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Lord, at this rate, he’d have a hard-as-steel erection until September.

How had Vanessa remained unmarried?

Another question he’d meant to put to her but hadn’t found an opportune moment to do so as yet. For certain, she’d had offers, but one didn’t simply blurt, “I’m astonished a woman your age hasn’t married yet,” or, “Surely you’ve had suitors, Vanessa. Why aren’t you married?”

Behind them lumbered a second coach piled high with her luggage. It also transported five –God help him, five—of her most trusted servants: a housekeeper, a cook, a butler, a footman, and her lady’s maid, plus a coachman and stable hand drove each of the conveyances. She’d left the rest of her staff behind to oversee the Berkeley Square house in her absence.

Since he hadn’t expected any servants other than her lady’s maid and a groomsman would accompany them to Quail Hollow House, he hadn’t advised her that the servants’ quarters had been neglected for years and were likely dilapidated. And coward that he was, he couldn’t bring himself to wipe the smile from her face and tell her.

Servants accustomed to living in posh surroundings wouldn’t take well to the humble quarters if they were habitable at all. In truth, he’d rarely ventured there and certainly hadn’t since trotting off in his crimson and white uniform atop Tito with Gabriel at his side to slay the dragons of the civilized world.

Also unbeknownst to Vanessa, Kingston retained an agent to watch her residence for any sign of Elligon. Elligon, who had mysteriously vanished. He’d not frequented his normal haunts since Mrs. Jessie Dorrian-Lane had called for the constable.

One didn’t have to wonder why.

Guilty sot.

Kingston promptly hired someone to find and tail the sod, too, although he still felt uncomfortable making free with the partial funds Vanessa had settled upon him, contract or not. However, when it came to the safety of his wife, he would spare no expense. If there was any possibility Elligon remained a risk to Vanessa, Kingston would know of it.

He roved his appreciative gaze over his wife as he’d permitted himself to do with great frequency.

My wife.

Vanessa Becket—no, Vanessa Barclay.

That would take some adjusting to—was, in short, an absolute delight. Intelligent, well-read, possessing a sunny disposition, and yet, the minx cursed.

Don’t forget breathtakingly beautiful with that cloud of moonlit hair and those caramel eyes.

She was everything Kingston could’ve wanted in a wife. More than he’d ever imagined he might actually have when he’d decided to barter himself for money. If that was, he had wanted to take a wife—wanted to raise a family and put his dark past behind him.

Instead, he’d wed this charming, incomparable woman. A vixen he could never kiss. Never take to his bed and taste every inch of her silky soft, sweetly scented skin.

Instead, he’d call her his wife for six months.

It wasn’t nearly long enough.

Kingston had instinctively known that irrefutable and gut-wrenching truth the moment they’d been declared husband and wife, and he’d placed a brotherly peck upon her forehead instead of capturing her mouth beneath his. Her verbena and jasmine perfume had snaked around him, tangling his thoughts and sending a powerful burst of desire thrumming through him.

A lifetime wouldn’t be long enough with this incomparable woman, and ten minutes with her as his wife had him wondering if he mightn’t bed her, after all.

Kingston knew the answer.

No. A thousand times, no.

He’d vowed never to let lust, desire, or passion rule him again.

For the thousandth time, Kingston cursed himself for a fool for agreeing to Vanessa’s scheme.

It would’ve been better to have wed a bucktoothed, on-the-shelf spinster or a lady with a tainted reputation than the living, breathing temptation across the coach, sleeping mere inches from him.

How in God’s holy name was he to keep his hands off of her for six months? Six-and- twenty weeks? Almost one hundred and eighty-three days?

Think of Gabriel.

A groan throttled up Kingston’s throat, and he pressed two fingers to the bridge of his nose, pinching it.

Vanessa’s notion of separate residences was logical, especially to substantiate grounds for an annulment. Individual homes would make the situation more bearable, as well. Perhaps after introducing her to his siblings, he could consider different abodes. Especially with the entourage of servants she’d towed along.