'I am so sore.' Vera complained, lying face down on her bed as her husband entered her room, holding a small container. 'Why on earth is that man so slow?!'

'The man is one of the finest painters in London.' He chided her with a smile. 'They say his attention to detail is unparalleled.'

'And why do we even need a new portrait? We had one done after the wedding.'

Not only had the dreadful artist made her sit in one pose for what had felt like hours, but her courses were also upon her again. Her back ached, her shoulders ached, and her breasts ached. Her insides were being ripped to shreds. She would be pleased to never move from her bed ever again.

'Oh, do you mean the one that hangs in my London townhouse?' He asked with a hint of sarcasm. 'The one in which it looks like the two of us have been sentenced to death, so miserable we are? Why on earth should I ever wish to replace that one?'

She chuckled softly. It had been a truly horrendous portrait following an equally horrendous wedding night. Oh and of course, the preceding breakfast where he had told her not to expect romance and other such silly things. That elicited another laugh which then morphed into a groan as she felt the onset of a decidedly painful cramp.

A small meow announced the arrival of the feline Duchess, clearly perturbed at having been left all by her lonesome. She hopped onto the bed, honored Minerva with the view of her bottom, and then sat down to observe what the couple was doing. Her tail swished as she nuzzled into Vera's cheek.

'Do not pretend you care for me, you wretch!' The human Duchess informed the feline one. 'You're only here because for once his attention is not on you.'

The cat had become rather obsessed with her husband, trotting after him everywhere, sleeping curled next to him, and sitting in his lap whenever she found it available. Benedict chuckled and scratched her over the head, she purred as she leaned into his touch.

Hussy.

She ought to get an ill-mannered dog that snarled at everyone and name it Benjamin! Or Duke!

Minerva attempted to move, her muscles screamed in protest so she just went limp. 'And I must inform you that your breath is most rancid! I shall ask the cook to stop giving you fish scraps.'

'Would you-?' He began and then paused, offering her the container he had brought. 'Would you like me to rub your back? I have a salve for pain and such. Helps with sore muscles and- ahem- feminine aches. I asked the family physician to send it for you after last time, it used to help Ophelia.'

'I could not possibly ask you to do that! You're my husband! And a duke!' She argued hotly. 'I shall ring for a maid.'

'I do not mind. Surely, this is proper? It's simply a Married Thing.' He chuckled in response. 'Just like the several other Married Things I'd like to do to you. Proper as it gets. With my body, I thee worship. It was in our vows, you know.'

'You are outrageous!' She squeaked. This man! Could she have stick-up-his-bum Rothbury back, please? This rogue was far too adept at flirtation and was laying siege to the fortress she had erected around her heart! They hadn't fought about anything in ages! Perhaps she ought to pick an argument? Or do something to annoy- Ouch! She winced as another cramp overtook her.

'Only for you, wife.' He winked. Winked! Since when did this man wink? He was becoming far too comfortable being improper! 'And since you don't want me to worship you in other ways.... I promise to be on my very best behavior.'

She let out an outraged sound for the sake of her pride but acquiesced with shameful readiness. She really liked having his hands on her. Smite her if it was a sin! Then she cracked open one eye and shot a look heavenward.

That was a joke, do not actually smite me, thank you.

She felt him loosen the back of her night rail until the cool night air kissed her back. He let out an appreciative rumble and her face colored at what he undoubtedly saw. The fiend had littered her back with love bites and she hadn't even known until her maid had turned into a stammering, blushing mess when she attempted to help Vera change. Minerva had been dressing herself in her undergarments to spare her maid's delicate sensibilities.

Benedict applied a dollop of the cold cream to her back, using his thumbs to spread it out. His fingers dug into her knotted muscles and she groaned with relief. Her head fell limply into the pillow with ecstasy, even as her mouth curved into a private smile. This was his way, she supposed, to show that he cared. Yes, he had been surprisingly verbal about his intentions and feelings, but this was how he was most comfortable. Doing, rather than saying. The gentle touches, the absent-minded kisses, the way he respected the fact that she was not entirely ready for their marriage to become a real one. Him leaving the more comfortable seat in the library for her, him doing something as menial as giving her a massage. Bringing her the buns she liked.

Minerva had always known that he was a good man.

Now she also knew that he was a damned good husband.

And every day, her walls crumbled just a bit more.

As she drifted off to sleep, she felt him slip in beside her and pull her toward himself.

Well! Someone was certainly taking liberties!

Hadn't even bothered to ask her for permission to stay!

She mumbled her disapproval that he quieted with a quick peck to her mouth.

Fiend!

'I can't do it, Minerva, I simply cannot.' Benedict insisted, tugging on the joined hands as panic rattled through him. The water of the lake lapped at his chest, pleasantly cool in the hot day, but each crash of the water against his skin only made him more agitated. They had been coming to the lake every day for the past week, each time wading deeper and deeper into the water. His breathing was becoming more and more strained.

'Yes, you can, Ben.' She waded closer, placing her hand over his chest. His heart beat an erratic rhythm beneath her gentle touch. 'If you want to stop, we will. But as long as I am here, you will not drown. I will never let you come to harm.'

The fierce protectiveness in her expression warmed him, made him less tense. 'Alright.'

'Anytime you want to stop, we stop. Yes?'

'Yes. I don't like it, but I want to do it. Not for you, but for myself.' He breathed deeply and let his head fall back and his feet lift off the floor. For one terrifying moment, he was weightless, back in the lake in Chatwick and in the next his wife's hands were beneath him, supporting him and he felt safe. Yes. He would come to no harm, she would not let him. That was what spouses did. Protect, support, care. He couldn't have possibly asked for a better one.

As she helped him move along the surface of the water, he flailed and thrashed at the sensation of the water slicing along his body until she whispered, 'Easy. I have you. You're fine. Talk to me.'

'Yes. Alright. I am thinking to commission a cradle for my godchild.' He forced his limbs to relax, and to his surprise, the water lifted him up and kept him on the surface. Experimentally, he kicked his feet and propelled himself from his wife's grip. He flailed once again, panicking until her hands were under him again. She helped him float around until his body went a little less tense. It was not unpleasant. The water felt good against the heat of the day, the lightness of his body in the water was a strange, but not unwelcome sensation. And the feel of her touch, well that was an altogether extremely welcome sensation. 'Rutland is convinced that it is a girl, but I think I shall have it made in a neutral color like yellow or green.'

'Oh, I think that is a lovely idea.'

'And a rocking horse,' Ben continued as he fought to keep a tremble from his voice, 'perhaps even a rattle?'

'Oh? Yes, I think a rattle right now and perhaps the horse when the child is older?'

'Mhmmm, yes. Minerva, I would like to stand now, may we please go closer to the shore?'

She complied immediately, wading to where he could comfortably stand with his head and chest above water.

'Look at you!' The excitement in her voice evident as he struggled to his feet, relief assailing him as his feet found solid ground. 'You did so well, Ben!'

She was waiting for him to gain his bearings and the second he did she was in his arms, he circled her waist and tugged her into him. Six years. Six years, he had deprived them both of this intimacy, this ease. He should be thanking his lucky stars she hadn't packed him up and sent him back to London, sprained ankle and all when he first arrived.

Christ. And the way he had spoken to her. His arms tightened just a bit more.

He would never be so stupid again.

'I am so proud of you, Ben!' She was grinning at him, hair plastered to her face, falling out of the tight braid she had it in. She was always loveliest when she was smiling. Even more so when her smile was directed at him.

'Minerva.' He rested his brow against hers. 'You are a gift.'

Later they sat huddled in blankets, his back against a tree and hers against his chest as she reclined against it. His feet were bare, the grass beneath them warm. How odd to contemplate that it had been years upon years since he had willingly set his bare feet to any surface except a carpet. Even then it had been only because Charlie and Ophelia had goaded him into a race. His toes curled into the grass, savoring the sensation.

He would not be able to do this in London.

He grimaced at the thought of the mountain of work he had been ignoring in favor of his wife, work that simply could not be done from outside of the city. Meetings, lobbying, speaking at Parliament, overseeing the factories. There was a protest brewing.

He had to go back. Soon.

And he would. Just not tomorrow.

'Have you been having fun?'

'Yes.' He grinned into her hair. 'I think cricket and tree climbing have been my favorite so far.'

'You grossly misrepresented yourself, Your Grace!' She laughed, he felt her move against his chest. 'You said you hadn't played in years, yet you bowled so fast most of us couldn't even see the ball.'

'It's the shoulders.' He shrugged. She turned to him with a smile and he couldn't help but lean forward and brush a chaste kiss across her lips. She did not protest, so he dipped in for one more taste.

Poor Duchess, he thought gleefully, your no-kissing rule has well and truly gone to the devil. Where it always belonged.

'It is a girl!' Her husband announced from his desk, waving a letter at her and interrupting her reading of Sister Agatha's newest missive. 'She's to be christened in ten days' time. They have named her Charlotte. The Duchess is well.'

'Oh, this is most wonderful news!' She beamed at him and he grinned back at her. 'Shall I have the maids pack a valise for you? I am assuming you're going to attend?'

'I-yes. Naturally.' He said and for one moment Minerva felt her heart give a sad little beat. She did not want him to go. She liked having him near. She wanted to continue exploring the possibility of them. But she would let him go. If she was not yet sure of him, she had no right to ask him to put aside his life to continue his courting. She had no right to feel so very hollow at the thought of him leav- 'But I had hoped you would come with me.'

If Minerva had not been sitting already, her knees would have turned to jelly. She felt her face heat up in sheer delight.

He wanted her by his side! He wanted her to meet his goddaughter!

Or would that be their goddaughter?

Would the baby like her?

Would the Duke and Duchess of Rutland like her? Or would they find her to be an ill-bred American?

Why did she care?

Because, damn it, she wanted his friends to like her.

Damn.

That was an admission that came at a great cost to her pride. She had spent years making herself immune to the disapproval of English high society, but she did not wish to be scorned by those her husband considered close to him.

Interpreting her shocked, nervous, and delighted silence as refusal, he hastened to add, 'I did not mean to make you uncomfortable. You don't have to come-'

'No!' She protested immediately. 'I will! I would love to come with you.'

He visibly relaxed. 'I am glad, I wanted you with me. I have wished for you to meet my friends for a long time. Their property in Northampton borders Chatwick.'

Ah. 

Where Charlie and his father had died. The house had remained vacant since the old Duke's funeral.

She approached him, reaching for his hand to press a kiss to his hand. 'Shall we stay at Chatwick?'

'No.' He shook his head. 'I haven't been back since my father's funeral. We will stay with Rutland.'

'Alright. If you should change your mind, the house can be readied in a matter of a day. I keep in touch with the butler and housekeeper. Not just for Chatwick, but all your homes.'

'Our homes.' He said almost harshly. 'I despise it when you refer to the things that belong to the dukedom as mine alone. They are yours as they are mine. With my worldly goods, I thee endow. Another one of our vows, if you recall.' He stood and tucked her into his side. 'You are my wife. Mine. Everything I have belongs to you. Do not put up this barrier between us. I understand why you need time to be sure about me, but the thought that you do not feel like you belong here cuts me deeply.'

Inadequate.

Graceless.

Vulgar.

Low born.

Without any good breeding or connections.

Shameless title hunter.

Her throat closed up. She had thought she had made herself impervious to these hurtful statements, the disdain of these people who saw only wealth and blood instead of character and heart. Was he right? Had she been internalizing their contempt this entire time? She had convinced herself that she did not care about their opinion but hadn't she run to Cornwall at the first sign of scandal? Hadn't she been too cowardly to face humiliation with aloofness?

'Christ. You haven't any idea how much I hate the part I played in this. If I had stayed by your side they would never have dared treat you less than you deserve.' He turned to face her, his eyes burning with fierce passion. 'But I promise you now, if anyone dares to make you feel undeserving of your station, I will end them.'

'You will?' She asked a little breathlessly, tilting her mouth upward in helpless invitation. There went the last of her defenses. She didn't even try to hide the happy sigh when he leaned in closer and brushed his mouth, hot and hard, against hers.

'Yes. You are the Duchess of Rothbury, no one will dare to cross you.' He hissed against her mouth. He took her lips again, nipping gently before asking, 'Now, who are you?'

'I am the Duchess of Rothbury.' She managed the response through the haze of nerves clouding her mind.

'You're goddamn right. What you are, Duchess, is mine. It is my name that you bear, it is my ring on your finger, 'he declared fiercely and Minerva almost melted into a puddle of wanting. Possessive and high-handed, annoying traits to be sure, there ought to be not a single reason why it made her feel so warm. 'And I do not let harm come to that which is mine. Do you believe me?'

'Yes.' She replied breathlessly, straining upwards to catch his lips once more.

'Now say it.' He commanded, ruthlessly plundering her mouth once more.

'You will never let me come to harm.'

'Good.' He dipped his head for one last kiss, this one tender and gentle. 'Now go finish reading your letter, we should spend this afternoon with the children if we are to be away for two or more weeks. And give Sister Agatha my regards.'

Bollocks! Who the devil had taught him to say all the right things?

At this rate, her heart would never stand a chance.