hadn't died. The queen had agreed to end his assignment because he needed an heir, but he'd come home to find he needed his wife more. If he had stayed in England all those years ago, he might have realized much earlier how lucky he was to have married Rose. He might have realized much earlier that he loved her. His heart rolled and lurched like an out-of-control cart. His step faltered. Someone caught his elbow to steady him and up ahead, Rose took a step in his direction. So she had been watching his progress out of the corner of her eye after all. He had wondered. Hoped. He thanked the person who'd aided him and forged on. To his wife, to the woman he loved. "My dear Rose," he said when he reached her side. He caught her hand and kissed the back of it. She smelled like lavender. "You are a vision and I am completely and utterly smitten." She blushed and he kissed one pink cheek to see if she felt warm there. She did. Warm and soft and delicious. "Thank you for the gown," she said with a small curtsey that took her cheek away from his lips. "Where did you get it?" "Lady Harbrooke is about your size and has more clothes than sense. She was in dire need of some quick coin. I hope you don't mind wearing them but there wasn't time to have something made." "I don't mind. And thank you. It's a beautiful gown." "It is far more beautiful on you than on Lady Harbrooke." She arched an eyebrow. "You've seen her wear it in the few hours that we've been here?" He laughed. "You've caught me out." Her smile was small and humorless and his laughter died. Something was wrong. "Temperance is a leech," he said, leaning in closely. "You have nothing to fear from her." Her breath hitched. "Are you sure?" she asked, looking away. "She's talking to my father now and I trust neither of them." He followed her gaze to see Temperance and Wallan in deep conversation, their heads bent. Six years ago, Temper had hated Wallan with as much vehemence as Thomas had. So why was she talking to him in earnest now? "Forget them," he said. "Forget everyone. Rose." He took her hands. "I want to talk to you in private. Come with me." But before she could say anything, an old friend interrupted and they fell into conversation. Then another joined, and another, and Thomas couldn't get away. Everyone wanted to hear about Ireland and they all suddenly wanted to meet his "lovely wife". How could he say no when she seemed to be enjoying their company? Her eyes shone and she smiled more than he'd ever seen her smile since his return. His words could wait. They weren't going to alter. Seeing her so happy was all the balm he needed for now. Finally, as the evening drew to a close and the musicians packed away their instruments and the dancing couples drifted apart, Thomas was able to get Rose alone in her rooms. He shut the door and caught her around her waist. "They all adore you." "When I am with you," she said, leaning away from him. "Nonsense." He leaned forward and kissed the skin below her ear. Her body sighed against him. "They will grow to like you more when they get to know you better." "They'll never forget," she whispered. "Of course they will. Anyway, they're not important." He licked her throat and pressed his lips to the small hollow at its base. "You are the only one who matters." She tilted her head back and he focused his attention on the swell of her breasts. Irresistible. He hooked the front of her bodice and shift with his finger and pulled them both down to uncover her cherry-ripe nipples. "Thomas!" He kissed the gently undulating mounds then took a nipple into his mouth. She cried out but caught his face between her hands and pulled him away. "Stop, Thomas. I don't want to." "You don't? But...the sighing and heavy breathing and..." Hell. How could he have misread his wife so badly? And here he thought he knew her well now. He stepped away and watched as she righted her clothing, covering up all that deliciousness. Damn. "Is