In the half-light of pre-dawn, Milo was bewitched by a woman he’d never expected to captivate him so thoroughly. He’d found his match in passion, and more, with Amelia by his side.

  He gave up pretending he could sleep entirely and eased away from her again. Amelia grumbled a half-complaint and finally rolled away. She was soon breathing deeply again, and he struggled not to smile.

  He had exhausted her last night. They had made love as if there was nothing in the world more important than pleasuring each other. Each touch hadn’t seemed enough for him.

  That troubled him now.

  He eased out of bed, careful not to wake her, and threw on a robe. He paused beside the bed a moment longer, watching Amelia sleep soundly, pale hair tumbling over the pillow, and sighed.

  She was a dangerous woman.

  She made him forget who they had promised to be to each other.

  The intense pleasure they’d shared…he had not expected it to exist. Nor for her to respond so eagerly. Demanding that he enjoy her.

  None of it.

  He drew closer as she moved again, revealing her breast. His hand was reaching out and he made himself cover her, tuck the sheet around her body so she would not become chilled. It was a privilege to take care of Amelia as no one else in her life ever had. He was lucky to have won her hand in marriage. She had refused to consider marriage at first. Several times.

  He dragged a hand over his jaw, realizing what he would have missed if he’d not offered what her heart desired most…children to care for.

  He had come second in her thoughts at the time they’d married. That filled him with unease now. He was not the most important person in her thoughts even now after all they’d shared and he wanted to be. Amelia would forever be the most important woman in his life.

  I should not want more.

  Wanting a wife was dangerous. Wanting had made him weak once before. It made him feel things he had sworn never to feel again—things he’d felt for his first wife.

  Yet all he had to do was look at Amelia, even asleep, and the vow to maintain a distance frayed a little more each day.

  He drew back, unsettled and uncertain of what to do. He quietly dressed in fresh clothing but could not find his pocket watch. Fearing it had been lost during their rushed return upstairs, he slipped from the room and retraced his steps. He walked the silent corridors of Stapleton Manor looking carefully, thankful that the servants had not stirred yet.

  He reached the Refuge without meeting anyone. He slipped inside and drew in a deep breath. The chaise lounge where he’d lain Amelia bare and pleasured her all night long made his breath catch. The feel of Amelia’s hands on him, her breathless pleas for more, the way she’d ridden him with a hunger that had undone him more than once.

  He had never felt so out of control with a woman.

  Nor as free.

  The depths of her passion unbalanced him even now.

  He found his pocket watch under the chaise, tangled with one of Amelia’s silk stockings. His hands trembled as he separated them, gulping back a curse.

  He was still not in control of his desires completely. And he hadn’t the faintest urge to fight the feeling as he held Amelia’s stocking against his cheek. He wanted her in the worst way even now…and they had agreed that desire wouldn’t be denied between them.

  Milo returned directly to their chamber to wake her with a kiss and then perhaps breakfast later. He was impatient to see her again, touch her again, taste⁠—

  He entered the room, only to find the bedding turned back on a rumpled and empty bed. The sheets, when he ran his hand across them, were still warm, and he could smell the scent Amelia wore.

  He trembled anew and rushed to the window and looked out upon the grounds. Amelia’s habit of rising early would apparently deny him the opportunity to wake her with kisses. He should never have left her side.

  But he was in luck. She sat on a stone bench below, cloak wrapped tightly around her, face lifted to the sun. Morning sunlight covered her in soft golden light, highlighting her hair and the gentle slope of her slender shoulders. He should have known she’d be out on the grounds early again.

  But right now, she was…simply too far away.

  Milo fled the room, rushed downstairs, and went to her at once.

  When she heard his steps, she quickly stood and turned. “Good morning, my lord.”

  He nearly tripped over his feet as she cast a blinding smile in his direction.

  “Lady Chatham.” He hesitated, unsure how to behave after the excesses of last night. “May I join you?”

  “Of course,” she said warmly enough, though the tiredness around her eyes betrayed the exertions of the evening before. She resumed her seat and he sat beside her, hands folded in his lap, unsure where to place them.

  He hated this ever-present uncertainty between them after intimacy. Last night she had opened herself to him—her body, her trust, her desire—and he had responded like a man with no control whatsoever.

  He’d reacted like a man in love.

  Milo gulped. “How are you this morning?”

  Her voice was soft but steady. “I am well, thank you.”

  He could not stand to dance around the truth a moment longer. “About last night,” he started. “We must speak of it. This morning, I⁠—”

  She shook her head quickly. “There is no need. I don’t know what came over me to behave so boldly last night. It will not happen again.”

  He inhaled sharply. His stomach twisted a little to hear that. Did she not believe all their nights together could all be so erotic? “I feel⁠—”

  “I understand. Truly.” But the faint flush in her cheeks, the way she couldn’t hold his gaze, told him she was embarrassed.

  “I’m not sure you do.”

  She shook her head again. “It would be easier if there was another chamber available for me to retire to. You would not feel driven to escape. To leave your own room because of me.”

  Milo had never imagined he would feel protective fury over such a belief—but there it was. He immediately inched closer to her. “I left because I wanted your sleep to be undisturbed by my restlessness,” he growled. “That is the only reason I left before you woke. I could not sleep for wanting to touch you.”

  Her eyes widened.

  He lowered his voice. “Last night was unusual. It was…” He dragged in a breath. “It was more than I anticipated again. But I…I do not think it was wrong.”

  She blinked, startled. “It wasn’t?”

  “No.” He stood abruptly, unable to sit still. “Damn it, woman!” He raked a hand through his hair. “When I am with you, it is not like it has ever been with anyone else. With you, I feel…too much.”

  Slowly, cautiously, she stood as well.

  “And that part is wrong?” she asked softly.

  “No,” he promised.

  “But surely⁠—”

  “I am affected by your passions.”

  “Should we stop.”

  “No!” he said immediately. What he wanted was to hold her tightly in his arms and never let her go. He wanted what every man wanted. To feel desired. To feel…

  He shied away from that next awful progression.

  He hardly knew Amelia. But the desire to be with her every moment of the day and night consumed him. To pull her close. Kiss her. Punish every person who had ever done her wrong. Spoil her.

  He let out a shaky breath. Striving for control and slowly reclaiming his composure.

  “I want…” He swallowed. “To be with you, now…” He lifted her hand and put it upon his chest.

  Her breath caught.

  “And here,” he added hoarsely. “In the garden.”

  Her gaze drifted to his mouth. “No,” she whispered.

  “Yes, here—and I don’t care if we are seen,” he whispered.

  Her lips parted. His restraint shattered when a shuddering sigh escaped her lips.

  The words, danger of discovery, it all excited her. It had last night, too, he would wager.

  He drew closer to her and whispered, “Being wicked with me excites you, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes,” she answered immediately, her face lifting toward his.

  He tugged her against him hard, capturing her mouth in a kiss that was hot and unrestrained.

  She pressed against him, her hands sliding under his coat, around to his back as she clutched him close. Her lips parted, giving him access to the soft warmth within, and he relished the taste of her with a groan.

  He broke the kiss and, after a second, more rational thought about her reputation prevailed, and he dragged her off to find a private corner of the garden where they could be alone.

  Once ensconced in a greenhouse, he locked the door and pressed her back against the nearest bench, hands skimming down to seize her hips. Amelia gasped as he lifted her slightly, the movement urgent and designed to excite her.

  “Milo,” she breathed.

  The sound of his name on her lips undid him.

  He slid his thigh between hers, feeling the heat of her through her gown, and she rocked against him instinctively, her breath catching in a sharp, trembling moan. He kissed her throat, nipped gently, then soothed with his tongue.

  “You make me forget myself,” he whispered against her skin. “No woman has ever done that.”

  Her fingers threaded into his hair, tugging lightly. “Then do not try,” she whispered back. “Just be with me. Be yourself.”

  He growled softly, lips trailing lower as he cupped her small breasts through her gown, thumbs circling slowly over the peaks. She arched into his touch, her breath warm and quick against his cheek.

  “If we continue,” he warned, voice frayed with desire, “I will take you here.”

  “Take me,” she whispered fiercely. “I want⁠—”

  “Papa!” The shrill call cut through his frenzy.

  Lucy.

  The moment shattered as they frantically looked toward the greenhouse door, but then he remembered he’d locked it.

  Milo pressed his forehead to Amelia’s for one aching heartbeat before stepping back, chest heaving. He swallowed down the disappointment that the tryst was ruined before it had even begun. But Amelia, cheeks flushed, lips swollen from his kisses, seemed frozen in place.

  Duty—fatherhood—came crashing back around him like cold water, and he straightened his clothes immediately.

  He had almost gotten swept away in the heat of another passionate encounter with his wife. He could not continue to act so impulsively. He must reclaim his control today. Put passion aside for the good of their marriage. Step back from the precipice of indecency and consider Amelia’s reputation, too.

  Rutting with her whenever and wherever he pleased was not a way to show her the respect she deserved. Amelia, unfortunately, seemed unable or unwilling to stop him.

  “We will finish this at a more appropriate time,” he warned, voice thick with desire still.

  Amelia nodded and gulped, but she still did not move to straighten herself. Milo took matters into his own hands and smoothed her skirts down, pleased to see she had not been too badly mussed. Her hair had not been disturbed, and he pulled her cloak back around her body.

  “Join us as soon as you can,” Milo suggested, and turned toward the sound of his daughter’s repeated calls. “Coming, Lucy.”

  He unlocked the greenhouse door and found his children and Lady Ashcroft standing about outside. Phillipa smiled benignly enough at him, but Milo saw her gaze flicker into the greenhouse.

  He pulled the door closed behind him to give Amelia time to compose herself.

  The last thing he wanted this morning was Lady Ashcroft’s company, but her presence was always a curb for lust. He wished her a good morning, then glanced down at his daughter. “What are you doing outside the nursery at this hour?”

  Lucy tugged at his arm. “Will you play with us, Papa?”

  “No. It is nearly time for breakfast.”

  Phillipa drew close. “Forgive me, Milo. The children seem to have been forgotten by your wife this morning, so I brought them down to the duchess and she suggested a walk together to look for her.”

  “They were not forgotten,” he promised, though they had been entirely. He had been too busy seeing to his own needs, however, to remember his children. “I was just fetching Mama.”

  “No, Papa. I just want you.”

  He glanced down at Lucy in irritation. “Do not dismiss your mother. She is a good woman.”

  “She’s not my mother. She tricked you and everyone says⁠—”

  Milo placed a hand over whatever Lucy was about to say next. “What have I told you about repeating gossip?”

  “But Papa! It’s true! You’re always with her now and forget all about us. You don’t love us anymore,” Lucy accused, pouting.

  Whoever Lucy was listening to, they needed their neck wrung. He knew there would be gossip about the speed of his second marriage, but never had he expected to have his child hear it and repeat it to him. “She is nothing of the sort.”

  “She’ll be your ruin,” the child claimed, even though she could have no idea what she was saying.

  He glanced at Phillipa and saw her nod, agreeing with the child.

  “You are too young to understand.” He knelt before his daughter. “I love you and Adam equally. You are my children. I would do anything for you. But Amelia is my wife and deserves respect.”

  “Respect must be earned,” Phillipa murmured, but her brows rose. “Where is your wife this morning, Milo? I sent a maid up to your room, but she wasn’t there. I’ve barely seen her in the drawing room the last few nights. Does she have other interests on the estate?”

  “I know exactly where my wife is at all times,” he promised, scowling.

  He would have to deal with Phillipa before too long. He glanced over his shoulder impatiently, impatient for Amelia to come and take the children away so he could.

  She appeared from around the back of the greenhouse, as if she was coming from a long walk alone.

  Amelia acted surprised to see them together and he beckoned her to join them. “Here’s Mama now.”

  Lucy grabbed his hand and tugged hard, trying to draw him away from Amelia and toward Phillipa. “We’re having breakfast with Grandpa, Papa.”

  He dug in his heels, waiting for his wife. As soon as Amelia’s gaze met his, desire pulsed between them.

  He forced his impulses down and allowed his daughter to pull him toward the manor house and the breakfast room.

  Perhaps he had been spending a little too much time alone with Amelia, and he clearly needed some distance from her to keep his passions under control. There was also Phillipa’s influence to counter. Lucy was at an impressionable age and he’d chosen Amelia for his bride to be a steadying influence on the girl.

  At the doorway to the morning room, he glanced back, checking that Amelia had followed. She walked beside Phillipa, saying nothing and looking uncomfortable again.

  The yearning to wait, to take hold of her hand and keep her by his side, remained strong.

  He resolutely turned his back on the temptation she presented and joined his father at the table, devoting his attention to his children and their immediate needs.

  Passion would have to wait until nightfall.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Amelia did not trust herself when she finally stepped into the morning room, following her husband, unfriendly stepdaughter, and would-be rival.

  Her lips still tingled from Chatham’s kisses. Her breath still hitched at the memory of his hands on her hips, his thigh pressed between her legs, and the raw, consuming hunger she had felt rolling off him like heat from a fire. She had expected awkwardness after their night together, confusion, and a retreat into polite formality once again.

  She had not expected…more passion.

  She was still clutching the sides of her cloak like a lifeline as she wished the duke and duchess a good morning.

  She forced herself to breathe evenly, to hide the storm of unsatisfied need inside her. Desire to aid procreation was one thing. This fierce obsession was another.

  Unceasing passion was dangerous.

  Her pulse quickened at the mere thought of sitting beside Chatham at breakfast. To be that close and unable to reach for him would be exquisite torture.

  A footman offered to take her cloak and she removed it, glad for the mundane task. Anything that would settle her nerves before sitting near Chatham again.

  Yet when she turned, he was beyond her reach. Chatham was offering a seat to Lady Ashcroft, and then he sat himself between their two children.

  Chatham did not glance in her direction, and she felt the sting of a rebuff she’d never expected would hurt so much. The only available chair for Amelia was on the opposite side of the table, beside the duchess.

  She composed herself as best she could and smiled through the duchess’ polite greeting.

  “Did I see you out walking earlier?”

  “Yes, indeed. The gardens here are so soothing in the early hours.”

  “I feel that way too, but I sometimes have difficulty slipping away. There is always someone wanting my attention,” the duchess whispered.

  Amelia sympathized. She fell silent as a footman offered tea and started presenting plates of food for her to choose from. When she had made her selections, the duchess was engaged in conversation with the duke, and Amelia dared not interrupt them.

  She paid attention to her breakfast but found she did not have much of an appetite anymore.

  Adam, sitting opposite, had taken two of everything the footman offered and was currently holding a small meat pie in one hand. Amelia laughed softly at his expression when he took a savage bite. Milo was too engaged in conversation with Lady Ashcroft to notice his son’s enjoyment.

  Amelia picked at some ham, nibbled some toasted bread while she sipped her tea, but everything made her feel a little queasy by the end. She finally pushed her plate away, puzzled by her lack of appetite that morning.

  When Chatham finally looked across the table at her, the air between them shifted, turning immediately warm, charged, frighteningly intimate.