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She picked up a book, flipping through the pages, but nothing could distract her from the tick tick tick of the clock on the mantel. Five minutes. Ten minutes. Twenty-five. When three-quarters of an hour had passed, Ina went from nervous to furious. Where on earth was her husband?

She snapped the book closed. “That’s it.”

Moving swiftly, she tugged on the long pink silk dressing gown Ruth had laid out at the foot of the bed and tied it in a loose knot around her waist. Pulling her unbound hair out from under the collar, she went to the door connecting her room to Gavin’s dressing room.

“Clearly there was no impediment there,” she muttered to herself as the unlocked door swung open.

There was no light in the dressing room, but by leaving her door open she could see enough to maneuver across the narrow space. It was only when she put her hand on the brass knob to his room that she paused.

He’s still Gavin. You trust him.

With as much authority as she could muster, she walked straight into his room. What she saw brought her up short. Gavin was sitting in an armchair. He’d taken his jacket off and unbuttoned his waistcoat, pulled off his necktie, and opened his shirt, but those were his only concessions to the late hour. The man still had his shoes on, and at the moment he was staring straight at them with a sheaf of papers on his knee and a whisky glass dangling from his fingers.

With as much authority as she could muster, Ina said, “I was under the impression that new husbands typically can’t wait to see their wives in a state of dishabille.”

His head snapped up.

“Of course,” she continued, “I understand that their marriages are probably a sight more conventional than ours but—”

“Ina.” He said her name as though it had been ripped from him. It set her back on her heels, but she’d already come this far. If she was going to make a fool of herself, it wouldn’t be for lack of trying.

“What are you reading?” she asked, nodding to the papers.

He looked down as though seeing them for the first time. It was clear from where she stood that they were letters written in a thin, looping script. A woman’s hand? The thought shouldn’t have given her pause, but the way he ran his finger along the edges of the paper made her heart hitch.

“They’re nothing,” he said.

“They must be something if you’re reading them on your wedding night,” she countered.

He’d dropped the pile of correspondence unceremoniously on the table next to him. “They’re nothing,” he repeated with more conviction. “Just a reminder of the foolishness of youth. Why are you here, Ina?”

“I thought maybe . . .”

The fire might be blazing in the grate, but a chill ran down her spine and she tugged her dressing gown closed at the neck. She hadn’t known what to expect from her wedding night, but this melancholy reluctance hadn’t been it. It had been ridiculous to think Gavin wanted any of this.

“I was mistaken,” she said. “Forgive me.”

She turned fast. The kiss, the way she’d thought she’d caught him looking at her, she’d misjudged it all. She’d been a fool to think that Gavin would ever cross the unspoken boundaries of their friendship.

“Ina.”

But she didn’t turn back. She put one foot in front of the other, her head down, as she made for the dressing room door as swiftly as she could.

She was nearly across the threshold when Gavin caught her up by the waist and spun her around. She stumbled, but his body pressed against hers, holding her upright.

“What are you—”

And then he kissed her. Oh Lord, how he kissed her. If the kiss on the steps of St. Giles’ had been sweet, this one was all savagery. His hands framed her face, diving into her loose strands of hair as his lips pulled at hers, dragging her down into lust. She dug her fingers into the fine linen of his shirt, desperate just to hold on. He sucked on one of her lips as he had before, but this time it was harsher. She gasped. Expertly, his tongue darted into her mouth, stoking the fire in her belly into a full-on roar.

When Gavin’s hands fell to her shoulders she thought he might loosen her dressing gown, but instead he pushed her away. Holding her at arm’s length, he glared down at her, his eyes wild and maybe a little unhinged.

“We said we wouldn’t do this,” he said.

“I thought our wedding night might be an exception.”

“Do you want that?” he asked.

“Don’t you?”