Gabriel bent over her, brushing the thick mass of her hair to the side so he could press a soft kiss upon the nape of her neck. He kissed her over and over, languid, warm kisses where the salty-sweet flavor of her skin permeated his mouth.

Regardless of his future as a reluctant marquess, this woman would face it beside him. Gabriel’s heart soared with relief all while aching with uncertainty. He’d never had anyone he could call his own until this moment. And although he was a man most unworthy, Celia was his now. He would never let her go.

Gabriel dragged his trousers back into place. He’d not had the patience to remove neither them nor his boots earlier. Which meant he’d taken his new wife like a whore in a back alley.

Grimacing with regret for his callous treatment, he scooped Celia up and carried her to the bed. Laying her down on the sheets, he pulled the coverlet around her and then set about ensuring her care.

After wetting a bit of cloth with water from the pitcher and basin, he returned to the bed. She let out a drowsy moan of protest when he urged her onto her back. The coverlet was flicked back so her body was again exposed and he could tend her properly.

“What are you doing?” she asked with dark eyes half-lidded. Reaching up, she traced the scar slicing across his eyebrow.

Because he had not yet dimmed the lamps, Gabriel could see the confused glint in the chocolate-hued depths of her gaze. As if dazed, she belatedly realized she was bare. Her hands slowly came up in an effort to conceal her breasts.

With a soft tsk of disapproval, Gabriel trapped her hands in one of his own and stretched them above her head.

Her eyes widened.

“Be still, Celia, so I can take care of you.”

“You don’t have to. Please.” She struggled in what could only be considered a flash of panic. “Wait.”

Gabriel frowned, his grip tightening just enough that she stopped writhing and stared up at him. “I want to, Celia. And I will. Has no man done this for you in the past?” The very question set his teeth on edge with jealousy, but it affected Celia much differently.

She froze in place, her eyes as wild as a trapped animal. Indeed, it seemed she barely breathed as Gabriel passed the cloth between her legs in a softly, soothing motion.

It came away tinged with splotches of red mingled with his own seed.

Gabriel did not move. He stared at the obvious signs of blood as though they could not possibly be real. Then his gaze lifted to Celia’s.

“You were a virgin.” The statement came out in a growl. “You lied to me?”

Celia’s face darkened with confusion. “I did not lie.”

Gabriel moved the cloth back between her legs, eliciting a soft cry from Celia. “Explain this to me then, wife?” He folded the cloth carefully so that a clean side was presented, but inside he shook with dread. Seven hells. Had he injured her himself? Had he been that goddamn rough with his surprisingly delicate little bride?