The only thing Sir Percy Somerville wanted from his wife was her love. But years of rejection have worn cracks in his heart, and he's no longer prepared to wait for her.

Cecily never wanted to marry Sir Percy, and for four years, she's taken his devotion for granted. But when he takes a step back from their marriage, she's forced to reconsider all the things she thought she wanted.

How does a lady know if she loves her husband? And most importantly, can she win him back before it's too late?

She did not feel indifferent now. If anything, her skin felt more sensitive than ever, chafing under her clothes until she longed to rip them free of her body. The heat that rose in her coiled in her lower belly, and she could not blame her flush on the stuffiness of the air.

“I hardly think that likely,” she said, feeling as though she was gasping for air.

His hand slid up her spine again, flattening across her shoulder blades as though he intended to pull her against him before thinking better of it. She longed for that pressure, even as his fingers made their infuriatingly slow path back down her spine. Then lower, just above the swell of her buttocks. In plain view of the other masked guests. Testing her limits.

Cecily’s breath caught, but she refused to pull away. If this was a game of whose will would break first, she would not succumb. After all, as improper as this might be, they were at a masquerade, and he was her husband. Of all the men on earth, the only one who had the right to lay hands on her—if she permitted it.

And permit it she did as his fingers explored the soft silk of her dress. Almost venturing low enough to be indecent, but never quite. His eyes hypnotised her, unnervingly beautiful in the dim light.

How could she ever have thought him old?

His head descended still lower, a fraction of a thought away from hers. It would be the work of a moment to tilt her face and catch his mouth against her own. A kiss. Her blood burned for it, pounded in her veins, demanding she take. For once in their marriage, all she wanted was to take.

“Tell me one reason I should believe that my wife has any investment whatsoever in my exploits?” he murmured, breath brushing the damp skin of her lower lip. “Give me a reason to believe my wife cares about my comings and goings.”

Cecily’s fingers dug convulsively into his shoulders. “All wives care.”

“Is that so?” The question shivered across her skin.

“All those that I know, at least.”

“Even ones that never wished to marry their husband in the first place?”

Her heart hammered against her ribs, but they were in too deep for her to do anything but give him her truth. “Even then.”

“Mm.” He pulled her even closer. They’d spiralled out to the very edge of the dancing crowd, beside a pillar and bronze vase. Although people surrounded them on all sides, she felt as though they were invisible, alone in a world that only held the two of them. “You surprise me.”

Dear Edward,

I am delighted to hear the news of Amelia’s successful confinement. Please give her my congratulations and good wishes for a speedy recovery. 

Now you have a son to continue the family line, I imagine you are cock-a-hoop. Arthur Harold is a fine name of which I approve. However, were it up to me, this ridiculous system which condemns females to the sidelines would be abolished. Why should only males inherit entailed property? 

I think I may say that my own independence has been safe in female hands, whereas too many elder sons fritter away an inheritance with wild living, as you are well aware. Surely the responsibilities of property and a peerage should be conferred to the most responsible offspring, a decision which cannot be made until a person’s character is formed. As it is, imbuing self-importance beyond maturity often leads to arrogance and entitlement—not desirable traits! 

I do hope you will have a mind to this fact when considering young Arthur’s upbringing. However, the girls are a credit to you and Amelia and I hope in the future I may say the same regarding Arthur.

I am delighted to tell you that I’ve come to a final decision regarding my own legacy. I won’t burden you with the details at this time, but suffice it to say that a female will be my beneficiary.

Yours as ever,

Aunt Augusta.