Guy entered his house that evening a little warily. No one could say the morning’s parting with his wife had been amicable although somehow they had managed to keep from saying anything regrettable, but he’d be foolish to imagine the matter was over. He had no idea what to do about Petra’s involvement with the suffragists. He didn’t know how to outright forbid it. As a husband he had the right to prevent his wife from causing embarrassment to either of them. And it would certainly embarrass him to have his wife known for her suffragist activities. It was one thing for her to believe in the cause, she was entitled to believe what she chose, but it was quite another to act in a manner detrimental to either her or his own position in society. He thought for a bad moment of what his own father would say if he were alive at having a daughter-in-law marching the streets of London flourishing a political banner.

“Is Lady Ashton at home, Babbit?” he asked, surrendering his coat, cane and hat to the butler.

“Yes, m’lord. She’s in the library.”

“Thank you.” Guy crossed the hall and opened the door to the library.

Petra was as usual curled up in a corner of the sofa, a book in her lap. She was dressed in a loose silk robe, more suited to the boudoir than the library. “Ah, you’re back. I’m so glad.” She uncurled from the sofa and came over to him, putting her arms around him, lifting her face for his kiss. “I was hoping you wouldn’t be late. I’ve planned a quiet, intimate evening, just us. Dinner by the fire in here and afterward . . .” Her smile was languidly seductive. “Afterward . . . well, I’m sure we can think of something to amuse us.”

He kissed her mouth, relishing as always the supple sensuousness of her lips, the soft fragrance of her skin and hair. “Did you just come out of the bath?” he asked, lifting his head, smiling down at her, his hands clasping her waist beneath the thin silk.

“As it happens,” she said, leaning back in his hold. “I wanted to be ready for you.”

Desire flickered in his eyes as his body responded to her words, to the feel of her in his hands. “Give me ten minutes, my sweet. I have no wish to sully this perfection with my day’s grime.” He gave her a gentle push back onto the sofa. “Don’t move.”

Petra smiled to herself as he hurried from the room, little prickles of anticipation lifting her skin. As she had hoped, Guy readily responded to her invitation, putting aside all bones of contention, and that was how it was going to be this evening. Love and lust, the twin peaks of their marriage. No valleys, no crevasses.