Beguiling the Beauty

CHAPTER 18

Christian had a fitful night—not that he’d known any other kind since she’d disembarked the Rhodesia. But after their encounter in his private museum he could only reel with shame and horror at how wrong he had been. What must she have felt, to have her character twisted and denigrated so carelessly, without the slightest regard for the truth.

In the morning he stopped by the breakfast parlor. He’d been having breakfast in his study, but he knew she usually had hers in the parlor, with the day’s papers and often a copy of Nature by her elbow.

She was not there.

“She has gone for a walk, sir,” said Richards.

“Where?” The grounds of Algernon House were vast. She could be miles away.

“She did not inform us, sir. She only said not to expect her before luncheon.”

“When did she leave?”

“About two hours ago, sir.”

It was not quite nine o’clock yet. If she did not come back before luncheon, she’d be out a good six hours. “You let a woman in her—”

Christian stopped himself. No one else knew of her condition yet. “Send me Gerald. Tell him to hurry.”

Gerald, head groundskeeper, arrived slightly out of breath. “Your Grace?”

“Has the duchess asked you any questions about the quarry?”

“Yes, sir, she has indeed.”

“When?”

“Yesterday, sir.”

“Did she ask for directions?”

“She did, sir. I drew her a map. She also asked about digging implements and I told her about the cabin with all the tools in it.”

“Isn’t the cabin locked?”

“She asked for my key, sir, and I gave it.”

Ten minutes later, Christian was on his horse, galloping toward the quarry.

The remains of the quarry consisted of a near-circular cliff with a ramp going down to the bottom. To reach the top of the ramp, he had to guide his stallion up a small hill. The sight that greeted him as he crested the knoll made him lose his breath.

Standing halfway up the earthen ramp that he’d had built years ago to facilitate access to the higher parts of the cliff was his baroness, complete with the veiled hat that had been such a part of her mystery. She stood with her back to him, studiously chipping away at a promising patch of sediment, late Triassic by the look of it. Setting down her hammer and chisel, she picked up a brush and swept away the debris around an ocher-colored protuberance. All the while she whistled, a lively aria from Rigoletto, her notes bright and exactly in tune, until she hit a sustained high note where she ran out of air and stuttered. This made her giggle.

At the sound of her laughter, the Ghost of Ocean Crossings Past shouldered through him, a great, muscular longing.

He did something: tightened his hands on the reins or the grip of his thighs on the flanks of his steed. The horse shifted, struck its hooves against the ground, and let out a rumbly neigh.

She looked over her shoulder. The front of the veil had been lifted over the crown of her hat; her face was dirty and smudged, her extraordinary eyes largely hidden beneath the wide brim. All the same he felt the familiar upending of his peace of mind, of the ingrained expectation that he should affect the world and those in it, but not the other way around.

He nudged his mount forward. At the bottom of the slope there was a hitching post. He tied the horse and made his way up the ramp.

“How did you find me?”

“It’s not that difficult to guess which part of my estate you may wish to explore. What have you found?”

She glanced at him, seemingly surprised by his civility. “A very small skull. I am hoping it might be a juvenile dinosaur but most probably not—it’s too far into the Tertiary strata.”

“An amphibian, by the looks of it,” he judged.

She did not quite look at him. “I’m still thrilled.”

A silence spread. He didn’t know what to say. For a man of science, a devotee to cold facts, he had blundered badly, allowing his action to be guided by assumption after ill-supported assumption. “You said you were there at my Harvard lecture in person,” he heard himself say. “Why didn’t you approach me afterward and correct my misconceptions?”

She swirled the bristles of a brush against the skull’s small, sharp teeth. “I couldn’t have shared the most painful details of my life with a stranger who had coldly condemned me.”

No, of course not.

“So you chose to punish me instead.”

She drew a deep breath. “So I chose to punish you instead.”

His hand tightened around his riding crop. For a moment it seemed that he was about to say something, but he only inclined his head and left: untethered his horse, rode it up the slope, and disappeared from sight.

Venetia bit her lower lip. She was still unsettled from their conversation the night before, during which she had shared the most painful details of her life, and he had reacted not at all.

But then he too had shared his most closely held secret and she had thrown it back in his face—with great glee, as far as he could tell.

She sat down to rest on a hardened clump of soil. After a while, she thought of picking up the hammer and the chisel and chipping away some more at the edges of the skeleton. But her arms were sore and each whack of the hammer had jarred the socket of her arm. It had been a long time since she last dug: Then she’d been an indefatigable child who never ached anywhere; now she was a pregnant woman who didn’t sleep well.

It would be wiser to be on her way back to the house. She had prepared for her outing with a flask of tea and a sandwich. The sandwich was already gone—eaten en route, as it had taken her longer than expected to find the site. The flask, too, was nearly empty—the day had warmed fast.

It would be a hot, thirsty walk home.

The sound of horse hooves and wheels. She spun around, hoping to see Christian. But it was only Wells, the gamekeeper, who’d come in a two-wheel dogcart pulled by a Clydesdale.

“Do you need a lift to the manor, mum?” said Wells.

Venetia was surprised and relieved. “Yes, I do. Thank you.”

Wells carried the bucket of tools back to the shed while she climbed up to the slope to the dogcart.

“Did you happen by the quarry?” she asked, once he had helped her up to the high seat. The gamekeeper’s cottage was somewhere nearby, from what Gerald had told her.

“No, mum. His Grace stopped by and asked me to wait on you. He also asked the wife to have some tea and some biscuits for you.”

Wells passed her a basket covered with a large napkin. She ate a biscuit. It tasted lemony. “It’s very kind of you and Mrs. Wells.”

And even kinder of Christian, to arrange for transport and nourishment, before she’d even realized her needs.

All of a sudden she couldn’t wait to see him again. Enough of the Great Beauty. Enough of her pride. And enough of this fretting about their impasse. He was the love of her life—it was time she treated him as such.

“Would you mind hurrying a little?” she asked Wells, who drove as if the dogcart were the state carriage during the Queen’s Jubilee.

“His Grace said I was to drive slow and steady, so as to not jostle you, mum.”

“That’s very lovely of His Grace, but I’m not afraid of jostling. Faster, please.”

The Clydesdale went from a stately trot to a more energetic trot, but Wells refused to accelerate further. Venetia waited impatiently for the manor to come into view. And when the dogcart drew up before the front steps, she thanked Wells and ran inside.

“Where is the duke?” she asked the first person she came across, who happened to be Richards.

Richards looked surprised at the question. “His Grace has departed for London.”

Christian hadn’t said a thing about leaving Algernon House. “Of course,” she murmured, hoping she didn’t look as she felt, faltering. “I meant when did he leave?”

“Half an hour ago, ma’am.”

“Thank you, Richards,” she said numbly.

She wanted to kick herself. So I chose to punish you instead. How could she have given that answer as if it were complete in and of itself?

So I chose to punish you instead. But my scheme disintegrated once I realized you were not the villain I believed you to be. And the greatest mistake of my life was not marrying Tony, but not telling you the truth after I fell in love.

That’s what she should have said. But she was too late. He was gone, no longer even keeping up the pretense of honeymoon togetherness.

“Will you be needing anything else, ma’am?” asked Richards.

She stood irresolute.

“Ma’am?”

“You may return to your other duties, Richards.”

Richards bowed and walked away. Venetia stared at his disappearing back.

“Wait!” she heard herself cry. “Ready me a carriage to take me to the rail station. I, too, am going to London.”

She was not some bleating ninny who stopped at the first obstacle. He’d gone to London, not fallen off the edge of the world. She’d be there before teatime.

“Yes, ma’am. Right away, ma’am,” answered Richards, something suspiciously like a smile on his face.

And she would not come back to Algernon House before she’d bared her heart.

Meg Munn, the maid who’d claimed to be pregnant with Townsend’s child, turned out to be surprisingly easy to locate. Christian had sent out a cable before he left Derbyshire in the morning. Upon his arrival in London, McAdams, his solicitor, already had something to report.

“I spoke to Mr. Brand, the agent who’d let houses to Mr. Townsend during several London Seasons, hoping he might have some information on Mr. Townsend’s staff. As it so happened, the maid Meg Munn had married Mr. Harney, one of Mr. Brand’s former clerks, who is now a greengrocer in Cheapside.

“I went to Cheapside and located the establishment. Mrs. Harney told me that while she’d accepted Mr. Townsend’s advances from time to time, she much preferred Harney, upon whom she also bestowed her favors. When she found herself with child, she was fairly certain it was Harney’s, but she felt a little scheming would not be amiss, a way to cajole her mistress to provide a dowry for her.”

“Thank you, Mr. McAdams.” Not that Christian still doubted his wife. This exercise was less about proving her trustworthiness, and more—he wasn’t sure what to call it. Punishment, perhaps, for himself. To see just how infinitely wrong he’d been where she was concerned. “And the duchess’s fossilized footprints?”

“The paleontological artifact has been moved to Euston Station, sir. It is ready to leave when you are.”

“Very good,” said Christian.

He should have apologized to her in the quarry. But the words had stuck in his throat. To properly express his contrition would revisit the fact that he’d coveted her from afar these many years. And he couldn’t, not before her beautiful eyes and clear gaze.

The “paleontological artifact” would have to speak for him. And by personally escorting it home, he hoped it would speak loud and clear the words he couldn’t quite bring himself to utter.

A knock came at the door of his study. “Sir, I have Lady Avery and Lady Somersby calling for you,” said a footman.

Lady Avery was the gossip who’d been at his Harvard lecture and then spread Christian’s words all over London. Why would he want to see her and her equally worthless sister?

“I’m not at home today.”

The footman withered at his tone. “I tried to inform the ladies, sir. But they would not listen to me. They said”—he swallowed—“they said that you’d regret it, sir, if you didn’t hear what they had to say about the duchess.”

He frowned. He could ignore any and all insinuation concerning himself, but not those concerning Venetia. Venetia, he repeated her name in his mind. So familiar, those syllables, the central refrain of his life.

“Show them to the drawing room.”

“Yes, sir.”

He strode into the drawing room five minutes later. “You are not welcome here.”

“Well, well.” Lady Avery smiled wolfishly. “Then we’d best state our business quickly and be on our way, ought we not?”

“We ought to indeed,” echoed Lady Somersby.

“You see, sir, my sister and I take our reputations very seriously. We might be gossips, but we are reliable gossips. We do not fabricate stories and we do not disseminate news we cannot verify. At times we editorialize and offer our own interpretation of the meaning and significance of events, but we support our assertions with utmost care and we never concoct the underlying events.

“I was there at your Harvard lecture, sir, seated in the fifth row. The young man who rose to defend the good name of the beautiful women of the world is my son-in-law’s cousin. I took very good notes of what you said and I knew instantly that you were speaking of the former Mrs. Easterbrook.

“As it is not my duty to protect you from your indiscretion, when I came back, I related the story faithfully and well. But you and the former Mrs. Easterbrook mounted a brilliant counteroffensive: dance, carriage ride, and elopement. Now people who have trusted my sister and me for decades have suddenly begun to question our accuracy and dependability. Our reputation is at stake here.”

“That is hardly my concern,” Christian said coldly.

“Of course it is not, but it is very much ours. To that extent, we redoubled our effort to prove ourselves. No doubt you will be interested to hear what we have unearthed?”

“Not at all.”

As if he hadn’t spoken, Lady Avery went on. “We have obtained the visitors’ registry from Brooks’s, for the month of August, eighteen eighty-eight. On the twenty-sixth, two days before Mr. Townsend was found dead, there were only four visitors in the evening, and you, sir, and Mr. Townsend, were among them.“

A tinny, acrid taste was on Christian’s tongue. Fear. Not for himself, but for his wife.

“We also have in our possession copies of the bills of sale for three jewel necklaces Mr. Townsend bought, in the weeks preceding his death. We have members of Mr. Easterbrook’s family willing to swear on stacks of Bibles that at the time of his death, his wife was chatting and making merry in the parlor. And last, but not least, my son-in-law’s cousin—the one who’d been at the lecture—is on his way to England: a visitor at our invitation, but also an additional eyewitness who will corroborate every last one of our claims.”

“What do you want?” His voice did not shake, but he did sound desperate—at least to himself.

“You mistake us, sir. We are not blackmailers, but seekers of the truth. Granted, our truths may be trivial in your eyes, but they matter to us—as much as your pursuits matter to you and very possibly more.”

“Therefore this is only a courtesy call on our part, sir,” added Lady Somersby, “to let you know that we are not about to let the matter rest. We will fight for our reputation tooth and nail.”

He almost laughed—their reputation. Except there was not the least irony in Lady Somersby’s words. She meant everything she said—they meant everything they said. Much as he might sneer at their calling and their efforts, they took themselves with utter seriousness.

“I don’t care what you say about me, but the duchess is innocent of any crimes. I will not allow you to injure her.”

“Then you should not have implied that she is ruthless and greedy, sir,” replied Lady Avery, perfectly at ease.

“Precisely. If you lied, you make amends. If Mr. Townsend lied, well, let the duchess make the truth known,” added Lady Somersby.

“What if she has no interest in making the private particulars of her life with Mr. Townsend known to the public?”

“Then that is her choice, isn’t it?”

“I went to school with Grant, Lady Somersby’s nephew. The present company all know of his inclinations. Yet I’ve never heard either of you breathe a word of it. That tells me you do not need to speak of everything you know.”

“That is different. We gossip to shed light on passions and weaknesses, not to ruin lives.” Lady Avery rose. “Mr. Townsend is already dead and the former Mrs. Easterbrook, well, she is the Duchess of Lexington—such enormous good fortune cannot be dented by a few juicy nuggets that we choose to disseminate. Come, Grace, we have importuned the duke long enough. Good day to you, sir, and we will see ourselves out.”

“Wait,” he said. His breaths were shallow, his heartbeat unsteady. The Lexington name could protect Venetia from ostracization, but it would not shield her from the sort of torment Lady Avery and Lady Somersby proposed to unleash: She would be forced to relive the worst moments of her life while Society feasted on her private anguish for entertainment.

“If it is true that you are truth seekers above all, and if it is true that you adhere to your own code of honor, then I am willing to offer you certain truths you will not learn elsewhere. In exchange I ask that you refrain from causing the duchess any further distress.”

The women exchanged a look. “We cannot make any promises until we hear what it is you have to tell us. After all, we have toiled more than a quarter century for our reputation. We cannot overlook such a blight for a minor confession.”

A minor confession. Was that what his revelation would be deemed as? There was every possibility. These were jaded women neck deep in every kind of human foible. What was to him an unbearably intimate secret might very well rank somewhere near the bottom of their scale in terms of salaciousness and titillation.

But he had no choice. His ill-considered words had been the cause of enough chagrin. No more.

The women’s nostrils flared. Their gaze upon him was that of two vultures that had waited patiently and would soon feast. He felt ill, nauseated almost, to bare his soul before such as them.

He gripped the back of the chair before him. “I fell in love with my wife ten years ago, when she was still Mrs. Townsend.”

The women exchanged another look. Lady Avery sat down again.

His knuckles were white. He forced his hands to unclench. “It was—difficult. Not only because she seemed happily married, but also because my sentiments were consuming—beyond my control. Then I ran into Townsend. And he’d said what he’d said. I need not repeat how I interpreted subsequent events.

“What I did not say at the lecture was that my revulsion and outrage did little to emancipate me from my enslavement. However unwillingly, I remained in thrall to her beauty. In the ensuing years, I made sure that our paths would not cross.

“But the time had come for me to do my duty and marry. I was obliged to be in London during the Season. As my return drew near, my doubts grew. Mrs. Easterbrook’s hold over me remained undiminished. If I came across her again, I was not confident that my principles would be strong enough to withstand my fixation. Years of resistance could be undone by a single encounter.

“In Sanders Theatre, my mind was in a state of unrest. I managed to get through the body of the lecture, but I betrayed myself during the questions. At the time I only thought I was reinforcing my own resolution, but I quickly realized that I’d committed a great indiscretion. I took comfort in the fact that I was more than three thousand miles from home and my American audience would not know of whom I spoke. That, as you well know, turned out not to be the case.

“Since then I’ve had cause to revise my opinion of my wife. I’d been very much mistaken about her. Even if I did not know what she looked like, I would still find her beautiful. I—”

The door of the drawing room opened to reveal the loveliest woman in the world, clad in a sandstone-colored traveling gown. “Christian,” she said, “I know I have not been—”

She saw Lady Avery and Lady Somersby. Her eyes narrowed. Her tone turned icy. “I did not know we were at home to callers.”

She was every bit the haughty duchess.

“You have met Mr. Grant, one of His Grace’s dear friends from his school days, have you not, Your Grace?” Lady Somersby asked her.

“I do not believe I’ve had the pleasure.”

“Mr. Grant happens to be my late husband’s nephew—a very fine young man, and very close to myself.”

She raised a very superior eyebrow. “Is he?”

“And do you know what we learned from Mr. Grant recently?” Lady Somersby went on, an infernal gleam in her eyes. “That the duke has been obsessively in love with you, ma’am, for the past ten years. In view of the turns of events of late, it is my firm opinion that he engineered this entire enterprise with the express purpose of making you his own.”

Lady Avery’s teacup rattled. Christian was torn between an urge to violence and a numb horror. Had he? Was this what his action had been all about? To force her to pay attention to him? To bring her into his proximity without stooping to court her?

He wanted to protest. But his tongue must have swollen to a size that not only made speech impossible, but also blocked his airway. He could not breathe.

His wife cast an incredulous glance his way. Then she faced Lady Somersby. “Explain yourself.”

“You are the one woman he’d always coveted. By creating this particular tempest, His Grace easily put you in an awkward and vulnerable position, ma’am. All the better, then, to rescue you from this dilemma, no?”

“Brilliant, my dear, brilliant,” murmured Lady Avery. “Now everything makes sense.”

“I hate to burst this pretty bubble of self-congratulation,” said Venetia, “but what dross. What rubbish. The duke had never given me a thought in his life before he spoke to Mr. Townsend—and very few since.”

“I beg your pardon?” cried the gossip chroniclers together.

“Mr. Townsend had been an awful husband, but His Grace had no cause to know such a thing. Therefore one cannot blame him for taking Mr. Townsend at his word. And why, when asked a direct question, shouldn’t he have used Mr. Townsend’s account as a cautionary tale? After all, appearances are deceiving.” She inhaled deeply. “Now we come to the part of the tale that you, Lady Avery, should have put together for yourself but did not: I was there that day at the lecture.”

Lady Avery gasped. “You jest, ma’am.”

“I do not. Ask anyone. Miss Fitzhugh was gathering material for an article on the graduating class of Radcliffe, and Lady Fitzhugh and I were her chaperones. You can well imagine our reaction to the duke’s accusations. Miss Fitzhugh would have torched his properties had he any on the other side of the pond. But I had the better idea. I would make the duke pay with his heart. To that purpose I booked a passage on the Rhodesia.”

Lady Somersby leaped up. “You were the duke’s mysterious veiled lover?”

“I see you have guessed at long last,” said Venetia with cool sarcasm. “My plans, however, went awry. The duke, I’m sure, enjoyed himself. But I was the one who fell in love. He is everything I want in a man—and much, much more, if you know what I mean.”

Lady Somersby’s eyes were the size of eggs. Christian’s jaw dropped. His wife paid him no mind.

“I was desperately in love, but I could not approach the duke: Were we to rendezvous in London, he would demand that I remove my veil—and you can well imagine the scene that would ensue. But I followed him about, to the British Museum of Natural History, and to the Savoy Hotel where we were to dine together in honor of his birthday.

“When the scandal broke, the duke came to my aid—despite his many reservations concerning my character. He danced with me once and took me for a carriage ride in the park, but that was the entire extent of interaction he allowed between us. Our marriage came about and only came about because I found myself in a delicate condition.”

Lady Avery’s hand slapped against her roomy bosom. “Oh my goodness gracious me.”

“Precisely. Mr. Townsend had convinced me that I could not conceive. The duke quite proved otherwise. And if you doubt me, feel free to speak with Miss Redmayne at the New Hospital for Women. Faced with such consequences, I had no choice but to approach the duke and beg him to marry me. He was understandably furious, but he did the honorable thing and made me his wife. This was why he married me, not because of some deep, dark fixation he’d carried with him for years uncounted, but because he is a man who does not let personal opinions stand in the way of obligation.”

Christian was stunned. Ladies Avery and Somersby likewise so. At last, Lady Somersby said, “If you will excuse us for a moment, my sister and I must confer in private.”

They took themselves to a corner of the room, behind a screen. Christian pulled his wife to the opposite corner.

“Letting them know about your condition? Are you mad?” It was not easy keeping his voice down.

“Possibly. But I can’t let them go around telling everybody that you’ve been in love with me since forever.”

“Why not?”

“Because you would have hated it. And you must choose better friends. I am extremely disappointed in Mr. Grant.”

“Grant doesn’t know a thing. I’ve not said a word to him.”

“Then who could have informed those vultures? I can’t believe the dowager duchess would have done something like this.”

“She didn’t—I’ve never said anything to her, either. I’ve never told anyone except you.”

“Then—”

“I did. They’d dug up all sorts of evidence that Townsend and I were indeed in the same place at the same time shortly before he died and that everything else Lady Avery asserted could also be supported. They were out to prove that they had their gossip right. And I told them that if they left the past alone I’d tell them something better worth their time.”

She blinked slowly, her lashes long, sooty. “Why?”

He swallowed. “I can’t have you hurt again. I won’t. And you, you ninny, you sweep in and undo everything I just did.”

He made a throttling gesture with his hands.

She covered her mouth, then she laughed. God, how he adored her laughter.

“You do love me,” she said, her voice full of wonder.

“Of course I do, you idiot. How can you think that I do not? Seen or unseen, you bring me to my knees.”

“I can be on my knees sometimes, if you’d like.” She giggled.

Lust jolted through him. “Be serious,” he said with some difficulty. “We are in a room with two she-wolves.”

“I don’t care. They can’t hurt me. Nor can Mr. Townsend ever again.” To his shock, she wrapped her arms about him. “I love you. I love you madly. That’s what I came to tell you. I couldn’t help falling in love with you as soon as I got to know you. And I’m very sorry for acting the Great Beauty and hurting you.”

The beauty of her words were almost beyond his comprehension. He embraced her fiercely. “I’m the one who should apologize. I started all the troubles and I was the stupidest numskull who ever lived.”

Someone cleared her throat. “Your Graces,” said Lady Avery, “my sister and I have come to a conclusion.”

He would have told them to bugger off but his wife took charge of the situation. She disengaged herself from his arms and stepped back, but not before she rubbed her thumb along his lower lip, a gesture of blatant promise. He was instantly hot with need.

She turned toward the gossips. The smile was wiped from her face; she was once again the Great Beauty. “You will be swift about it. The duke and I have other plans for the afternoon.”

Christian very nearly blushed. Lady Avery did blush, in fact.

She had to clear her throat again. “We have been conveyors of fine gossip for more than twenty-five years, my sister and I. We see so many failings and shortcomings, sometimes we forget that not everyone is selfish. You each sought not to protect yourself, but to shelter the other. And for that, we are willing to tolerate a stain on our otherwise spotless record. We shall not bring up Mr. Townsend’s name again, and when my son-in-law’s cousin arrives, I will escort him to the Continent instead of having him linger about London. In exchange, we ask that we be the first ones to inform Society of the duchess’s condition, in say, four weeks’ time.”

Christian could not believe it. There was some humanity left in Ladies Avery and Somersby. Who knew?

His wife nodded, as if in approval. “Accepted.”

The three women shook hands on their agreement. The gossip chroniclers showed themselves out. But before Christian could say anything, the dowager duchess was shown in.

“Stepmama, how did you know we are in town?”

“I gave particular instructions to your staff that I be informed as soon as you return, although”—she looked with speculation toward his wife—“I did not know the duchess has also come.”

“I could not bear to be parted from my bridegroom during our honeymoon,” said Christian’s wife, smiling at—and thoroughly dazzling—him. “So I’ve chased him to London.”

“I only came to take the tetrapodichnites out of storage and bring them to you.”

Her smiled widened. “You were going to do that?”

“Of course.”

“The tetrapo-what?” demanded his stepmother.

“Fossilized saurian footprints. My bride has a passion for prehistoric monsters.”

His bride dipped her head and peered up at him from underneath her magnificent lashes. “The duke encourages it. He is going to take me on his expeditions.”

The dowager duchess looked from Christian to Venetia and back again, her lips beginning to curve into a smile. “I see I’ve been worried over nothing. You could have told me all is well, Christian.”

He could scarcely take his eyes off his Venetia. “My humblest apologies, Stepmama. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

The doors of the drawing room opened again, this time to admit Lord Fitzhugh, Lady Fitzhugh, Miss Fitzhugh, and Lord Hastings. Venetia gave a delighted squeal, embraced them one by one, even Lord Hastings, and performed introductions.

“And how did you know to come so quickly, Lord and Lady Fitzhugh?” asked the dowager duchess. “Did you also bribe someone on the duke’s staff?”

Venetia laughed. “No indeed, ma’am. I cabled them before I left Derbyshire. There was something from my brother’s town house that I wanted. But I meant only for him to send it via courier.”

“As if any of us would stay behind when we know you are in town,” said Miss Fitzhugh.

“It’s excellent to see you, Venetia.” Lord Fitzhugh placed a hand on his sister’s arm. “You, too, Lexington. I see marriage agrees with the both of you.”

“A very pleasant state of affairs, I must admit,” said Christian, his gaze again straying toward his wife.

A look that his brother-in-law instantly comprehended. “And since you are still on your honeymoon, I believe we should make ourselves scarce. Shall we, Helena?”

Miss Fitzhugh complied reluctantly. “All right, if you say so, Fitz.”

“I left Mr. Kingston in the middle of a game of chess. That would never do. I’d better head home myself,” added the dowager duchess.

There was another round of hugs. Miss Fitzhugh handed her sister a wrapped package. Christian and his wife saw everyone to their carriages, then, side by side, they walked sedately up the stairs. The moment they were in his room, however, she leaped onto him and kissed him wildly.

“Shouldn’t you take more care in your condition?” he managed when he surfaced for air.

“Hmm. Not yet.”

He laid her down in his bed. “I am about to make love to you while you are visible. I’m not sure I’ll survive the experience.”

“You will.” She clutched his face between her hands. “And when there is light, you can see how much I love you.”

He kissed the pulse at her throat. “In that case, I could get used to it.”

Afterward they held each other tight.

“I wanted you for my sister, you know,” she murmured.

He kissed the tip of her nose. “Your sister who is in love with a married man?”

“You remember that?”

“I remember everything you said to me on the Rhodesia.”

“Yes, that sister. My sister-in-law and I rather wistfully believed that if she’d only meet you, all would be well. So when we saw a poster for your lecture, we had to drag her to it.”

He kissed her eyelashes. “How did she like me before I began to slander you?”

“I’ve never asked her, but I was quite solidly impressed. So much so that even after you’d compared me to the Great Whore of Babylon—”

“I did not.”

She giggled. “So that even after you did that, I still found myself drawn to you.”

“And believed me to be propositioning you even when I was not.”

“You can’t possibly understand—I take that back. You can very well understand what it is like to be repelled yet compelled by a person at once. I was beside myself.”

“Was that what made you wild in bed?”

She snuggled closer to him. “Probably. And I was wild, wasn’t I?”

“And wounded. And conflicted. And indomitable. When we were apart, I thought constantly of how you solved all your problems with your own hands—and made sure to emulate you.”

“Serving as an example to the Duke of Lexington—you don’t know how proud I am.” She laughed as she raised herself on her elbow. “Now where is my photograph?”

“Which photograph? Is that what you wanted delivered to you?”

She nodded. “A photograph of my Cetiosaurus. I didn’t take it with me to Algernon House just after we married because I wasn’t sure whether I could ever be at home there. But this time, I was determined to take it with me no matter what. Just as I was determined to drag you kicking and screaming into my bed.”

He rubbed a strand of her hair against his cheek and smiled. “Will you show me the picture?”

“I see I’ve dropped it by the door.”

She slipped out of bed, her hair loose, her person entirely naked.

“My God, put on something.”

Coquettishly she glanced over her shoulder. “So I won’t look like the trollop I am?”

“So we will actually get around to the photograph. Well, too late.”

He hauled her back into bed, and it was a while before either of them remembered the photograph again. This time, he left the bed to fetch it.

She opened the package and drew out the framed photograph. He studied it closely. “You look happy and confident—rather as you do now.”

“It’s because I feel now as I did then: that I have all my life before me and endless possibilities.”

Looking at the fossil reminded him that the British Museum of Natural History was still open for the day. “If we hurry, we can have a good look at your Cetiosaurus in the flesh—or in the bones, rather. Then you are going to dine with me at the Savoy Hotel, to make up for what you owe me. And when we come home, I will give serious consideration to what you might do on your knees.”

“Oh yes,” she cried. “Yes to all three.”

He helped her dress, then pulled on his own clothes. As they approached the door, beyond which they must be proper and ducal again, he pulled her close for another kiss. “I love you, mein Liebling.”

She winked. “And you will love me even more by the end of tonight.”

They laughed and walked arm in arm out of the house, all their lives and endless possibilities before them.