll need at least three times as many in stock to keep up with demand."

Hart nodded, apparently pleased. "Excellent, and… and might I present my wife to you, gentlemen? This is Lady Fidelia De Beauvoir."

Fidelia blushed as the men gaped at her in astonishment before swiping their caps from their heads and stammering greetings and congratulations.

"Thank you," Hart said with a crooked smile, placing Fidelia's hand on his arm and taking her around the corner to a narrow staircase.

Fidelia had to let go of his supporting arm to crush her skirts so she could climb the stairs, very aware of Hart close behind her. When she got to the top, she paused, waiting for him to come and open the door. He did so, pushing it open before hesitating for a moment. She gave him an enquiring glance and then gasped as he reached for her, swinging her up into his arms with ease and carrying her inside. Closing the door with his foot, he crossed a room she did not have time to investigate before entering his bedroom.

It was sparse, though bright and clean. A large bed dominated the space, boasting fine white linen and covered with a colourful quilt in different shades of blue. On either side of the bed covering the polished wood floor were small rugs, this time in shades of dark green. There were pictures on the wall, botanical paintings of the sort she had tried her hand at, but the best part of the room were the large windows that let out onto the roof garden she had spied on arrival.

"We're in the Pagoda," she said in delight.

"We are," he agreed, placing her feet gently back down on the floor but keeping a tight hold on her.

"How glorious it is," she said with a sigh of delight, looking out upon the little paradise he had created, with thick greenery punctuated at intervals by jewel-like pots of colourful spring bulbs. If this was anything like the display in his showroom, she could certainly see why everything had been sold. Everyone would want a little piece of heaven like this for themselves.

"Hmph." It was a discouraged, noncommittal sound that made Fidelia look up at him in surprise.

"Whatever is that supposed to mean?"

He shrugged, scowling down at the tiny buttons that marched down the front of her dress. "It's a one-bedroom apartment with meagre facilities. There's probably not enough space in here to store your clothes, let alone you."

"Then I shall just have to stop wearing them," she said tartly.

"You'll… what did you say?" he asked in alarm.

Fidelia smiled at him, glad to have refocused his mind. "Do stop being such a nitwit," she scolded him gently. "It will do splendidly until the house is ready. I feel like I'm living in a beautiful garden. I shall imagine I'm a tree nymph," she added with as much gravity as she could muster.

"A tree nymph," Hart repeated sceptically, his lips twitching.

"Yes, and why not?" she demanded, enjoying herself. She had never learned the art of flirtation, nor had the chance to be silly with a man she was entirely safe with… except the gleam in his eyes made her wonder if she was quite as safe as she assumed. A dangerous look glinted in those blue depths, suggesting he might have nefarious ideas about what to do with any tree nymphs dallying in his garden.

"The first time I spoke to you, I thought you looked like a water sprite, or maybe a fairy queen," he admitted, reaching up and touching a finger to her hair. "Do you remember? You were walking in the early hours of the morning, the mist swirling around you, your hair all undone. I'd seen nothing so lovely in my life as you. I never dreamed you could ever be mine. You were as beautiful and untouchable as the moon."

Fidelia sighed wistfully at the romantic description, which she suspected was far from reality, but only nodded. "I remember, though those days seem strange to me now, like a terrible dream. Did you really think that of me? I'm sure I must have been a fright, for I cared nothing about the way I looked."

Hart reached for the pins securing her hair. Carefully, he removed them, uncoiling the thick tresses that she had fastened into a bun at her nape. They slid free over her shoulders and Hart's breath hitched as he ran his fingers through it.

"So soft," he murmured. "And yes, I really thought it. I thought ‘there was a woman a fellow could lose his wits over,' and so I have."

Before she could speak again, he lowered his mouth to hers, kissing her so tenderly tears sprang to her eyes at the perfection of the moment. Hart pulled back, gazing down at her and Fidelia blinked, holding onto him tightly.

"Make me yours, then," she whispered. "Make it so no one can ever take me from you."

He didn't speak, though he clearly had no argument with her demand, for his hands went to the buttons on her gown, making swift work of undoing the bodice. Fidelia held her breath as he stripped the layers away, her dress and petticoats, the corset and her drawers. Though her cheeks blazed, she was not so much embarrassed as alight with nervous anticipation.

Hart knelt to undo the laces of her boots and carefully removed them, setting them aside. Then his warm hands returned to her ankles, smoothing up her calf, her knee, to her thighs.

"Such lovely legs you have. Long and shapely, with pretty ankles." He leaned in a pressed a kiss to her knee, glancing up at her. "I'm a lucky fellow and no mistake."

She smiled at him, daring to reach out and stroke his hair, running her fingers through it. Hart closed his eyes, looking like some great feral cat. She half expected him to give a deep-throated purr.

"That's nice," he murmured, burying his face in the softness of her belly. He inhaled and then glanced up at her. "Violets again. I can never smell that scent without thinking of you. Not that you're ever far from my thoughts."

Fidelia blinked back tears and Hart's expression became serious. He hurried to his feet and took her in his arms. "Now then, what's this? Why are you crying? Did I do something wrong? Tell me, love."

"Oh, n-no, as if you could. You… You're simply wonderful, but… Hart, is it wicked of me to feel happiness when I still don't have my son with me?" she asked, for it seemed a dreadful thing for her to act as though she were the luckiest woman alive when her boy was missing still.

"Fidelia, my little love," he said gently. "Your father took your son from you. If you'd had the choice, you would not have been parted from him. You have suffered the misery of that cruelty for five long years. Don't let your father have this moment, too. Your son will be restored to you soon, I give you my word, and he will be the most loved and cherished boy in the world. I have every reason to believe he is safe and well, but even if I'm wrong, my first years in the workhouse were misery, and yet I have never allowed those memories to stop me from finding happiness, from appreciating all the wonderful things that happened to me when my parents took me in. We will help your son to the same realisation, just as mine did for me. There is no guilt in being happy, darling. Not for you, not today."

"Hart," she said helplessly, clinging to him. "Oh, I do love you."

"Show me, then," he said, lifting her into his arms and carrying her to the bed. Carefully, he pulled back the covers and set her down on the mattress.

Fidelia wiped her eyes and settled back upon the pillows, trying to steady her breathing. She watched in fascination as Hart made quick work of stripping off his own clothes. The display did not help calm her overwrought emotions.

Though her tears ceased, her pulse ratcheted up a notch as he tugged his shirt over his head, exposing a heavily muscled chest and powerful arms that spoke of a life of hard manual work. Dark hair dusted his forearms and chest and her attention snagged on the line that ran down his abdomen, beneath the waistband of his trousers.

Mouth dry with anticipation, Fidelia could only stare as he cast the last of his clothes in a heap and moved towards the bed. He tugged the covers aside and slid beneath them, reaching for her at once. Fidelia gasped as his bare skin met hers, for he burned far hotter than she and it was akin to embracing a silken furnace, albeit a hairy one.

"You're freezing," he said, giving a yelp as she slid her cold feet down the back of his calf. "Christ! You're like a little block of ice," he added, laughing as she snuggled closer, trying to absorb his heat and entranced by the feel of his muscular body coiling around hers.

It was such a wonderful sensation she wondered how any married persons ever got out of bed in the morning. Assuming they were married to a man like hers, at any rate.

"You'd best warm me up, then," she said, running her hands down his broad back and relishing the feeling of hard muscle shifting beneath her palms.

"I suppose I better had, before you freeze me to the marrow," he replied, taking her hands and pressing them to the mattress. "Let's see, does this get your blood moving?" he asked, before ducking his head and taking her nipple into his mouth, just as he had promised her he would.

Fidelia sighed, her eyes falling closed as sensations flooded her, the pull of his mouth on her breast somehow tugging at another even more sensitive place. Her skin tingled, her blood fizzing in her veins as his hands moved over her, a languid mapping of every inch of skin, every curve and furrow. "Oh, yes, it does," she admitted, dazed with pleasure as his lips moved over her.

He made a muffled sound of amusement but carried on without comment, trailing a path down her body, punctuated with kisses and little touches of his tongue that made her shiver even though a fire burned deep inside her now, fanned by every touch of his hands and mouth. Fidelia gasped as he moved lower still, pushing her thighs wide and nuzzling at the tender skin on the inside of her thighs. His tongue trailed up the silken valley beside her sex as his fingers trailed lazily through the thatch of golden curls and Fidelia thought she might faint from the pleasure of it. She had believed the act of love must have more to it than she had experienced, or else why would lovers take such risks to be with each other? Instinct had told her that things would be different with a man like Hart, a man who was as far from selfish as it was possible to get, but she had not appreciated how different it could be, how very wonderful.

"Is this all right?" he asked her, his breath fluttering over that intimate part of her, cool against her overheated skin.

She tried to speak but only managed an odd squeaking sound, so she nodded instead, just to be certain he understood. Hart chuckled and lowered his head once more and Fidelia wondered if she would ever be able to speak again as his fingers parted the soft folds and his mouth closed over forbidden place concealed within.

The next moments disappeared in a haze of pleasure. Fidelia gave herself over to sensuality, too overcome by the feel of his mouth and tongue to comprehend precisely what he did, only knowing she was beyond the world, sent to another dimension where there was nothing but the sensations shuddering through her body, making her writhe and moan with such shameless enjoyment she knew it would shock her to her bones if she ever regained her wits. Though she could have remained in such a glorious state of debauchery for the rest of the night, her body had other ideas, her breathing becoming erratic as a fierce gathering in her blood pulled her attention inward, narrowing to a single point of contact as Hart pleasured her relentlessly. Fidelia gasped, holding her breath as some crisis approached, beckoning her on, and then she was falling, falling through stars and glittering darkness as waves of delight crashed over her, taking her farther into the strange world she had been delivered to, until she washed ashore once more, gasping and beyond words, blinking up at the ceiling above her and a little surprised to discover she was still in Hart's bedroom and not some foreign far off destination.

Hart shifted up the bed and leaned on one arm, looking down at her with a look of quiet satisfaction glinting in his eyes.

"Oh," Fidelia managed, still too breathless to speak. "Oh… Oh, my… and… and in broad daylight, too!"

Hart snorted with amusement, shaking his head. "Scandalous," he murmured, trailing a fingertip down the vale between her breasts. "How shocking you are, love."

Fidelia turned her head, staring at him and feeling such a wave of love and passion and astonishment she struggled to find the words to express herself. "Hart?"

"Yes, love?"

"I never realised. I… I never knew…"

He moved over her, gathering her in his arms and settling between her thighs and Fidelia sucked in a shocked breath as his arousal pressed intimately against her still throbbing flesh.

"I know, darling girl," he said, smiling at her. "But that's just the beginning. I've a deal more to show you yet. I think you'll like the rest just as much. Perhaps more, even," he added nonchalantly, sounding more than a little smug.

Fidelia let out a bark of laughter, wrapping her arms about his neck and gazing up at him, marvelling at how beautiful he was, how very wonderful, and how life could be so very generous after so many years of misery. She sobered at that thought, wondering if her lack of virginity really didn't matter to him. In most men's eyes she was spoiled, damaged goods, but he had never treated her as anything less than a lady. Yet she could not help but wonder.

"Hart, do you… do you really not mind that… that I…"

"No," he said, his voice firm. "I don't give a damn for anything that happened before you were mine, Fidelia. I wish it had been me, but it wasn't, and if you hadn't done what you had, you'd have married some bloody marquess or some such and I'd never had got the chance to know you. I would have minded that desperately, love, for that would have been a tragedy. Anything else is not worth a moment's regret."

Fidelia stroked his cheek. "You always know the exact right thing to say."

He snorted. "I'll remind you of that the next time I make you cross," he said, before kissing her with such single-minded attention she hadn't the slightest desire to say another thing.

Though she had known he would be tender, she had not expected that he would be so very careful with her, treating her as though she was the innocent she wasn't. Except she realised now she really was, in every way that mattered, for she'd had no notion of the way two people could find such joy in each other's touch, in the meeting of bodies designed to fit together so intimately.

At least her so-called ruination saved her the pain to be endured on most new brides' wedding nights, and Fidelia knew nothing but wonder as he found his place inside her. Murmuring sounds of approval, Hart moved carefully, allowing her body to accept him by slow degrees as he pushed inside her. It was so different from her first experience that it almost blotted out the hated memory, replacing it with this as her original taste of intimacy. For that had been a mechanical act, and this… this was remarkable.

Kisses and caresses and soft expressions of pleasure and desire were all that existed in the hours that followed, as Hart showed her the meaning of physical love and desire until she was so lethargic she was certain she would never move again.

It was dark as they lay together, drowsy and sated, staring out at a starlit sky through the windows. Hart had assured her they were entirely hidden from view up here and so Fidelia simply wallowed in the bliss of Hart's embrace, gazing up at a thin sickle moon on a night so filled with wonder she hardly knew what to make of it. Her husband's hand drifted lazily up and down her side, stroking the curve of her breast before trailing back down the slope of her waist up to her hip.

"I know you can't be truly happy until your son is with you, but… you are content, in this moment, I mean?" Hart's voice was husky and low, heavy with the intimacies of the past hours.

Fidelia looked up at him, wondering how he could be in any doubt. "More than content," she said, pressing a kiss to his jaw, where the first signs of stubble prickled against her lips. "Tonight has been perfect, so… so very wonderful. Thank you, my Hart," she added in a whisper.

Hart's eyes glittered with satisfaction as he turned her onto her back once more. Fidelia's eyebrows rose in enquiry, rather surprised, though not in the least unwilling. "Again?" she asked, amusement lingering in the question.

He hesitated, regarding her face. "Unless…?"

"Oh, no unless, a definite yes. Please," she added, just in case he wasn't clear about that.

"I can't help it," he said, laughing softly. "I… I don't know how I'm ever going to go back to work. I just want you. I can't get enough. Do you mind?"

Fidelia snorted, a most unladylike sound, but he grinned so she supposed it didn't trouble him.

"I don't mind at all," she said gravely, and gave herself over to his loving once more.