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“Indeed,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon said. “I don’t usually make it my business to involve myself in the marriages I arrange, but I do pride myself on being excellent at what I do. When I told you that man had your smell, your body, and your face imprinted on his brain, I meant it. So I’m curious to know what happened after you wed.”

“I…what do you mean? He made it quite clear to me that the marriage is one of convenience. He only married me because he owed you a favor, and that our marriage would be in name only.”

“Owed me a favor? Nonsense. I told you as much myself. If he had owed me a favor, we wouldn’t have had to…well, do what we did to get you in his arms. The reason he married you is you are all he can think about. He’s in love with you. Can’t you see that?”

“But he barely speaks to me and does all he can to avoid me. I believe he…” She trailed off. She’d been about to say, “…loathes me” but even she knew that wasn’t true. But what could be done?

“I can understand how you are confused after spending all those years with Tidworth,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon said. “Of course, you’ve never known true love. But you are not helpless in this situation.”

“What can I do?” Maggie asked.

“Did you learn nothing during the time you spent at the Lyon’s Den?” Mrs. Dove-Lyon sounded exasperated.

“I…I’m not sure what you mean,” Maggie said.

Mrs. Dove-Lyon sighed. “I know you’re a maiden, but you said Tidworth liked to…look at you and touch you, correct?”

Maggie swallowed. “Yes.”

“Then you have been disrobed in front of a man before, and are not completely naive in these matters.”

“No,” Maggie said, dropping her gaze to her teacup.

“Good! Then tonight, I want you to instruct your maid to fill your bath with rose-scented oil. That is the scent he associates with you. Soak yourself in it like you did that night you fell into his arms. Then, when he returns from the Lyon’s Den, full of brandy and self-pity, slip into his chamber and between the covers with him. And do it unclothed.”

Maggie’s heart thudded at the thought, though she wasn’t certain if it was from fear, anticipation, or both. “But I agreed that our marriage would be in name only. I’ll have broken my word. What if he turns me out of his bed?”

“He won’t,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon said. “Nor does he want you to keep your word. The man is clearly hell-bent on punishing himself. He keeps his distance from you because it causes him the greatest pain, which he believes he deserves.”

“But why?” Maggie asked. “For what reason does he punish himself?”

“That is something he’ll have to explain to you, himself. It’s not for me to share,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon said, getting up from her chair. “Now, I must take my leave.”

Maggie sat in her seat long after Mrs. Dove-Lyon had left her, feeling somewhat bewildered, somewhat apprehensive, and somewhat hopeful that she could get her heart’s desire. A babe. Someone to love and care for the way she’d loved and cared for her siblings.

That, it seemed, was the only true love she’d ever known. It was a dangerous game, she knew. Though she did not trust men, she trusted Mrs. Dove-Lyon, so she would choose to play. What other option did she have?

Chapter Eleven

At his country estate in Yorkshire, Jude never felt lonely or isolated. He had his three whippets, who were his constant companions, his faithful gelding, Ares, and the surrounding moors, which gave him solace.

But he had to leave all that behind when he was obliged to attend Parliament and lodge in Mayfair. He abhorred his townhome in Grosvenor Square, not the least because it was situated in the center of London snobbery and gossip, but because it was a reminder of everything he wanted to forget. He’d purchased the dwelling shortly after his first marriage thirteen years ago when the house his father had passed down to him was destroyed in a fire. That house had been in Hanover Square, and it was filled with family heirlooms and decorated by his mother’s warm touch. It had been all he’d had left of his parents, who’d perished in a carriage accident. But he’d intended to start afresh with his wife. She’d been excited about the prospect of furnishing their new home to her taste, but she’d not had the chance. He’d taken that away from her.

The Lyon’s Den had long been Jude’s way to escape the pain and silence of his London residence. But no amount of brandy, gambling, games, or idiotic antics from his peers could distract him from his current misery. Being home had now become an exercise in self-restraint and avoidance. Her presence was everywhere. Even now, the scent of rose oil lingered in the drawing room. He gazed down at a copy of Mansfield Park that sat on the table and smiled. He’d gifted it, along with several other books, to Maggie. He was pleased that she was enjoying them.

He picked up the book and opened it. She’d marked her place with a lock of her chestnut hair, tied together with a small red ribbon. He ran his hand over the soft lock, taking in the intoxicating smell of rose oil. An ache in his heart reminded him of his loneliness. She was his wife, but he could not have her. To do so would be to deceive her. And he was determined not to do that. He was not Tidworth. You married her to protect her, not to hurt her. And to deceive her would be to hurt her. But telling her the truth will mean risking opening myself up to her scorn. I could not stomach that.

Exhaustion overwhelmed Jude, yet when he finally lay his head to rest on his pillow, it took him what seemed like hours to fall asleep. When he eventually did, he dreamed of Maggie. She lay in his arms, her smooth, naked body pressed against his. Her lips were soft against his, and he felt as if he was drowning in pleasure as he slipped his tongue in her mouth, tasting her. He cupped her breasts, and she moaned in response, pressing herself against him. He rolled on top of her, and she parted her legs for him.

As he entered her, his half-dreamy state dissipated. He became fully awake, but it was too late to stop. “Maggie,” he cried as he thrust into her. She arched her back in response. “Don’t stop,” she cried.

They made love twice more, slower, taking their time to explore each other. Gone were Jude’s convictions to keep his distance from his wife. He was overwhelmed with passion and desire for her. Even if it meant losing his life, he could not keep his distance from her anymore. She’d broken his resistance, and it had not taken much. But he hadn’t felt such happiness in years. When he’d finally exhausted himself, he fell into a deep sleep with her draped across his chest.

He’d not slept so soundly in years, and when he awoke, the first thing he did was reach for Maggie. But the spot where she’d lain was empty. Disappointment washed over him. All he wanted to do was hold her naked body in his arms again and make love to her. But perhaps she’d risen early and gone to her chambers before her maid came in with her morning tea. He’d been exhausted and in a deep sleep. It was no wonder she’d not wanted to wake him before she’d returned to her room. It was for the best. If Maggie knew the truth of what he was, she would never have slipped into his bed last night.

Why had she done it? Had she felt obligated? Did she think she owed him something in return for his marrying her? No. He’d specifically told her she had no wifely duties to fill. Unless…it was a babe she was after. He could not let that happen. Once he’d dreamed of a family, but that dream had ended with his first wife, Theodora. He’d killed her. He was not fit to be a father.

He would have to tell her that what had happened last night had been a mistake. Only he didn’t know if he dared to do that just yet. He wanted to savor his happiness for just a little while longer. He pulled Maggie’s pillow to his chest, inhaled her rose scent, and closed his eyes, dreaming of his beautiful wife.