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possible to disgust his wife.
    “We’ll find better quarters tomorrow,” he promised.
    She nodded.
    It was only fair. His rooms were small and sparsely furnished – he spent little time here, often sleeping at the house he kept for his mistresses. With only one bed, he couldn’t even offer Helen her own space. His staff consisted of a valet, secretary, and footman, but the secretary occupied rooms elsewhere.
    Barnes must look for a town house tomorrow. Maybe Priestley’s place. Rumors claimed Priestley was rolled up and would have to rusticate for the foreseeable future. He might welcome an offer.
    But Rafe’s immediate concern was his wedding night. Desire had been building from the moment they had met. Even embarrassment hadn’t dimmed it. Anticipation had made dinner stretch interminably. Now that he could have her, his loins strained for action.
    He must break her in carefully, though, nurturing her passion so she experienced all the pleasure he could give. He prayed that his control was up to the task.
    * * * *
    Helen’s head pounded by the time they reached the top floor. She need spend only one night here, thank heaven. Once she dealt with her trustees, they could move to her town house.
    Her father had let it since buying Audley, so she had no idea what condition it was in, but it had to be better than this. Chunks of plaster had fallen from the ceiling. Wall cracks were wide enough to see through. Several treads were so worn that she had to fight for balance. How a drunkard could live here without breaking his neck—
    She bumped into Rafe when he stopped before a door. Her mother had once claimed that she thought too much, which seemed to be true. Her best course was to concentrate on the moment and let tomorrow take care of itself.
    “We’re here,” he announced, urging her through the door. Two servants stood inside. “Helen, my footman, Paul, and my valet, Jameson. My wife, Helen Thomas.”
    She murmured greetings, but inside she quailed. No housekeeper. No maid.
    One glance at the furnishings confirmed that this was, indeed, his entire staff. No one of means presented a shabby face to the world, thus Rafe must be destitute. The door opened directly into a sitting room containing only half a dozen chairs and a small chest. To her right was a dining room, to the left a bedroom. That appeared to be it.
    Tomorrow’s meeting with the trustees would be trickier than she’d feared. Lust for wealth could drive men mad – witness Steven. Rafe would be irritated enough to learn that Audley would remain under her control. Few men would stand for a wife who controlled the purse strings as well. So she must hide the full extent of her fortune until she knew Rafe better. Building the sort of partnership her parents had enjoyed would take time. Introducing contention too soon might doom the process.
    He dismissed his servants and escorted her to the bedroom. “I will have to maid you tonight,” he announced calmly.
    “If you could undo the ties…”  Her voice trailed off, for the mere thought of his hands on her back made her dizzy, which was good. A willing wife might mitigate his fury when he discovered the terms of her trust.
    His hands moved seductively, with nary a fumble as he dealt with hidden pins and ties. Unlacing her stays, he teased beneath the edge of her shift. Heat flowed from the contact, flushing her face and building a fire in the pit of her stomach.
    “That should do it.” His voice had deepened. “I will be back shortly.”
    The door clicked shut. Helen frowned.
    Now what?  She had no nightgown, no brush, nothing with which to conduct her usual bedtime rituals. Searching her reticule didn’t help. While it contained perfume and extra hairpins, she’d left her comb in her dressing case. Cursing, she laid her gown over the back of a chair, slipped her stays and petticoat beneath its skirt, then removed her stockings. She would have to sleep in her shift.
    At least tonight should