The more he thought about it, the better the idea sounded.

He’d left her in bed this morning, having exhausted them both the previous evening. After leaving the dining room, he’d carried Celia up to his room and plied her with kisses and caresses that lit them both on fire. Then, contrary to his earlier words regarding punishments, he slowly made love to her until she was desperate for release and begging him.

Afterward, she’d curled up beside him, her fingers twirling through his hair and brushing the heavy locks from his brow. She’d kissed him sweetly, so soft and compliant in his embrace that Gabriel found himself becoming more entranced by the second.

His body was now stirring with incessant hunger as he thought of waking her, his fingers searching between her legs, his mouth at her breast, and a hand gripped tight in her hair. If he must journey to London, she would go as well.

He could not abide being parted from her for longer than a day. That much was clear.

They departed a week later, once Celia’s maid arrived at Rosenthorne Park along with most of her personal belongings. Gabriel’s items had arrived the day before, including Arion who nickered with pleasure at seeing his master.

Celia felt as though she were caught in a whirlwind, one which began the moment she’d agreed to become Gabriel’s wife. From Beaumont to Rosenthorne Park, and now to Rosenthorne Hall located within the fashionable district of Mayfair. She traveled in the marquess’s grand coach along with her maid while Gabriel followed behind on horseback.

That development in itself was disappointing. Celia greatly missed Gabriel’s presence inside the coach. Sighing, she glanced out the window, grateful that this trip into London was quicker than the journey from Beaumont to Rosenthorne. It was only a day of travel to reach their destination, and she looked forward to spending more time with her husband.

She was still learning so many things about Gabriel, his wicked sense of humor being the most pleasant surprise. There was also his unfailing commitment when it came to her wellbeing. Including those times following their moments of intimacy. He was so tender. So masterful. So riveting. Celia found herself hanging upon his every word like a besotted schoolgirl. Eager for his attention and the burning ecstasy she felt when he touched and kissed her.

While he’d not punished her again following that night at the inn, Celia could not help but wonder the other things he might do should the occasion arise. The spanking he’d given her, while not terribly painful, certainly left an impression. Admittedly, she’d both enjoyed and hated that particular punishment.

But what else was there to experience with her husband? What would please him as well as herself?

She sighed again as the countryside slowly morphed from pastoral fields to bustling city streets. They were entering London, and soon, she would find herself in a new situation as the wife of a powerful marquess. A marquess with no real experience in dealing with the intricacies of the ton and all its cruelty and pettiness. Celia would be the one to ease his way into this life, and her stomach clenched with apprehension for the daunting task ahead. Any hint of scandal, either real or imagined, must be avoided during these first few weeks of their introduction to society.