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Marriage to Ella was nothing like that.

His bride arrived at his house in the wee hours, her aunt in tow. Rather than place Ella in her own bedchamber as propriety obviously dictated, he took her straight into his own room.

Into his arms.

He didn’t want to let her far from him; he was too shaken by the viscount’s irrational threats. Ella had no real idea how vicious her uncle truly was, or how lucky she had been to escape unscathed.

Make that relatively unscathed. He had suspicions about the bruises on her arms.

Besides, Starlight, Josephina, and the babies couldn’t be moved from room to room simply due a few vows in a church. At least, that’s what he told himself as he held Ella tightly, unable to sleep, watching dawn creep into his windows.

Trying to convince himself that she was safe.

The marriage ceremony was held in a small church down the street from his house. His two butlers acted as witnesses, the viscountess being too fatigued to leave her new bed.

Fiennes himself was so exhausted that he felt dizzy; his bride was white as a sheet, faint blue circles under her eyes.

Tired or not, their eyes met while repeating the ancient words that bound them together. He could read her expression. Ella loved him.

And her smile told him that she knew how he felt.

Finally, he put a ring on her finger.

Fiennes’s entire body relaxed. Ella was as safe as he could make her.

He leaned down and kissed her. “Hello, Lady Peregrine,” he said quietly.

His wife smiled. Her eyes were a little glossy, and he had the feeling his own were as well. The ferocity of his vow that he would stay with her until death had unsettled him—and settled him, at the same time.

He was hers. She was his.

Ella tucked her hand around his arm. “Breakfast, Lord Peregrine?”

They walked back to the house slowly, the two butlers having hastened away to supervise breakfast.

Jarvis led them into the morning room, where a magnificent wedding feast awaited them, and then left them to enjoy their meal in private. No footmen were assigned to serve them either, in a tacit acknowledgement of their new status.

Earlier that morning, Ella had met his household staff, greeting them with her customary friendliness. Of course, she knew more about their work than did any other lady in all England.

For their part, they responded to her instantly, clustering about to tell her odd details about his house that he hadn’t known, such as the fact that the fireplaces smoked when there was an east wind.

Jarvis had taken notice, so Fiennes had the feeling that even if future winds came from all four quarters of the world at once, his chimney would never smoke again.

Fiennes ate mechanically, his eyes on his wife. He felt as if a beast lurked under his skin, one who had managed to lure a beauty to his lair.

“I am finding this very odd,” she said, regarding Fiennes with an adorably shy look—interesting, because she was not a shy woman.

“Is it odd being my wife?” He liked saying that. Wife. What a lovely word. He’d never appreciated it before.

She dimpled at him. “Actually, no. Being married to you feels right, not odd.”

A surge of happiness went through him. That was odd. He was more used to feeling indifferent.

“It’s Jarvis,” Ella said. “He’s behaving precisely as he would have yesterday, but the entire household heard my uncle’s bellow!” Her eyes told him the rest. She was truly shocked to learn that her aunt and butler were lovers.

“Jarvis is a man of parts,” Fiennes said.

“What on earth does that mean?”