When the Duke Returns(38)

It was like a favorite story that she had already read, and now got to enact. The Taming of the Wild Man…

Isidore started humming as she dropped into a steaming bath, delicately scented with jasmine. Jasmine had an innocent touch, she thought.

As she sat in the hot water, she refined her story to a trembling virginal bride facing a wild pirate king.

That sounded like just the sort of setting to appeal to Simeon. And he obviously wanted to believe it. Look how he’d leapt at the idea that she’d never pleasured herself.

She found herself smiling. This was going to be fun. She tried out a few sentences in her mind. Oh dear! It’s far too large!

Or would one say, You’re far too large?

The etiquette of it all…Maybe she could just shudder, throw a hand over her eye and squeak, No, no, no!

Of course, the wild pirate would overcome the delicate flower’s resistance. The key was to pretend not to enjoy it.

Or perhaps the key was to be afraid?

Simeon wasn’t mad. And she had a fair idea that he truly was capable in bed. He was dressed oddly. But he looked male. In fact the very idea of him without clothes made her feel the opposite of frightened.

She got out of the bath and picked up the toweling cloth left for her by Lucille. All she had to do was flirt with him until he took some liberties. Then she would launch into a version of the fragile English rose, and, she hoped, he would revert to wild pirate, and all her worries would be resolved.





Chapter Sixteen




Gore House, Kensington

London Seat of the Duke of Beaumont

February 29, 1784

“What would you like to do this evening?” Jemma looked down the table at her husband. “We’ve been invited to Lady Feddrington’s soirée in honor of the visit of the Prussian prince, Duke Ferdinand of Brunswick; or there is a musicale given by Lady Cholmondelay; and of course there’s the performance of As You Like It that we discussed last week, in which all the women’s parts are played by boys.”

Elijah put down his napkin and stood up, walking around the long table to Jemma. She looked up at him inquiringly. He looked somewhat better than he had before eating: he was too young to look so bone-tired.

“I am in no mood to watch boys prance about the stage,” he said, taking her arm to bring her to her feet, “but I should be happy to escort you to either of the other events.”

Jemma blinked at him. She fully expected him to say that he had to work. To read those documents that he was always reading, even at the supper table. “You mean—”

He held out his arm. “I have decided not to work in the evenings. I am at your command, duchess.”

“Oh,” Jemma said, rather uncertainly.

They strolled toward the drawing room. “I suppose the soirée,” Jemma said, deciding. “I should like to dance.” She was wearing a new dress, a delicious gown of figured pale yellow satin with a pattern of tiny green leaves. Her skirts were trimmed with double flounces and rather shorter than in the previous year.

Elijah looked down at her with a smile in his eyes.

“Yes, I am wearing a new gown and I should like to show it off,” she told him, thinking that there were nice aspects to having been married so long.

“The hem reveals a delectable bit of your slipper,” he said gravely.

“You noticed!” She stuck out her toe. She wore yellow slippers with very high heels, ornamented with a cunning little rose.

“Yellow roses,” he said, “are not nearly as rare as a perfect ankle like yours, Jemma.”

“Good lord,” she said, smiling at him. “It must be a blue moon. You’re complimenting your wife. Let me find my fan and my knotting bag—”

Fowle handed them to her.

“What a lovely fan,” Elijah said, taking it from her. “What is the imagery?”

“I hadn’t looked closely,” she said, turning away so that Fowle could help her with her cloak.

“Venus and Adonis…and a very lovely rendition as well.”

She came back and stood on tiptoe to see the fan, which he had spread before him. “Oh, I see. Yes, there is Venus. My goodness.”

“She seems to be pulling poor Adonis into the bushes,” Elijah said. She loved the dry humor he displayed when he wasn’t acting like a hidebound and moralistic politician. “Look at her breasts! No wonder the poor lad looks frightened and titillated, all at once. A tantalizing bit of art, this.”

“Surely you don’t approve?” she said. “You, the proper politician?”

“No Venus has offered to pull me into the bushes, so I could hardly say.” He closed the fan. “Where on earth did it come from, Jemma? You didn’t purchase the piece without looking at the illustration?” Fowle threw a cloak around his shoulders.