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Uncomfortably Tasia turned to check her hair in the mirror. She avoided the sight of her own tear-brightened eyes. “Until recently all I've allowed myself to think about are the Angelovskys, and the dreadful thing I may have done. I don't know what my feelings are about Lord Stokehurst. I can't put them into words yet. But I do know that I've begun to turn to him in a way I've never turned to anyone.”

“That's a promising beginning, I think.” Alicia stood back to look at Tasia. “Lovely,” she pronounced.

Tasia reached back to touch the flowers in her hair. “How many are there?”

“Four.”

“Could you pin on another, please?”

“There's not room, I'm afraid.”

“Then you must take one away. I'll wear either three or five.”

“But why?…Oh, yes, how could I have forgotten?” Alicia smiled as she recalled the Russian tradition. “An odd number of flowers for the living, an even number for the dead.” She glanced at the large arrangement of blossoms that Tasia would carry into the chapel. “Must I count your bouquet for you?”

Tasia smiled and picked up the mass of flowers, regarding it speculatively. “There's no time for that. We'll have to assume it's the correct number.”

“Thank God,” Alicia said in a heartfelt tone.

Despite the solemnity of the occasion, Tasia wanted to laugh at the sight of Samson waiting patiently by the door of the estate chapel. The dog's leash had been affixed to one of the back pews to ensure his noninterference in the wedding ceremony. His ears flapped and twitched as he watched the small gathering in the front of the chapel. Affected by the reverent atmosphere, he behaved with unusual dignity, only lapsing occasionally to paw and snort at the wreath of white flowers Emma had fastened around his collar.

The aloof faces of carved saints looked down from the walls. The chapel was small and slightly musty, candlelight warming the smooth stone and dark wood with its yellow glow. Tasia had a feeling of detachment as she stood next to Luke, with Emma at her right and the Ashbournes on his left. She repeated the vows in a voice that didn't seem to be her own.

How simple and astonishingly intimate this was, compared to the grand two-hour ceremony she would have had to endure in St. Petersburg. If she had married Mikhail Angelovsky, there would have been at least a thousand guests, and an Orthodox bishop to perform the rites. She would have been swathed in white brocade, silver fur, and a silver crown that complemented Mikhail's gold one. There would have been a procession around the altar, and the Angelovskys would have insisted that Mikhail carry the ancient Russian symbol of husbandly authority, a silver whip. And she would have been forced to kneel and kiss the hem of his ceremonial robe, in the ultimate gesture of subservience. Instead she had left it all behind, in a trail of blood and deception. Now she was in a foreign country, exchanging marriage vows with a stranger.

Luke held her hand firmly and spoke the words that would bind her to him until death. She looked into his clear blue eyes, her detachment vanishing. The last threads to the past were severed as she took another's name as her own and felt his ring slide onto her finger. Tasia knew an instant of panic just before he bent and fitted his mouth over hers. It was not a gentle kiss, but a brief, hard one.
You're mine now
, was his unspoken message.
Now and forever…and nothing will part us
.

The servants' hall rang with cheers as Lord and Lady Stokehurst appeared in the doorway. Luke had given the servants the next day off and supplied enough wine and food for an all-night celebration. People had come up from the village to play instruments and take part in the gathering. A crowd rushed around the newlyweds, offering congratulation. Tasia was touched by their warmth.

“Bless you, my lady!” the maids cried. “Bless you an' the master both!”

“There never was a prettier bride,” Mrs. Plunkett exclaimed with tears in her eyes.

“The happiest day in Southgate Hall,” Mrs. Knaggs said emphatically.

Mr. Orrie Shipton, the town mayor, raised a toast. His chubby face flushed with selfimportance as he lifted a glass of wine high in the air. “To the marchioness of Stokehurst—may her gentle kindness grace this home for many years to come—and may she fill Southgate Hall with many children!”

To the delight of the gathering, Luke laughed and bent to kiss his blushing bride. No one could hear what he murmured in her ear, but the words caused her cheeks to flame even brighter.

After a few minutes Tasia left in the company of Mrs. Knaggs and Lady Ashbourne, while Luke lingered and accepted the hearty congratulations coming from every direction. Charles stayed at his side, beaming as if he were personally responsible for the entire situation.

“I knew you would do the right thing,” Charles said
sotto voce
, seizing Luke's hand and shaking it enthusiastically. “I knew you weren't the rutting scoundrel Alicia claimed you were. I defended you on every point. When Alicia called you a lecherous, interfering swine who was stuffed on your own conceit, I said she was putting it much too harshly. And when she said you were overbearing and heartless, I told her it simply wasn't true. And when she began to rant about your swelled head and your selfishness—”

“Thank you, Charles,” Luke interrupted dryly. “It's nice to know I was so well-defended.”

“By God, this is a happy day, Stokehurst!” Charles exclaimed, and gestured to the merry gathering. “Who could have predicted this would happen when I introduced Tasia to you? Who would have thought Emma would take such a liking to her, or that you would come to love her? I must congratulate myself on—”

“I never told you I loved her,” Luke said, staring at him quizzically.

“Afraid it's obvious, old man. Knowing how you feel about marriage, I was certain you wouldn't propose unless you loved her. And I haven't seen you so lighthearted since our days at Eton.” Charles chortled into his cup of wine. “But I won't envy you, Stokehurst, when London society gets its first glimpse of her. You'll have to work hard to keep other men away from your wife. I can't decide whether you'll have more problems with the young bucks or the old rakes. Tasia has the kind of feminine mystery that most Englishwomen lack, and that combination of black hair and white skin—”

“I know,” Luke said shortly, frowning in annoyance. Charles was right. Tasia's youth, beauty, and delicious trace of foreignness would make her a fantasy creature in many mens' eyes. Luke wasn't used to feeling jealous, and he didn't like it. For an instant he remembered how it had been with Mary, how comfortable and easy everything was. There had been no heart pangs with her, no jealousy, nothing but the familiarity of old friends.

Charles gave him an astute glance. “It's certainly not the same, is it?” he remarked with the deliberate blandness he always used to mask words of importance. “I confess I wouldn't know how to begin again, especially with a young wife. The things you've already experienced, Tasia knows nothing about. She has years' worth of mistakes, lessons to learn…and yet, to see the world through her eyes is rather like seeing it again for the first time. I rather envy you that.” Charles smiled at Luke's arrested expression. “What is that quote? ‘Though youth gave us love and roses, age still leaves us friends and wine…’” He raised his glass in a toast. “My advice is to enjoy your second taste of youth, Stokehurst. And leave the wine to me.”

The lamps were turned discreetly low as Luke entered the bedroom. Tasia was alone, waiting for him with her hands clasped at her midriff. She was dressed in a linen nightgown trimmed with lace, her hair falling in a cloud of curls down her back. She was so beautiful, so fresh and innocent. Luke caught a glimpse of the gold band on her finger, and the knowledge of all that it signified was overwhelming. He had never wanted to care about a woman like this, had actually feared it, but now that all was said and done, he was glad. He had never felt such happiness, and with it came the curious relief of being unguarded, humble, human.

“Lady Stokehurst,” he whispered, pulling her against his robe-covered chest. “You look like an angel in white.”

“Cousin Alicia gave this to me.” She fingered the sleeve of the gown, staring at him with luminous cat-eyes.

“Beautiful,” he murmured.

Tasia wore a little frown. “My lord, I wish to discuss something important with you.”

“Oh?” Luke toyed with her long curls as he waited for her to continue.

She rested a supplicating hand on his chest. “I expected that we would share the same room tonight. But I thought that you should be made aware of my instructions to Mrs. Knaggs that beginning tomorrow we will occupy separate bedrooms.”

Luke's only visible reaction was a slight quirk of the eyebrows. They had never discussed sleeping arrangements. He had thought there would be no question that they would share the same bed. “I didn't marry you in order to sleep apart from you,” he replied.

“Naturally you will have the right to visit my bed whenever you feel the inclination, my lord.” Tasia smiled shyly. “My parents had this kind of arrangement, as do the Ashbournes. It's only proper. Alicia says that it's very common in England.”

Luke contemplated her silently. No doubt there was a variety of marriage manuals and ladies' magazines that recommended separate beds as a feature of a respectable home. He didn't care about anyone's arrangement but his. He'd be damned if he spent one minute sleeping apart from Tasia merely to satisfy someone else's notion of a proper marriage.

He tightened his arm around her back. “Tasia, I will want you every night—and I don't much care for the idea of ‘visiting’ my wife. Don't you think it would be more convenient if we shared this room?”

“It's not a question of convenience,” she said earnestly. “If we have only one room, people will know that we occupy the same bed every single night.”

“God, no,” he said, looking appalled. He scooped her up in his arms, carried her to the raised bed, and dropped her onto the wide expanse of ivory silk.

Tasia frowned at his sarcasm. “My lord, I'm trying to explain about propriety—”

“I'm listening.”

But he wasn't, really. His hand played over her body, sliding from her hip to her breast until her explanation became all muddled. He bent over her breasts, licking through the bodice of her gown as he searched for a taste of skin beneath the rough screen of lace. Finding the hardened peak of one nipple, he bit lightly, and then stroked the damp lace with his tongue. Tasia gasped and fell silent.

“Go on,” Luke murmured, peeling the gown away from her breast. His breath fell hotly on her naked skin. “Tell me about propriety.”

She only moaned and reached for him, pulling his head closer. Smiling, he kissed the velvety tip and opened his mouth, drawing her tender flesh gently between his teeth. The idea of separate rooms was abandoned, as Luke gave her a thorough demonstration of why they would require only one room and one bed.

Tasia had married Luke with the expectation of finding peace. The past year had been so tumultuous that all she wanted now was a quiet, orderly life. She soon found out that Luke had different plans in mind. He began by taking her to London, despite her objections to leaving Emma. “My parents will be coming to stay with Emma,” Luke said, lounging on the bed as he watched Tasia comb out her long hair. “She understands that newlyweds require some time alone to get used to each other. Besides, Emma likes nothing better than to bait my mother.”

“She'll be up to mischief,” Tasia warned, frowning at the thought of Emma left to run wild, with only the servants and two elderly grandparents to restrain her.

Luke smiled at her prim reflection in the mirror. “So will we.”

Tasia was enchanted by the Stokehurst house in London, an Italianate villa situated on the Thames River. The house had three round towers with cone-shaped roofs. It was surrounded on three sides with picturesque shaded loggias. There were several indoor fountains adorned with antique tiles or marble sculpture. The previous owner had liked the sound of splashing water so much that he had wanted to hear it from every hall in the house.

“It doesn't look lived in,” Tasia remarked as they strolled from room to room. In spite of the villa's elegance, it was bereft of knickknacks or any items of a personal nature. “One would never guess whose house this is.”

“I bought this place after the other one burned,” Luke said. “Emma and I lived here for a while. I suppose I should have hired someone to decorate it.”

“Why didn't you live at Southgate Hall?”

He shrugged. “Too many memories. At night I kept waking up and expecting…”

“To find Mary beside you?” she asked softly, when he didn't finish.

Luke stopped in the middle of a circular marble hall and turned her to face him. “Does it bother you when I mention her?”

Tasia reached up to brush the hair off his forehead, her slim fingers combing through the dark locks. The tender lines of her mouth curved in a smile. “Of course not. Mary was an important part of your past. I only count myself fortunate that now I'm the one who sleeps next to you at night.”

Luke's eyes were dark, fathomless blue as he stared at her. He traced the delicate tip of her chin with his thumb and forefinger, lifting her face. “I'm going to make you very happy,” he whispered.

“I am—” Tasia began, but his fingers stilled the movement of her lips.

“Not yet. Not nearly enough.”

He spent the first two weeks showing her London, from the original site of Roman occupation to the areas of Mayfair, Westminster, and St. James. They rode thoroughbreds through the lush acres of Hyde Park and visited Covent Garden, where they walked under the glass-canopied market rows and paused to watch a Punch-and-Judy show. Tasia smiled slightly at the antics of two puppets battering each other, but she didn't share the uproarious laughter of the crowd around her. The English had a strange sense of humor, finding a great amusement in pointless violence that seemed at odds with their civilized nature. Bored with the show, she tugged at Luke's arm to urge him closer to vendor stalls filled with flowers and fruit, and others laden with toys.