“Soon. I promise. You have my mobile number. Call me. Whenever.”

  * * *

  We pull up outside a modest terraced house in the backstreets near Reading station. I climb out and join Bleriana and Alessia on the small driveway. The front door opens, and a middle-aged woman steps out. She has a friendly, open face, and her teeth are dazzling against the darkness of her skin when she smiles. “Bleriana, welcome back.”

  A pale, portly, balding man, who must be in his early fifties, appears behind her, wearing a Reading FC shirt and jeans. His smile is as warm and friendly as his wife’s. Well, I assume they’re married, and these are Bleriana’s foster parents. Alessia introduces herself as Alessia Trevelyan and me as her husband. I like that she doesn’t flaunt her title. Sometimes, it’s just not the done thing.

  And she gets it.

  Mr. and Mrs. Evans seem like lovely people, but when they ask us to join them for tea, I politely refuse. I’d like to get on our way.

  Bleriana turns, hugs Alessia, and murmurs a teary goodbye in Albanian, then offers me a goodbye, with a nod, from a safe distance.

  “Come.” I hold out my hand to my wife, and we head back to the car.

  From the passenger seat, Alessia gives them a wave, her eyes shining, and I know she’s tearful. I put the Discovery in drive, head down the street, and reach over to grab her hand.

  “She’s going to be okay. They seem like good people.”

  “They are. Bleriana is overwhelmed by their kindness.”

  “You’ll see her soon.”

  Alessia nods and turns to stare out of the window.

  “Do you mind if I put some music on?” I ask.

  “No.”

  “Any requests?”

  She turns dark, sad eyes to me and shakes her head.

  “Oh, baby. Do you want me to turn around and pick her up?”

  “No. No. We can’t do that. She has to see her social worker and her counselor.”

  I blow out a breath. Relieved. “I’m glad she has support. She’s going to be okay. She’s like you. Self-sufficient. She came to find you through me. That was courageous on her part.”

  Alessia gives me a slight smile. And I’m tempted to remind her she was crying the last time we headed to Cornwall but decide against it. Instead, I switch BBC Radio 6 on the sound system and let the music wash over me from an old timer, Roy Harper, his song “North Country” from 1974.

  Hmm. I’d like to learn to play this on guitar.

  * * *

  “Do you want to stop for lunch?” Maxim asks.

  “I’m not hungry.” Alessia’s heart is heavy.

  “I can’t tempt you with a panini?”

  She smiles, albeit reluctantly. “That seems so long ago.”

  Maxim laughs. “It was. A world away. I’m hungry. Please, can we stop?”

  Alessia’s smile broadens. “Of course. I don’t want you to be hungry.”

  * * *

  Alessia stays glued to my side, her hand in mine, as we make our way through the motorway services building at Sedgemoor. We buy ham-and-cheese toasties and coffee at Costa Coffee but decide to eat and drink on the road.

  “One day, you won’t think twice about being in a service station,” I try to reassure Alessia when I open her car door.

  “I hope so,” she replies, but her eyes follow me as I walk around to my side of the Discovery, and I know she doesn’t feel safe. The thought is depressing. I knew this might happen if she was exposed to her recent past and that awful underworld again.

  It will take time, mate.

  Time.

  Once inside, I place the coffee cup in a holder, remove my sandwich from its wrapping, and take a big bite. I start the car and pull out of our space. “You didn’t get to tell me about your last day on the course. How was it?” I ask, with my mouth full and some butter dribbling down my chin.

  She laughs at the state of me before passing me a napkin, and the sound warms my heart. “The course was very…um…informative. We shall see. And I made some friends. Especially Tabitha.”

  “That’s great.” Out of the corner of my eye, I watch her take a delicate bite of her toastie as she deliberates over something. Her napkin is neatly laid on her lap, pointing the correct way, and it makes me smile. She’s every inch a lady.

  “I think they will help.”

  “The lessons?”

  “Yes. I want to prove to your mother and people like her that I am worthy of you and your…your legacy.”

  Her softly spoken statement is a gut punch, sending shock waves to my soul.

  Fuck a duck.

  Rowena must have said something truly nasty and scathing last week, and my poor wife has taken my mother’s poison to heart. I remember what she said when we were both with her in our drawing room, which was bad enough.

  You need someone of your own class, someone English who understands the pressures of the title and your position in society. Someone who can help you fulfill the role you were born to and help protect our legacy.

  The antagonism that I’ve come to associate with Rowena—that’s been a part of my life since she walked out on us so long ago—simmers in my chest, and I grip the steering wheel harder. The resentment is my familiar—never really far away.

  “You are more than worthy of me. If anything…” I mutter, trying to keep a handle on my temper. “You are worthy of everything. Never think anything less than that, please.” I offer her an apologetic smile. “You were on the receiving end of some dreadful diatribe from Rowena. I can only apologize.”

  Alessia sighs. “She was upset, Maxim. She thinks you married beneath you…a foreigner, a woman with nothing, and she was there to confess her…um…”

  “Sins?” I sneer.

  “She was there to put your mind…um…at ease. You should hear her side of Kit’s story. Sometimes women find themselves in”—she swallows—“difficult situations.”

  I inhale sharply. My sweet, compassionate wife reminding me of the brutal truth of the world. And she would know. Her awful travails brought her to me.

  It blows my mind.

  My sweet girl. Defending my mother.

  I clear my crowded throat. “How’s your toastie?” I ask because we’re in difficult territory. I don’t want to feel any compassion for my mother.

  She left us.

  She was cruel to my wife.

  “Delicious,” she whispers, and another glance at her tells me she knows exactly what I’m doing.

  Deflecting. Away from the sore spot that is my Mama.

  Mate.

  “You are too kind to my mother. But I’ll think about it,” I mutter, and because I don’t want to discuss the Mothership, I turn on the sound system.

  At just after five in the evening, the sun low in the sky, I turn right at the North Gatehouse and drive over the cattle grid and onto the northern driveway of the estate. Alessia leans forward to take in the rolling north pasture on our right. We’ve not been this way before.

  “You have cows!”

  “Cattle. Yes. Organic.”

  “They are so pretty!”

  I laugh. “They’re Devons.”

  Alessia casts a look at me, her brow furrowed.

  “The breed. Of cattle.”

  “Oh.”

  “You can meet them later.”

  Alessia grins. “Still no goats.”

  I laugh. “No goats.”

  She looks ahead, and gasps as Tresyllian Hall comes into view. The magnificence of this house never fails to impress. It’s always a moment for me as well. There’s a sudden tightness in my chest. I’m bringing my wife to what will be a home for her, for our children, and hopefully for their children.

  Fuck.

  Dude. Steady.

  That’s a weighty thought.

  Accompanied by weighty emotions.

  Enough.

  I shake it off. This place has been my haven, and I hope that Alessia will be happy here too.

  I round the drive, run over the second cattle grid that rattles our teeth, and steer us around the old stables to the kitchen door where I park the Discovery.

  I switch off the ignition and turn to Alessia.

  “Welcome home, wife.”

  Her smile lights up her face. “Welcome home, my lord.”

  The kitchen door opens, and Danny stands on the threshold, clasping her hands in excitement, her joy writ large in her sparkling blue eyes and beaming smile. Behind her, Jensen and Healey, Kit’s beloved red setters, come barreling out onto the gravel, curious to see who’s arrived.

  I clamber out of the car, and the dogs jump up, delighted to see me, insisting on some attention. “Hello, boys. Hello!” I ruffle them both behind the ears. And they turn their enthusiastic attention and demands on Alessia when she comes to stand beside me. She pats them both, a little more reticent than me.

  “Welcome home, my lord and my lady!” Danny gushes.

  Danny gushing. It doesn’t happen often.

  She grabs Alessia’s hand. “I am so pleased to see you again, my lady.”

  “Thank you, Danny,” Alessia says. “Please, call me Alessia.”

  “Alessia is fine, Danny. For heaven’s sake.” And I give her a quick kiss in welcome. “It’s good to see you.”

  “And you too, my lord.” She pats my face, and if I’m not mistaken, she’s a little teary.

  Oh, this will never do. “Maxim. Please,” I instruct her. “But wait, I have an important duty to perform.” I take Alessia’s hand and lift her into my arms, making her squeal in surprise. The dogs jump up in encouragement and start barking. And rather than go in through the kitchen door, I hold Alessia to my chest and trudge over the gravel toward the front of the house.

  “What are you doing?” Alessia laughs as she puts her arms around my neck.

  “I’m taking you through the front door, which we rarely use. We should go through the boot room, but everyone uses the kitchen door, as it’s the most welcoming part of the house. However, as the new countess, I think you should go through the front door.”

  The dogs are with us when I glance behind me, but Danny has disappeared. I know she’s heading to the front door through the house. I round the corner and follow the path, lined with ancient yews, toward the old front door inset in the spacious stone porch. It’s a quicker journey for Danny, who opens the old oak door. Beside her, Jessie, our cook, and Brody, one of the estate hands, stand ready to welcome us.

  I carry Alessia inside and set her down in the hallway in front of my family coat of arms and our staff. “Welcome, Countess Trevethick.” I cup her face, bring her lips to mine, and give her a sweet kiss that stirs my soul.

  My wife.

  Here. At last.

  “Aww.” There’s a collective sound of approval from the team, and I must remember we’re not alone.

  “Welcome home, both of you. And congratulations,” Jessie offers.

  “Thank you. Danny, Jessie, Brody, may I present Alessia, Countess of Trevethick.”

  * * *

  Alessia is overwhelmed by the unexpected and warm welcome. The staff—even the dogs—are delighted to see her. Danny and Jessie have left to make a “wee spot of tea,” and Brody has gone to replace some light bulbs somewhere. The dogs, sensing food might be forthcoming, have followed in Danny’s and Jessie’s footsteps.

  Maxim and Alessia are alone in the front hall as they gaze at each other. From nearby, a rhythmic tick from an old clock beats a sensual, relentless pulse.

  “How is it?” Maxim asks, his eyes searing hers, and he tucks a wayward lock of hair behind her ear.

  His gentle touch echoes through her body, waking her up.

  “It’s good. Very good,” she whispers, unable to avert her gaze from his striking green eyes that darken as he stares at her.

  “It’s not so long that we were here.”

  “No. But it was another lifetime.”

  “It was,” he whispers and brushes his thumb along her bottom lip, sending a bolt of delicious electricity south through her muscle, sinew, and bone and all the soft tissue in between. It’s arousing.

  “I know that look,” he breathes, his words barely audible.

  “I know your look.” She can feel it. Their desire. Coursing between them. Electrical. Magical. Their own special alchemy.

  “Let’s go to bed,” Maxim whispers, eyes dark with carnal appreciation and bold promises.

  How could she resist? Why would she want to?

  “I’d like that very much.”

  He grins, grabs her hand, and leads her toward the considerable staircase with its two-headed eagle newel posts.

  “Race you?” he challenges with a wicked grin and bolts up the stairs taking two at a time. Alessia follows, trying not to laugh at his boyishness.

  He waits at the top of the stairs, all tousled hair and licentious smile.

  “Eager?” Alessia teases, a little breathless, and he laughs and dips suddenly, grabbing her around her thighs and hauling her over his shoulder so that she squeals and giggles in equal measure.

  “You bet!” he exclaims and smacks her backside before striding down the corridor toward his bedroom with Alessia bouncing on his shoulder.

  Fortunately, it’s not far. In his bedroom, he sets her on her feet, and they regard each other, drinking each other in—all eyes and smiles and desire.

  “I love you,” he breathes and leans forward, catching her lips with his, slowly snaking his arms around her and pulling her against his body. They kiss. And kiss. Tasting and teasing one another. Losing each other in their tongues and lips and teeth. Her hands fist in his burnished chestnut hair while his are at her nape, cradling her head, and skimming her body to her behind, and squeezing hard, so she’s flush against his growing erection.

  “You taste so good,” Alessia breathes when they come up for air.

  “So do you, baby. So do you. I want you so much. But for a moment, I just want to hold you. Here. Now.” He tightens his arms around her and rests his forehead against hers.

  She smiles to herself and for him as she catches her breath, and they stand in each other’s arms, at peace in the eye of their passionate storm.

  Together, they hold each other.

  Own each other.

  “Oh, Maxim. I love you,” she whispers. “More than you’ll ever know.”

  “I do know.”

  But her love, her gratitude, her desire can’t wait for long. “I want you,” she whispers, reaching for Maxim’s sweater and tugging it over his head. She jerks his shirt out of his jeans and starts to undo the buttons.

  * * *

  I stand as placidly as I can, given I want to jump my wife.

  Now.

  And I let her undress me. She’s as driven by her longing as I am. My fingers are itching to undress her, but I’m happy to stoke the heat in my blood just watching her.

  She slips her hand into the waistband of my jeans and undoes the button.

  “Your turn,” I say, halting her, and I sweep off her sweater. Then I kneel at her feet, slipping her boots off one by one and peeling off her socks. I stand, and under her unremitting gaze, I remove my shoes and socks.

  There. Ready.

  So ready.

  “Take your jeans off. Now,” I whisper.

  Alessia gasps, and with her darkening eyes on mine, she steps back, slowly undoes her jeans, and lowers the fly at a glacial speed.

  Tease!

  Then she shimmies, swinging her fine arse to and fro, tugging her jeans down and stepping out of them.

  My beautiful wife stands before me in a pretty lacy bra and panties.

  And I take a moment to admire the fucking view.

  She is gorgeous.

  She reaches behind her back, undoes her bra, tosses it at me, and laughs when I catch it. Then she shimmies out of her panties.

  “You are so beautiful, Alessia.”

  “Now you,” she says with an imperious look that’s hot as hell.

  “Yes. My lady.” I make quick work of my jeans and underwear, so my ready, ready dick springs free, enthusiastic for her.

  Alessia smirks and steps forward, taking me in hand.

  It’s my turn to gasp.

  Her fingers are cold!

  “Ah!”

  Alessia laughs, and I join her. “Enough!” I grab her around the waist and lift her. “Wrap your legs around me, baby.” She obliges, and holding her, I walk to our bed and lower us onto it, so I’m lying cradled between her thighs.

  “First time. As man and wife. Here,” I whisper, suddenly beset by a sense of history or legacy or something that’s more than the two of us. She gazes at me and gently pushes my hair off my forehead.

  “Husband,” she whispers, and the word echoes in my groin.

  Fuck.

  I want to be inside her. I run a hand down her body, skimming her nipple, so it stands to sweet attention, and continue, my hand celebrating the dips and shallows of her skin down to her belly and over her sex. Slowly, I insert a finger into her warm, welcoming wetness, and her hips rise, meeting my finger, and pushing against my hand, wanting relief.

  Oh, baby.

  I withdraw my finger and slowly ease myself into her and take her mouth with mine, my tongue mirroring my cock. Her body rises to meet mine, and she wraps her arms and legs around me. Holding me fast. It’s intoxicating.

  And I can resist no more.

  And start to move.

  Hard.

  Swift.

  Claiming the woman who is my wife.

  Taking her higher as her nails etch my back.

  Vaguely, as I lose myself in her, I hope she leaves marks on me.

  I’m hers.

  She’s mine.

  For all time.

  “Maxim,” she cries as she comes, and I let go, finding release inside the only woman I’ve ever truly loved.

  My wife.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Alessia takes a break from practising her audition pieces and watches Maxim from the mullioned windows of the great music room. He’s trudging up the driveway with Michael, the estate manager. Maxim is dressed in his long coat and wellingtons, holding what looks like a walking staff as he paces the ground. They are deep in discussion, probably about the still, Maxim’s passion project. He’s excited to get it up and running.