Her fingers slid into his hair, twining tightly.

And everything within him—from his heart to his lungs to his very soul, now bound for eternity with hers—contracted with a pleasure so keen it was almost too much to bear.

He wrapped his arms around her, one at her waist and one about her shoulders, holding her small body against his from her bosom to her knees. Her skirts tangled about his legs, crinoline and petticoats pushed all out of shape.

Alarm bells went off at the back of his mind, warning him to be careful with her, not to crush her with his size or overwhelm her with the strength of his passion.

But Julia showed no signs of being put off by his ardor. Standing on the toes of her boots, she strained up to meet him. Their breath mingled as she returned his kiss with soft, half-parted lips, her mouth yielding beneath his in the same blood-stirring fashion it had when he’d kissed her in the Claverings’ garden.

Though untutored, she was not unskilled. There was a natural sensuality in the way she touched him. The way her lips moved on his with a sweetly seeking pressure.

It was an agony to break the kiss. Even when he did, he still held her in the same crushing embrace, his lips sliding along her jaw and cheek and temple.

“My darling girl,” he murmured roughly. “You must tell me if I’m hurting you.”

Her fingers loosened from his hair. “You’re not hurting me.”

“Are you certain?”

“Quite certain.” She slid her hands to his shoulders. “I wish you could hold me like this forever.”

A husky laugh rose up in his throat. It might have been a groan. He rested his cheek against her brow. “Don’t tempt me.”

For once, Julia was grateful to be exhausted. If she wasn’t burnt to the socket, she might have expired from repressed embarrassment.

Illuminated by a glass oil lamp standing on the bedside table, the bed itself seemed to fill the whole of their small attic room. Everywhere she looked, there it was. There was no avoiding it, or the dilemma that would face them when it was time to retire.

Were they going to sleep together? Or would Jasper sleep on the floor? And after that kiss . . .

Good heavens.

She hadn’t unwittingly changed the terms of their agreement, had she? In kissing him so passionately, she hadn’t given him permission for more?

Not that he needed her permission.

A wife belonged to a husband in every regard. Her money wasn’t her own. Her body wasn’t her own. Even her children—if she ever had them—wouldn’t be hers. Not in the eyes of the law. Once married, a husband and wife became one person. According to the law, that person was the husband.

For all intents and purposes, the moment she’d said I will at the little church in Camden, Julia had ceased to exist.