Their arrival at Rosenthorne Park the following afternoon threw the entire estate into a full-scale panic. It seemed the marchioness’s suite of rooms was hardly fit for occupation, mostly because of the need for Celia’s desires when it came to décor. The designer hired to update the stale, old-fashioned rooms of the mansion had done what he could up to the point of gaining Celia’s choices.

After enduring an hour of introductions to the staff, Gabriel took Celia by the arm.

“I know you should have your own suite as Marchioness. I will pay whatever is required to expedite the process now that you can select décor and finishes. I instructed them to wait for you, but it is an inconvenience for you.”

Celia stared at him with a calmness she did not feel. Was he that eager to rid himself of her company? Had their explosive night of passion the previous evening proven too intense for her new husband?

It’d certainly been intense for her. Indeed, she was still sore from his attentions. Still wincing every time she sat down too forcibly. But even though she’d wept until she fell into a deep slumber during the long night, she’d woken in the morning nestled under Gabriel’s arm as though she was meant to be there. She’d lain perfectly still, accepting the heaviness of his forearm thrown across her midriff. Accepted the warmth of his breath stirring her hair as it feathered across her cheek and down the side of her neck.

Although she’d witnessed him frowning over the silliness of her request, Gabriel had not extinguished the lamp in their rooms during the two nights they’d already shared. Indeed, he’d given her the strangest look the following morning while turning the wick down. As bright sunlight streamed past the drapes and lit the space, Celia wondered if he were trying to solve the puzzle of why she needed the lamp at all. And she wondered if he might someday make the connection between her fear of the dark and the incident when she’d lost her virginity.

And that was something she did not understand. She’d bled after Bryan’s attack in the stables. Suffered for hours, the space between her thighs sore and painful. She had not emerged from that night as a virgin and accepted it as fact over the past five years.

Last night with Gabriel had not been as painful. There’d been unimaginable pleasure, but it was obvious she’d bled afterward as if she were an untried virgin. How that could be was most puzzling. Could it be attributed to Gabriel’s considerable size? His hefty circumference? He was much, much larger than Bryan. Perhaps it was a simple matter of her flesh adjusting to such things until she was accustomed to lovemaking with her husband.

“Celia? Did you hear me? Your suite of rooms will not be ready for another two weeks. Perhaps longer. I can make arrangements for your things to be placed in one of the guest rooms which have yet to be renovated or…” Gabriel hesitated, his jaw clenching as he watched her reaction. “Or I can have you moved into my rooms. They were just finished today, so the odor of paint and varnish may be offensive. If you would rather not subject yourself to—”