They’d been standing close. He’d lifted a hand, traced her cheek, then slid one finger beneath her chin and tipped up her face. Set his lips to hers in a swift, unfulfilling kiss.
Raising his head, he’d caught her gaze. Held it for a moment, then murmured, “Take care.”
He’d released her just as Castor came hurrying from the nether regions. He’d departed without a backward glance, leaving her to wonder, to speculate. To plan.
If she dared.
That, she decided, snuggling into the quilt’s warmth, was the crucial question. Did she dare satisfy her curiosity? It was, in truth, more than curiosity; she had a burning desire to know, to experience all that could lie between a man and a woman physically and emotionally.
She’d always expected to learn those facts at some point in her life. Instead, fate and society had conspired to keep her ignorant, the commonly accepted decree holding that only married ladies could participate, experience, and thus know.
All well and good if one was a young girl. At twenty-six, she no longer fitted that description; to her mind, the proscription no longer applied.
No one had ever advanced any explanation of the moral logic behind society’s acceptance that married ladies, once they’d presented their husbands with an heir, could indulge in affairs as long as they remained discreet.
She intended to be the very soul of discretion, and she had no vows to break.
If she wished to avail herself of Trentham’s offer to introduce her to the pleasures she’d thus far been denied, there were, in her view, no social conventions she need consider. As for the somewhat indefinite quibble of her falling with child, there had to be some way around such things or London would be awash with by-blows and half the ton’s matrons perpetually pregnant; she was sure Trentham would know how to manage.
Indeed, it was in part his experience, that air of competence and expertise, that attracted her, that had made it possible that afternoon for her to grasp the invitation he’d offered.
Clearly, she’d read that invitation correctly; the subtle, step-by-step advancement of their engagement, from touch, to kiss, to sensual caress confirmed it. Now she’d taken the first step into his arms, he’d shown her enough for her to have some inkling of what she’d missed, of what lay ahead.
He’d introduced her to a degree of intimacy that was clearly the prelude to all she wished to know. He was willing to be her partner in adventure, her mentor in that sphere. To guide her, teach her, show her. In return, of course…but she understood that and, after all, who was she saving herself for?
Marriage and its attendant dependency was a yoke that simply didn’t fit her. Having accepted that years ago, her only real regret, a silent and somewhat suppressed regret, had been that she would never experience physical intimacy or that particular brand of sensual pleasure.
Now Trentham had appeared, dangling temptation before her.
Eyes on the flames glowing hotly in the hearth, she considered reaching for it.
If she didn’t act now and grab the chance fate had finally consented to allow her, who knew for how long his interest, and therefore his offer, would stand? Military gentlemen were not renowned for their constancy; she had firsthand experience of that.
Her mind slid away, assessing the possibilities, distracted by them. The fire slowly died to red-hot embers.
When the chill in the air finally penetrated her absorption, she realized she’d made her decision. Her mind had been engrossed, had been for some time, with two questions.
How was she to convey that decision to Trentham?
And how could she manage their interaction so that the reins remained in her hands?
Tristan received the letter by the first post the next morning.
After the customary salutations, Leonora had written:
With respect to the item the burglar seeks, I have decided it would be wise to search my late cousin Cedric’s workshop. The room is quite extensive, but has been closed up for some years, indeed, since before we took possession of the house. It may be that a determined search will turn up some item of real but esoteric value. I will commence my search immediately after luncheon; should I discover anything of note, I will of course inform you.
Yours, etc.
Leonora Carling
He read the letter three times. His well-honed instincts assured him there was more to it than the superficial meaning of the words, yet her hidden agenda eluded him. Deciding he’d been a covert operative for too long and was now seeing plots where there patently were none, he set the letter aside and put his mind determinedly to business.
&
nbsp; His, and hers.
He dealt with hers first, listing the various avenues available for identifying the man masquerading as Montgomery Mountford. After considering the list, he wrote a summons and sent a footman to deliver it, then settled to write a series of letters the recipients would prefer not to receive. Nevertheless, debts were debts, and he was calling them in in a good cause.