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When at last the abigail was done brushing her hair and arranging the folds of her negligée to her satisfaction Mary was left to stare at her own reflection in the ornate mirror with something of a critical eye. She did not feel any more of a Marchioness now than she had prior to the ceremony which had taken place at the embassy only this morning, nor the lavish wedding breakfast with so great a number of illustrious personages in attendance as to make even the former Miss Challoner the slightest bit apprehensive about her reception as my Lord Vidal’s wife.  

The Duchess had been all smiles as she’d kissed her daughter-in-law on both cheeks and wished her a very good night – the twinkle in those great dark-blue eyes nearly enough to unsettle Mary’s composure as she was reminded of her Grace’s disarming frankness while imparting her considerable wisdom on the delicate subject of conjugal relations. In many ways, it had come as no surprise to Mary that their Graces had an exceedingly happy marriage; she remembered quite well the utter delight with which the petite Duchess had flung herself into her husband’s arms in Dijon, and as for the Duke, the only instances she had perceived him as anything but the unloving and sinister figure he had originally appeared to her were those in which he would address himself to his adoring wife.  

The clock on the mantlepiece chimed the hour, and still his Lordship continued to remain conspicuous by his absence. Since Mary could not very well suppose it might take this long for a gentleman of Mr Timms’ unimpeachable credentials to disrobe his master and coax him into his night-gear, she was left to ponder the uncomfortable suspicion that the Marquis had at last come to perceive the folly of allying himself with someone so far removed from his estate, and whose figure was nothing beyond the common when compared to his previous loves.  

“This is no time for self-commiseration, my girl,” she told herself severely, and rose from the chair. She might be no Sophia, but if her husband had no desire to consummate the marriage, he should at least have the courtesy to say so to her face. 

Having made up her mind she went at once to scratch softly at the door leading to Vidal’s own apartment; the wait before she was finally bid to come in felt interminable, though she was certain it could not have taken more than a few moments, and a swift deprecatory smile touched her lips as she considered how quickly she was turning into a lovesick fool. 

His lordship looked magnificent in his night-gear, sprawled very much at his ease in an armchair by the fire – but there was a frown in his eyes, and her heart sank as she regarded the wine bottle at his elbow. However, a second glance was enough to reveal that only a small quantity was missing, and that it sat untouched in the glass dangling carelessly from his fingers.  

“Mary,” he acknowledged her, eyeing her with faint surprise, and put down the glass. 

“I have come to bid you good night, my lord,” she began levelly. “It has been a long day, and I fear you must be fatigued by the ordeal.” 

“Devil a bit,” said the Marquis, and his frown lifted a little as he extended one hand towards her. “Will you not come any nearer, my dear?” 

Mary went willingly, a warm feeling pervading her as he at once took possession of her smaller hand and kissed it. “What troubles you, my lord?” she demanded of him, and tried not to shiver when he turned her hand to press his lips to her palm.  

“I was thinking about – Dieppe,” he admitted, something like shame flickering for one brief moment across his features. An uneasy silence fell between them, but Mary was determined not to let it ruin this of all nights.  

“How fortunate it is that we made it safely to Paris, despite all,” she observed rather practically, could not but smile when he made a show of penance by kissing each of her fingers in turn. 

“You are a remarkable woman,” he told her admiringly, and the frown was gone from his eyes, replaced by something which caused Mary’s heart to beat inexplicably faster. “Come, sit here with me,” he said invitingly, a slow smile curling his lips as he patted his own knee. 

Colour rose to Mary’s cheeks, until she remembered they were man and wife now, and there was nothing improper between them; she did as she was bid then, and was not entirely surprised to discover that she rather liked it. 

“Good girl,” the Marquis murmured somewhat absently, his fingers burying themselves most satisfactorily into her curls as he sought to guide her lips to his own. This was nothing like the stolen kisses they had exchanged at the inn in Dijon; his Lordship’s mouth teased hers with delightful wickedness, and it was not long before Mary found herself grown rather restless in his arms. 

“May I inquire what is it that you intend to do with me, wife?” Vidal mocked her good-humouredly, but his eyes were very dark, and from her perch upon his knee she had a very good notion of his own wishes pertaining the matter.  

The tips of his fingers had come to rest lightly at the base of her throat, and she could not suppress a momentary shudder at the recollection of past unpleasantness. He must have noticed it, for his hand fell away from her at once, and he grew very serious. “Mary, little love, look at me – we need not continue if you do not desire it. I have sworn it on my honour the moment you consented to be my wife, and I have every intention of honouring that promise.” 

Her gaze met his directly and without any trace of fear. “What I desire is for you to make me your wife in every respect, my lord,” she stated simply, and was rewarded with a rather artless groan from her lord and husband. 

“Dominic,” he went on to correct her, though his voice shook with suppressed desire. He helped her to her feet and stood up, offering his arm. “Dear Mary, will you do me the honour of coming to my bed?” 

“With all my heart, sir,” she smiled at him, and placed her hand trustingly upon his arm. 

The Marquis looked down at her, his eyes warm with amusement and that something else which Mary was fast learning to recognise as desire. “Do you know what to expect of me tonight?” 

“But of course, my lord – your mother was kind enough to appraise me in every particular.” 

“Egad,” he threw back his head, and laughed. “She would do that, wouldn’t she?” 

“I am very grateful to her Grace for her kind words,” Mary remarked with admirable composure, though her heartbeat was picking up again, and she felt almost unbearably warm as she stood unmoving under her husband’s intent scrutiny. 

“As I believe I shall be presently,” he said to himself, even as his fingers travelled unerringly to the opening of her negligée. “May I?”  

“Yes,” she breathed, holding herself quite still as he proceeded to disrobe her of her attire. When the fabric of her night-rail slid down her body to pool at her feet she shut her eyes, unaccountably shy of him all at once, and waited with bated breath for what he would do next. 

“Mary,” he spoke her name with such an intensity as she had never heard from him before, and her eyes flew open of their own accord. His dark eyes were riveted to her bosom, and soon his hand followed in so reverent a caress as to cause her to go weak at the knees. 

“Dominic,” she returned, very huskily, and unwittingly pressed herself into his touch. “Oh.” 

In another moment he had taken possession of her hand, and guided her with surprising gentleness to recline on the bed. “My precious girl,” his heated murmur came from startingly close to her breast; then his mouth was upon her, and she threw her head back in sudden delight. 

Inarticulate sounds of pleasure began falling from her lips, and she found herself quite powerless to stop them as she willingly submitted to her husband’s ministrations. Only when his mouth started on it slow journey down her front to the juncture between her thighs did she think to object to the proceedings, and he ceased his attentions at once, a concerned frown creasing his brow.  

“I shan’t force anything on you, my sweet,” he promised with unwonted solemnity, though it was hard to miss just how affected he was by their closeness. “But I would dearly love to give you pleasure, if only you allow me.” 

“I – oh,” Mary could not think quite clearly, for once in her life feeling quite inclined to let the demands of her body take precedence over her reason. “Then I must of course do your bidding, my lord, as it is proper.” 

Vidal broke into a startled laugh at so unexpected a repartee, and resumed his former place between her legs. “You little minx”, he said, and without further ado put his mouth upon her. Mary fairly screamed, and was only saved from utter mortification by his Lordship’s renewed efforts to bring her to the pinnacles of ecstatic delight. 

Perhaps unsurprisingly, my Lord Vidal did in fact achieve his end – and quite effortlessly at that, Mary considered idly some time later as she made a supreme effort to gather her wits about her.  

“What, have I finally landed upon a way to tame you?” his Lordship condescended to rib her good-naturedly, though his voice was quite low and considerably hoarser than when they had first begun on this venture. 

“Do not think it, my lord,” she replied with as much haughtiness as she could muster – which was hardly any at all, as she was still reeling from such extraordinary sensations as she had never before imagined possible. Feeling herself rather languid she sought his lips for a kiss, and was momentarily startled by his eagerness when he moved to press his body fully against hers for the first time.  

“Your pardon, madame,” he pleaded with her, holding himself in check with some difficulty. “I did not mean to frighten you.” 

“I am not frightened,” Mary retorted quite calmly. “But I have a notion you are rather overdressed for the occasion, sir.” 

A dangerous gleam lit up his eyes then, sending a jolt of anticipation straight to the place between her legs. “Am I, then? I will strive to correct this oversight at once, my lady,” he threw at her, and in another moment his nightshirt to the floor, also.  

Mary stared, blushed, and shifted quite indecisively at his side. Surely a lady of breeding ought not to entertain such wanton ideas as wishing to – to put her hand on her husband, and perchance her lips, also. Vidal’s eyebrows shot up as if he’d somehow managed to read her mind, and fairly pouncing on her he began kissing her without restraint.  

“Mon amour, mon épouse, ma vie entière,” he murmured over and over again, pressing himself to her with increasing abandon. His desire had come to rest hot and heavy between her legs, and Mary forgot everything she had ever been taught about proper behaviour as her hips began moving quite of their own accord.  

“Vidal,” she sobbed quite shamelessly, her arms straining about his neck. “Oh, my lord, Dominic, please.” 

He rolled around and covered her with his body; he was much taller than she was, and for one breathless moment she felt entirely in his power. A slight shift, one small adjustment, and he was inside her; Mary gasped and braced herself for a pain which did not come – then she saw the look of intent pleasure on his face, and allowed herself to relax once more in his hold. 

“Mary,” her husband uttered with much feeling, as he began moving in earnest to chase his own pleasure. “My Mary. All mine.” 

A soundless “Dominic” formed on Mary’s lips; then the Marquis’s finger brushed in a tortuous caress over the place where they were joined, and Mary was lost once more to the newly discovered depths of her pleasure. She was only partly conscious of the way in which Vidal stiffened above her a moment later and cried out his release, then shifted to rest his weight beside her as they both endeavoured to catch their breath.  

She could hear his heart beat strong and fast against her ear, could feel the answering pounding within her chest. They lay like that for a while, and she thought she must have dozed off, for the next thing she knew she was clinging onto his Lordship’s person in a desperate bid to stop him from quitting her presence. 

“Calm yourself, my love,” the Marquis’s voice was very tender, and not a little amused. “I am going nowhere – merely to make use of the water basin over there.” 

The fog was beginning to clear from Mary’s head, and she felt herself flush with sudden embarrassment. This was, after all, his Lordship’s own bedchamber – if he wished to have his bed all to himself, it was she who ought to make herself scarce, rather than the other way round. 

He came back presently, holding a finely made cloth of a rather nondescript cut in his hand. “Allow me, dearest,” he entreated her, and before she knew what he was about began tending to their mess. 

“Oh no, my lord, I could not possibly,” she complained, before he silenced her by pressing his lips very lightly to her own. 

When he was done he slipped back into the bed at her side, and opened his arms for her; she went to him at once, her palm finding its way to his cheek as she marvelled at the openness of his expression. Gone was the restless boredom she had spied so often on those handsome features; never before had she seen him so content and at his ease, and – dare she say it? – happy.  

Oh, but she could not wait to be on the road again, and have him all to herself. His thumb came to slowly trace the corner of her mouth, as if intent on learning the shape of her smile. There was a twinkle in his eye, and she could see quite clearly now that despite favouring his father in looks, he was so very like his mother in every other respect. 

“What could you possibly be thinking of, I wonder?” 

“I was thinking of – Italy, my lord,” she said demurely, though she felt sure her widening smile betrayed her quite lamentably. 

“Were you indeed.” A slow, pleased grin curled his lips, and he leaned forward to kiss her soundly.