nce Emma was convinced that Belle was truly in love with John, she helped her cousin into her wedding gown and proclaimed her the most radiant bride she’d ever seen.

“I suppose that means my eyes aren’t bloodshot any longer,” Belle joked. She’d let loose quite a torrent of tears.

Emma solemnly shook her head. “Do you want Alex to give you away?”

Belle frowned. “I had hoped that Ned would be here by now. If I cannot have a father of the bride, I was hoping for at least a brother. As it is, Father is going to be furious that he didn’t get to give me away.”

“Well, he got to give me away,” Emma said efficiently. “That will have to do. Did Ned send a reply?”

“There wasn’t time.”

Emma nibbled at her lower lip. “Why don’t I go downstairs and stall the proceedings? I’ll be right back.”

She slipped out the door and made her way to the drawing room. John was pacing back and forth, not so much with nervousness as with impatience. “What’s taking so long?” he snapped.

Emma pursed her lips and looked up at the clock. “It’s only ten minutes past seven. That’s perfectly punctual for a wedding that is supposed to begin at seven.”

“Women.” This came from her husband, who was sprawled on a sofa which was much too small for his large frame. Dunford was sitting across from him, smirking.

Emma shot both of them a rather nasty look before turning back to her future cousin-in-law. “We only need a bit more time,” she hedged.

“Emma, darling,” her husband said in an unbelievably smooth tone. “Could you come here for a moment?”

Emma eyed him suspiciously but walked over to the couch.

“Do you see the priest over there?” he whispered.

She nodded.

“Do you see anything, er, shall we say, odd about him?”

Emma tilted her head as she surveyed the portly gentleman. “He does seem to be leaning a little to the left.”

“Just so. He’s been here thirty minutes, and that’s his fourth glass of brandy. I think we ought to get this ceremony underway while we are still able.”

Wordlessly, Emma exited the room and went back upstairs. When she reached Belle’s bedroom, she said, “I don’t think we can stall very long.”

“Not even a few minutes?”

“Not if you want to get married tonight.”

Belle had no idea what that meant but decided she’d rather not find out. She picked up a piece of white Spanish lace and fixed it on her head. “I suppose we cannot wait any longer for Ned. You had better summon Alex to give me away.”

Emma darted back down the stairs, grabbed her husband by the hand, and asked Persephone to begin at the piano. She and Alex met Belle at the top of the landing just as Persephone began thumping away.

“Good God,” Alex said as the cacophony assaulted his ears. “Is that Beethoven?”

“I could have sworn I asked for Bach,” Belle said, furrowing her brow.

“I don’t think it’s Bach, either,” Alex said. “I don’t think it’s anything.”

“We can only hope she doesn’t start to sing,” Emma said. She shot her cousin one last smile before she headed down the stairs as matron of honor.

“She could hardly do worse than you,” Alex jibed.

Belle looked at her cousin who was already halfway down the stairs. “I don’t think she heard you,” she whispered.

“That’s probably a blessing. Shall we go?” Alex offered her his arm. “I believe it’s our turn.”

As they floated down the stairs, past all of the pink and white roses Belle had specially ordered, her nervousness and disappointment over the hastiness of her wedding melted away, and all that was left was a deep sense of contentment and joy. Each step took her closer to the man she loved, the man whose life would soon become inextricably linked with her own. When she turned into the drawing room and saw him standing next to the priest, his eyes glowing with pride and desire, it was all she could do not to run headlong into his arms.

She and Alex finally reached the front of the room, and he placed her hand on John’s arm and stepped away.

“Dearly beloved!” Mr. Dawes barked. Alcoholic fumes swept across Belle’s face. She coughed discreetly and took a tiny step back.

Persephone missed her cue and kept banging away at the piano, enjoying herself immensely. Dawes turned to her with obvious irritation and yelled, “I said, ‘Dearly Beloved!’”

Persephone’s musical thumps died a slow and painful death.

Belle took advantage of Dawes’s momentary distraction to whisper to John, “Are you sure he’s a man of God?”

John bit back a smile. “Quite sure.”

Dawes turned back to the couple. “As I was saying—Dearly beloved.” He blinked a few times and surveyed the scant crowd. “Or rather,” he muttered, “perhaps I should say the three of you.”

Belle couldn’t help herself. “There are four guests, if you please.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“I said,” she ground out. “There are four guests. I realize that this is an irregular wedding, but I’d like to be credited with all four of my guests.” She could feel John next to her, shaking with silent laughter.

Dawes was not the type to give in easily to what he saw as a mere slip of a girl, especially after he’d been fortified with five glasses of fine brandy. “I see three.”

“There are four.”

His finger jabbed at Alex, then Emma, then Dunford. “One—two—three!”

“Four!” Belle finished with a triumphant motion toward Persephone who was watching with obvious fascination and mirth from the piano.

At this point Dunford exploded with loud laughter, which set off Emma and Alex, who had heretofore managed to keep themselves under control. Dawes grew quite red in the face and said, “She is the piano player.”

“She’s my guest.”

“Oh, all right, you impertinent little chit,” he grumbled, mopping his brow with a limp handkerchief. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here before four witnesses…”

The ceremony continued with blessed unevent-fulness for several minutes. John could hardly believe his luck. Just a few more minutes, he thought, and they’d exchange vows and rings, and then she’d be his for all of eternity. Fairly bursting with joy and impatience, he forced himself to resist the urge to shake the voluble priest and get him to speak faster. He knew that he was supposed to be savoring every moment of the ceremony, but what he really wanted was to be done with it all and retreat to some hideaway where he could be alone with his bride for the next week.

John’s hopes for a speedy ceremony, however, were dashed when he heard the front door to the house slam open with a resounding crash. Dawes looked at him in askance, and he nodded curtly, signaling that the ceremony should proceed.

Dawes fumbled forward even as heavy footsteps came crashing toward them through the hall. Determined not to interrupt again, Belle kept her eyes scrupulously forward, but John was unable to keep himself from turning around as a dark-haired young man burst into the room. His eyes were so blue that he could only be Belle’s brother.

“Good God!” Ned Blydon exclaimed, jumping over a sofa. “Have you gotten to the part about objections yet?”

“Er, no,” Dawes said, his bulbous nose glowing red in the candlelight. “We haven’t.”

“Good.” Ned grabbed Belle’s free hand and dragged her away from the makeshift altar. “Do you know what you’re doing?” he hissed. “Who is this man? Do you know anything about him? What is going on? And how dare you send me a note saying only that you’re getting married the next day? What were you thinking?”

Belle waited patiently throughout his tirade. “Which question do you want me to answer first?”

“Look here!” Dawes boomed. “Is this marriage going forward or not? I’ve got—”

“It’s on,” John said in a deadly voice.

“I’m a busy man,” Dawes spluttered. “I’ve got—”

“Mr. Dawes,” Dunford interrupted smoothly, flaying him with a devastating smile. “I must apologize for this interruption. It is scandalous that a man of your stature should be treated thus. Won’t you join me in a glass of brandy while this matter is cleared up?”

Belle didn’t know whether to thank Dunford or throttle him. At this rate Dawes would be too drunk to perform the ceremony. She rolled her eyes and turned back to her brother, who was looking at her with concern. “Are you certain you want to do this?” he was saying. “Who is this man?”

Alex stepped forward and tapped Ned on the shoulder. “He’s a good man,” he said softly. Beside him, Emma nodded vigorously.

“Do you love him?” Ned asked.

“Yes,” Belle whispered. “With all my heart.”

Ned looked her in the eye, trying to gauge the depth of her feelings. “Very well, then. I apologize for the interruption,” he said loudly. “But we’re going to have to start over from the beginning, because I want to give my sister away.”

“See here, young man! We’re already more than halfway through,” Dawes barked. “I’m a busy man.”

“You’re a red-faced drunk,” Belle muttered to herself.

“Did you say something?” Dawes said, blinking vigorously. He turned to Dunford, whom he now perceived as an ally, and grabbed him by the shoulder. “Did she say something?”

Dunford carefully disengaged himself from the priest’s grasp. “Don’t worry, good fellow, you’ll get paid extra for your troubles. I’ll see to it.”

Belle and Ned hurried up the stairs and had just reached the top when they heard Dawes say, “Is she going to play the piano again?” A loud whacking sound followed, the origin of which Belle didn’t want to know.

Within seconds, Persephone began playing the piano with a vengeance, and Belle began her second procession of the day down the stairs to get married.

“You look beautiful,” Ned whispered.

“Thank you.” Belle smiled at his words, deeply touched. She and her brother loved one another dearly, but it was a bickering sort of love, not a complimenting one. When Belle reached the drawing room again, John’s eyes were still shining at her with love and pride, but this time she also saw a trace of humor. She smiled back at him, a silly little half-smile to tell him that she didn’t care that her wedding had fallen into a shambles. She only wanted him.

The ceremony proceeded remarkably smoothly considering the earlier mishaps. Persephone even stopped pounding the piano promptly when Dawes groaned, “Dearly beloved.”

In due time John and Belle were man and wife.

There was much cheering when they kissed, although Dunford later remarked that he clapped more for the fact that the ceremony had actually made it through to the end than he had for the couple’s happiness.

After the customary congratulations and requisite kissing of the bride by all the male guests (there were only three; it didn’t take very long), Ned looked brightly at his sister and asked, “Where is the reception? I’m famished.”

Belle’s face fell. She’d forgotten all about a reception. And to think that she’d been complaining to herself because she hadn’t anything to do. But then again, even though she was aglow with happiness over having finally married the man of her dreams, she felt that a celebration tonight would feel more like a dinner party than a wedding reception.

“Belle decided to put off a reception,” John cut in smoothly, “until your parents get home. She felt that your mother would prefer it that way.”

Ned thought that his mother would have preferred it if Belle had also held off on the wedding ceremony, but he held his tongue. He smiled blandly at his new brother-in-law and then finally asked the question which had been foremost on his mind all evening. “Just exactly how did you and my sister meet?”

“I’ve recently bought property near Ash-bourne’s holdings at Westonbirt,” John replied. “We met there.”

“And he fought with Alex on the Peninsula,” Belle added. “They were good friends.”

Ned looked at John with new respect.

“Speaking of the war,” Alex suddenly put in, “you’ll never guess who I saw from my carriage as we arrived.”

John turned to face him. “Who?”

“George Spencer.”

Belle felt John’s fingers tighten on her arm. He appeared as if he were about to say something, but no sound emerged from his mouth.

“Surely you remember him,” Alex said.

“Who is George Spencer?” Belle asked.

“Just an old acquaintance,” John said quickly.

Alex leaned down and dropped a fraternal kiss on Belle’s cheek. “I believe we were about to leave the newlyweds to their own devices.” He smiled at Emma, who immediately made motions as if to leave.

John waylaid him, however, placing a firm hand on his arm. “Actually, Ashbourne,” he said in a low voice. “Could I have a word alone with you before you leave?”

Alex nodded, and the two men went off into the library.

John shut the door behind them. “I’m not certain if you ever knew the full story about George Spencer.”

Alex cocked his head. “I know you forced him to desert the army.”

“After I shot him.”

“Excuse me?”

“In the ass.”

Alex walked over to a nearby table, poured himself a glass of whiskey, and then downed it in one gulp. “Any particular reason?”

“He was raping a young Spanish girl. A girl I had sworn to protect.”

Alex swore softly, and his knuckles grew white around the glass.

“If it really was George Spencer loitering outside,” John said caustically, “I don’t think it was because he wanted to offer his best wishes to the bride and groom.”

Alex raised a brow. “Is there more to this story?”

John weighed out the advantages and disadvantages of telling Alex about his plight. The last thing he wanted to do was drag a man with a wife and a baby on the way into a potentially deadly situation. But then again, he had a wife, and given his plans for the near future, he rather thought a baby might be forthcoming fairly soon. The weight of these new responsibilities bore down on him, and he remembered Belle’s words from just a few days earlier.

You can’t do this alone.

John hadn’t really known how to follow her advice. He’d been on his own for so long that he had no idea how to ask for help, no idea how to accept it. Alex was his family now—twice removed by marriage, but family nonetheless. John already felt a greater sense of kinship with him than he did with any of his brothers or sisters. Damien hadn’t even been able to make it to the wedding.

Yet Alex and Emma had rushed in from the country. The unfamiliar warmth of family began to wash over John. He looked over at Alex, who had been watching him carefully. “I have a problem,” John said softly.

Alex tilted his head.

“George Spencer is trying to kill me.”

There was the soft whoosh of indrawn breath before Alex replied, “Are you certain?”

“I am certain that someone is trying to kill me,” John replied. “And I cannot accept that his presence outside this house is a coincidence.”

Alex raked his hand through his hair. He remembered Spencer’s rage when John had forced him to desert. “No. It’s not a coincidence. We’re going to have to do something about him.”

John was surprised by how reassured he felt by Alex’s use of the word “we.”

“Where are you staying tonight?”

It wasn’t an unintelligent question. John had, after all, gotten married less than an hour before. Under normal circumstances, he and Belle would have left for a honeymoon or headed back to Bletchford Manor for some time alone. But he didn’t feel that they would be safe in the country; there were too many windows and doors at his home that Spencer might be able to sneak into. London would probably be safer, if only because there were so many people around who might witness Spencer’s attacks. “I don’t know,” John finally said. “I’ve been busy. I hadn’t even thought about it. I don’t particularly want to take Belle back to my brother’s.”

“Stay here,” Alex suggested. “I’ll take Persephone back to my house for the night. Belle certainly doesn’t need a chaperone any longer.” He offered John a sideways smile. “You took care of that in rather short order.”

John couldn’t help but grin.

“I’ll send over a few extra servants,” Alex added. “This place is already crawling with them, but it can’t hurt to have a few more. The more people here, the safer you’ll be.”

“Thank you,” John said. “I was also considering hiring a bodyguard for the next few weeks.”

“A good idea. I’ll see to it.”

“That‘ s really not necessary.”

“For God’s sake, man, you just got married. Let me worry about the damn bodyguards.”

John nodded in assent, thinking that he could get used to the idea of having a family who cared.

“Emma and I will remain in town until we have this sorted out,” Alex continued. “Contact me in the morning, and we’ll decide what to do about Spencer.”

“I’ll do that.”

“And in the meantime, have yourself a splendid wedding night.”

John grinned. “I’ll certainly do that.”

A knock sounded at the door, and Belle poked her head in. “Are you through with him, Alex?” she asked. “Because it’s my wedding night, you know, and I think I’ve a right to my groom.”

“Actually we were just discussing that very topic,” Alex said with a rakish smile. “And as a result I think I want to go find my wife and go home.”

Belle shook her head as he left the room. “What on earth were you talking about?” she asked her husband.

He put his arm around her shoulders as they followed Alex out. “I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow.”

The handful of guests left soon thereafter. As Emma departed, however, she took Belle’s hand in hers and pulled her aside.

“Do you, er, need to have a talk with me?” she whispered.

“I don’t think so,” Belle whispered back.

“Are you certain?”

“About what?”

“That you don’t need to have a talk with me?”

“Emma, what are you talking about?”

“Married love, corkbrain. Do you need to have a talk with me?”

“Oh, er, no. No, I don’t.”

Emma drew back, a light smile touching her features. “I had a feeling you didn’t.” She let go of her hand and took a few steps away before turning back to say, “Well then, have a good night.”

Belle smiled. “Oh, I shall. I shall.”

“What was that all about?” John asked, leaning down to kiss his wife’s neck now that all of their guests had departed.

“I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

“Fine. I have other things on my mind tonight.” He steered her up the stairs.

“So have I.” She followed with alacrity.

“What are you thinking?” John asked when they reached the landing. “Right…now.”

“I was thinking that I’m glad that we’re staying here tonight.”

“Mmmm, me too. It would have taken far too long to make it home.”

“To your brother’s?”

“No, goose. To Bletchford Manor.”

Belle smiled. “It seems so long since I’ve been there. It hadn’t even occurred to me that I have a new home.”

“ It’s not very grand,” John said quietly.

“It’s grand enough for me.”

“It has a terrible name.”

“That can be fixed.”

“Not very many servants.”

“I don’t need many. And stop trying to put down Bletchford Manor. It has several excellent attributes.”

“Really?” They were at the top of the stairs.

“Oh yes.” Belle smiled flirtatiously. “The rose bushes are quite beautiful.”

“Is that all?”

“There is a stunning Aubusson carpet in the drawing room.”

“Is that all?”

“Well,” Belle said with a smile as they turned into her bedroom. “There is the master.”

“The master?” John’s eyes lit with delight.

“He’s very attractive.”

“Do you think so?” He kicked the door shut.

“Oh yes, very.”

John’s hands stole around to the cloth-covered buttons which marched down the center of her back. “I have a secret for you.”

“You do?” Belle could feel her heart quickening at the touch of his warm hands on her skin.

“Mmm. This master you’re speaking of…”

“Yes?”

“He likes you, too.”

“Does he?”

John undid the last of her buttons and let the dress slide down her body, leaving her clad only in a silky little thing which drove his every sense wild. “He’d like to begin mastering you tonight.”

“Mastering me?” Belle questioned, with just a hint of playful scolding in her voice for his choice of verbs.

“Well, he’s done it once before, and he liked it quite a bit.”

“Did he now?” Belle could barely get the words out, for John’s hands were now moving up her legs, pushing her chemise over her thighs.

“Very, very much.”

“Enough to spend a lifetime doing it?” she asked.

“Mmm-hmm. Enough to let you master him.”

She cocked her head and smiled. “Really?”

“Oh, yes.” His lips found the hollow where her neck met her shoulder.

Belle felt herself moving backwards until she felt the bed behind her. John’s mouth had moved down to cover one of her breasts, and she was finding it very difficult to stand. They sank down onto the bed together.

The heat of his body seared her into the mattress for only a moment before he lifted himself up and tore his shirt off. “God, Belle,” he said raggedly. “If you only knew…”

“If I only knew what?” she asked quietly, her eyes sliding over his bare chest with feminine appreciation.

His hands, which had been undoing the buttons on his trousers, stilled. “How much…What you…” He gave his head a little shake, as if to dislodge the words from his throat. “My life was…” He swallowed. “I don’t know how to say it.”

Belle reached out and took his hand. “Then show me.”

He flattened her palm against his stomach and slid it up to his heart. “It beats for you,” he whispered. “Only you.”

He moved toward her slowly, as if pulled by some invisible thread connecting them. The rest of his clothing fell to the floor, and then he was with her, the heat of their bodies separated only by the thin silk of her chemise.

Belle could feel the urgency bursting within him. His hands roamed her skin with an energy that was almost frantic. Desire curled through her body, whipped up into white hot heat by his hands and lips and the incoherent whisperings of his mouth.

She tore at her chemise, trying to move it up her body, but he pushed her hands back down. “Leave it,” he said. “I like it.”

“But I want to feel you,” she gasped.

“You can.” He splayed his hand over her midriff. “I can feel you. And I feel silk, and heat, and desire.”

Belle felt something quickening in her abdomen. Her breath was coming in short little pants. His hips were pressing against hers, the evidence of his desire nestled between her legs. “John, I—”

“What, love?”

“I want to feel you.”

A shudder went through his body, and Belle could feel the tension in his muscles as he fought to control his desire.

“You don’t have to go slowly,” she whispered. “I want it, too.”

His eyes flew to hers. “Belle, I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t. You could never hurt me.”

His hands moved to her legs, and he slowly separated them, pushing up her silky chemise in the process. The tip of his manhood found her, and he began to move forward.

Belle caught her breath as she felt him entering her. It was the most intimate of kisses, and she arched her hips to bring him even closer. His movements grew faster, more furious.

It was building within her. A force. A tension. It was growing, filling her.

John’s breathing grew ragged. He sank his fingers into her hair, gasping her name as he pushed forward and back, his body lost in primal rhythm.

Belle was spiraling toward ecstasy. She clawed at his back, trying to reach something that was so close…and then she was there. Pleasure gripped her, and she screamed out his name.

But John didn’t hear her. Her shouts were drowned out by his own as he surged forward one last time and exploded within her. He collapsed on top of her, his entire body heaving with exertion.

Many minutes later he rolled onto his side, pulling her along with him. Their bodies were now separated, but John held her close. “I want to fall asleep with you in my arms,” he whispered. “I want to feel you, and to smell you. I want to know you’re here.”

Belle snuggled closer. “I’m not going anywhere.”

John sighed, a smile forming on his lips. He nuzzled his face against her hair, dropping a kiss on top of her head. “My wife,” he said, unable to keep a touch of wonder from his voice. “My wife.”