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Jude held out the chair next to his for Miss Wentworth, who gave him a shy smile as she sat down. The sweet scent of her was intoxicating.

He sat beside her as Hermia handed them each a cup of tea. “Sugar or cream?” she asked. Both shook their heads.

Hermia gave them a nod and exited the study, and Mrs. Dove-Lyon said, “I assume your decision to stay means you wish to offer Miss Wentworth protection through marriage.”

Miss Wentworth sucked in her breath, and her cheeks colored.

Jude felt like a cad. She likely thought the worst of him. He looked to the widow and said, “May I have a moment alone with Miss Wentworth?”

The widow inclined her veiled head. “Certainly,” she said, standing up.

Jude waited for her to close the door to the study behind her before he turned to Miss Wentworth, who stared at him with those enchanting, wide green eyes. Worth so much more than just a bag of coins, he was certain. “I understand your situation better than you might think,” he said. “And I want to reassure you that I am nothing like Tidworth. You can rest assured that this marriage shall be in name only. You will be the Countess of Cadwell and enjoy all the protections and wealth that come with the title. And you shall have your freedom as well.”

He could not quite believe the words that had tumbled from his mouth. He’d just offered this woman—a woman he did not know—marriage. This, after he’d sworn never to marry again. What had come over him?

“My f…freedom?” Miss Wentworth stammered.

“Of your person. I will not hold you to your wifely obligations.” Jude turned his face from hers. Because even as he spoke the words, he wanted to swoop her up in his arms and take her upstairs. But he’d made a promise, never to love again. So he forced himself to continue. “It will be a marriage of convenience.”

“And what convenience do you get from it?” she asked.

Penance, he thought, but declined to say it out loud. He’d save this woman, though he’d been unable to save his wife. And he’d deny himself the warmth and love he did not deserve. He turned back to Maggie and said, “Mrs. Dove-Lyon has asked me for this favor. So, I am doing it for her. She’s a powerful woman and owing her a favor is a good investment.” None of that was true. The Black Widow would probably claim that he owed her a favor when all was said and done. Another web set, another fly caught.

Maggie flinched ever so slightly, as though he’d raised his hand to her. “I see,” she said. “But…at the very least, you will want an…heir, won’t you?”

Nate’s chest tightened. A family was something he’d always wanted. And clearly Maggie wanted one too. She deserved better. Get a hold of yourself. You’re becoming soft. Give her the chance to turn you away. “That is no matter,” he said. “My heir will be the next male in the family line. There will be no wifely obligations for you to fulfill.”

She’d dropped her gaze to her lap, and her cheeks turned a light shade of pink. Had he embarrassed her with his frank talk? Surely not. He knew Tidworth, and he understood the man’s depravity. He might be impotent, but he’d not left Miss Wentworth unmolested. At least now she could know peace. At the same time, he desperately wanted her to object and refuse him. She deserved a proper marriage to a man who could offer her happiness and pleasure—not a man who felt obligated. For a moment he thought she would refuse. But then she looked up, her eyes somewhat watery with held-back tears, and nodded. “As you wish.”

He felt her answer like a blow to the gut. This arrangement wasn’t what he wanted. But it needed to be done. She wouldn’t want him or his children if she knew his truth.

Chapter Ten

During her years as Tobias’s mistress, Maggie had dreamed many times of marriage. But she’d never imagined her wedding would take place at a notorious gambling den. Mrs. Dove-Lyon, who seemed to know everyone of use in London, obtained a special marriage license and arranged for a priest to perform a short ceremony, witnessed by Hermia and Helena. The widow herself did not attend, and, in fact, made both Lord Cadwell and Maggie sign a paper swearing they would never reveal she’d arranged their marriage. “I don’t need every discarded mistress in London coming to me, thinking that I can match them with an earl. This is a most unusual scenario, and will likely never happen again,” she’d said.

After the ceremony, they departed in Jude’s carriage to his Mayfair home. Maggie felt oddly sad to leave the Lyon’s Den. Despite some of Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s strange tactics, it had been the one place she’d felt safe. She’d grown used to the noise too, and the odd companionship she’d received from the widow’s female wolves, Hermia and Helena.

In contrast, Jude’s magnificent townhome in Grosvenor Square felt somewhat cold and hollow. Many of the rooms appeared unused, as did much of the pristine furniture. It was as though no one lived there. The only room in the house that appeared to be in use was Jude’s study, and, Maggie imagined, his bedchamber. But she wasn’t given a tour of that.

Instead, he showed her to a separate room that housed a four-poster bed, a dresser, two large drawers, a fireplace, and two velvet sitting chairs. The room had windows that looked out onto the garden, which Maggie appreciated. Still, she could not help feeling disappointed that she would be sleeping alone. She’d gone from being a mistress to a countess, yet her life felt no different.

“We will be spending most of our time in Yorkshire,” Jude said. “But I want you to feel at home here as well, so you may order whatever additional furniture you like. You’ll need a lady’s maid too and a host of new dresses. I expect that will keep you busy,” he said. “You won’t need money for anything as all bills will be sent to me, so spend what you like. But I’ll give you a stipend anyway to do with as you please.”

Maggie thanked him. She was grateful for the stipend, which she secretly planned to send to her family. But despite all his generosity, she felt like a stranger in her new home. Jude’s behavior toward her was stiff and formal, and nothing like the impassioned man who’d stood up to Tobias or who’d caught her in his strong arms and held her tight after her fall. She wanted that man. But clearly, he did not want her.

It took all of Jude’s strength to walk away from Maggie when all he wanted to do was scoop her up in his arms and carry her to the bedchamber. But he could not deceive her thus. She knew nothing of his past—nothing of the monster he truly was. He’d killed his wife, and although a court of his peers had acquitted him, he knew he was guilty. He had to pay a penance. He just never knew it would be this difficult. Life had been punishingly lonely when he’d been single, but that was sure to pale in comparison to living with a woman whose very presence drove him wild with desire, one whom he’d never be permitted to touch.

The first two weeks of Maggie’s marriage passed painfully slowly. While there were dress fittings, books, and a pianoforte to keep her busy, there were no balls, tea parties, dinners, or even outings to the theatre. The scandal of their marriage had swept through the ton, and Jude said he would not indulge the gossips by venturing out into society. He attended Parliament and closeted himself in his study much of the time, taking great pains, it seemed, to avoid Maggie.

It hurt her. And she was bored and lonely. If she was not going to have a husband in the true sense of the word, then at minimum she wanted a babe. She’d always loved children and missed her young siblings terribly. But shame kept her from them. She could not look them in the eyes and tell them she’d been a mistress. Yet a babe of her own…that would surely bring her immense comfort and joy. Still how to get Jude to give her one when he would not come near her?

The answer came to her in the form of Mrs. Dove-Lyon, who called on her unexpectedly one afternoon when Jude was out. She arrived wearing the same black veiled ensemble she always wore. It was strange to see the widow outside of her domain, where she was queen. Nonetheless, Maggie was so relieved to have some company that she had to restrain herself from hugging the woman.

“I’m so pleased to see you,” she said as they settled down to take tea together. “I didn’t realize you made social calls.”

“I came to ask you why your husband is at the Lyon’s Den every night, looking like a forlorn cat?” the widow said bluntly.

“Is he?” Maggie put down her teacup. She hadn’t even known that Jude had been going to the Lyon’s Den. He dined with her every night, made polite talk, and then disappeared into his study, and she to the drawing room or her bedroom.