Julian heard the bedchamber door open. Hushed feminine voices exchanged words. The door closed again and then he heard the cheerful clatter of a breakfast tray being set down on a table nearby.

He stirred slowly, feeling unusually lethargic. His mouth tasted like the inside of a horse stall. He frowned, trying to remember just how much port he had swallowed during the course of the previous evening.

It was an effort to open his eyes. When he finally did so he was totally disoriented. The walls of his room had apparently changed color overnight. He stared at the unfamiliar Chinese wallpaper for a long moment as memory slowly filtered back.

He was in Sophy's bed.

Julian eased himself up slowly onto the pillows, waiting for the rest of what should have been a very satisfying memory to emerge. Nothing came to mind except a faint, annoying headache. He scowled again and rubbed his temples.

It was not possible he could have forgotten the act of making love to his new bride. The anticipation had been responsible for keeping him in a state of aching arousal for too long. He'd been suffering for nearly ten days awaiting the right moment. Surely the denouement would have left a most pleasurable recollection.

He glanced around the room and saw Sophy standing near the wardrobe. She was wearing the same dressing gown she had worn last night. Her back was to him and he smiled fleetingly as he caught sight of a stray ruffle that had been accidentally turned under around the collar. Julian had a strong urge to go over to her and straighten the bit of lace. Then, he decided, he would take the dressing gown off altogether and carry her back to bed.

He tried to remember what her small, gently curved breasts had looked like in the candlelight but the only image that formed was one of dark, taut nipples pushing against the soft fabric of her lawn nightgown.

Deliberately he pressed his memory further and found he could recall a hazy picture of his wife lying on the bed, the nightgown drawn up above her knees. Her bare legs had been graceful and elegant and he recalled his excitement at the thought of having those legs wrapped around him.

He also remembered discarding his dressing gown as a sweeping desire kindled within him. There had been shock and uncertainty in Sophy's gaze when she had looked at him. It had angered him. He had come down onto the bed beside her, determined to reassure her and make her accept him. She had been wary and nervous but he had known that he could make her relax and enjoy his lovemaking. She had already shown him that she responded to him.

He had reached for her and…

Julian shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs in it. Surely he had not disgraced himself by failing to carry out his husbandly duties. He had been consumed with the need to make Sophy his, he would not have fallen asleep in the middle of the procedure no matter how much port he had downed.

Stunned by his incredible memory lapse, Julian started to push back the covers. His thigh scraped across a stiff portion of the sheet—a damp patch that had dried overnight. He smiled with relief and satisfaction as he started to glance downward. He knew what he would find and it would prove he had not humiliated himself after all.

But a moment later his sense of satisfaction gave way to appalled disbelief. The reddish brown stain on the sheet was far too wide.

Impossibly wide.

Monstrously wide.

What had he done to his gentle, delicate wife?

The only experience Julian had ever had with a virgin had been his wedding night with Elizabeth and with the bitter wisdom gained in recent years he'd had cause to question that one occasion.

But he had heard the usual male talk and he knew that in the normal course of events a woman did not bleed like a slaughtered calf. Sometimes a woman did not bleed at all.

A man would have to literally assault a woman to cause this much bleeding. He would have had to hurt her very badly to produce so much damage.

A queasy sensation gripped Julian's belly as he continued to stare down at the terrible evidence of his brutal clumsiness. His own words came back to him. You will thank me in the morning.

Good God, any woman who had suffered as much as Sophy obviously had would not be in any mood to thank the man who had wounded her so grievously. She must hate him this morning. Julian closed his eyes for a moment, desperately trying to remember exactly what he had done to her. No incriminating scene appeared in his beleaguered mind yet he could not deny the evidence. He opened his eyes.

"Sophy?" His voice sounded raw, even to his own ears.

Sophy jumped as if he had struck her with a whip. She whirled around to face him with an expression that made Julian grit his teeth.

"Good… good morning, my lord." Her eyes were very wide, filled with great feminine uneasiness.

"I have the feeling this particular morning could have been a great deal better than it is. And I am to blame." He sat up on the edge of the bed and reached for his dressing gown. He took his time getting into it, trying to think of how best to handle the situation. She would hardly be in a mood to listen to words of reassurance. God in heaven, he wished his head did not ache so.

"I believe your valet is ready with your shaving things, my lord."

He ignored that. "Are you all right?" he asked in low tones. He started to walk toward her and stopped when she immediately stepped back. She came up against the wardrobe and could retreat no further although the wish to do so was plain in her expression. She stood there, clutching an embroidered muslin petticoat and watched him anxiously.

"I am fine, my lord."

Julian sucked in his breath. "Oh, Sophy, little one, what have I done to you? Was I really such a monster last night?"

"Your shaving water will get cold, my lord."

"Sophy, I am not worried about the temperature of my shaving water. I am worried about you."

"I told you, I am fine. Please, Julian, I must dress."

He groaned and went toward her, ignoring the way she tried to edge out of reach. He caught her gently by the shoulders and looked down into her worried eyes. "We must talk."

The tip of her tongue came out and touched her lips. "Are you not satisfied, my lord? I had hoped you would be."

"Good God," he breathed, pushing her head tenderly against his shoulder. "I can just envision how desperately you hope I'm satisfied. I am certain you don't want to face the thought of another night like last night."

"No, my lord, I would prefer not to face such a night again as long as I live." Her voice was muffled against his dressing gown but he heard the fervency of her wish quite clearly.

Guilt racked him. He stroked her back soothingly. "Would it help if I swear to you on my honor that the next time will not be nearly so harsh an experience?"

"Your word of honor, my lord?"

He swore violently and pressed her face more deeply into his shoulder. He could feel the tension in her and he had not the foggiest notion of how to combat it. "I know you probably do not place much stock in my word of honor this morning, but I promise you that the next time we make love, you will not suffer."

"I would prefer not to think about the next time, Julian."

He exhaled slowly. "No, I can understand that." He felt her try to free herself, but he could not let her go just yet. He had to find a way to reassure her that he was not the monster she evidently had found him last night. "I am sorry, little one. I don't know what came over me. I know you will find this hard to comprehend, but in all truthfulness, I cannot remember precisely what happened. But you must believe, I never intended to hurt you."

She stirred against him, pushing tentatively at his shoulders. "I would rather not discuss it."