Now, he hoped she was in their chambers and did not mind going to bed early, for he wanted nothing but to curl into her soft warmth and get as much rest as he could before the bad dreams chased it away.

This was his thought upon entering their chambers, seeing their sitting room dark, but their bedchamber brightly lit.

“Farah,” he called, making his way there.

She didn’t answer.

He called her name again.

“Farah.”

He took not a step into their bedchamber, for he stopped dead in the doorway.

This, because his wife sat cross legged at the end of the bed.

And she did it wearing naught but her wedding chain.

Her dark hair was long and falling down her chest, mostly covering her bared breasts. Her hands were clasped loosely in her lap, covering her sex.

Her eyes were on him.

True was struck still, his mind scattering, his eyes not knowing where to go. Thus, they roamed the entirety of her, drinking in her beauty.

That was, he was struck still, except one part of him which had been called to stiff attention.

“I think,” she broke the silence, her beautiful voice floating across the room, “it is high time we truly became husband and wife, no?”

In normal circumstances, he would shout his agreement.

Her injury.

The death of her mother.

The death of his mother.

“Farah—”

“I am cold, True,” she whispered before adding a verbal invitation to the one she’d been issuing since the moment of his arrival. “Come and warm me.”

The fire was blazing on its iron in the grate.

The room was awash with light as every lamp was lit.

But he could not have his wife feeling cold.

He moved her way.

She adjusted her position, coming up to her knees, exposing her slightly rounded belly, her bare hips, her sex.

True moved faster.

Her arms came out his way.

He walked into them, watching her head tip far back, as his bent down…

And he took her mouth.

Her lips opened under his, her arms rounding him.

He slid his tongue inside, diving both his hands into her thick hair.

But at the taste of her, the knowledge she was bared to him, the invitation she had offered, the wanting of her for so long, and not having her, he could not hold himself in check.

He leaned into her, taking her to her back in their bed.

He was atop her, the scent of her all around, the taste of her on his tongue, the feel of her softness squirming beneath him, all of this unraveling him.

She started tugging at his clothes.

He did not stop her, his hands roaming the silk of her skin.

Some vague sense of chivalry permeated, and he tore his mouth from hers, murmuring, “Your shoulder.”

“It has been fine for days,” she breathed, tugging at his frock coat.

True shrugged it off and tossed it aside.

When he dipped back in, he went for her neck.