Duchess of Seduction (Hearts in Hiding 3)

regnancy had been confirmed, she’d asked from where the baby would emerge!

Now, instead of broaching a topic that Justin suspected was not discussed even among women, she’d practiced the only thing she knew would protect against conception.

Abstinence.

Resistance.

A surge of protectiveness sent the blood roaring to his head

and moisture stung his eyes. How long had his precious, darling Cressida been caught in this dark, terrible place, unable to translate her feelings for him into anything physical for fear of the consequences? Last night she had come so far, taken such bold, brave steps, faltering only at the last when he had failed, yet again, to understand her terrors.

The chair nearly toppled in Justin’s sudden haste to return home and take Cressida in his arms and counter every fear of hers in the most loving, practical way of which he was capable.

“Apologies for my abrupt departure, Mariah,” he said, “but I have just recalled an urgent appointment. Tomorrow I shall return with, I hope, confirmation to set both our minds at rest.” In three quick strides he was at the door. In less than ten minutes, he’d be home. He’d thought Cressida was playing games with him. No, he’d had no idea what Cressida was doing, but now he knew the truth. Surely, if he acted quickly, he could rekindle their precious love before she had drifted too far from him?

“That’s unlike you, Justin.”

He could barely answer, for his thoughts were concentrated entirely on the task at hand. “Sounds like your poor new friend’s husband is an ignorant boor,” he muttered, his hand upon the doorknob, “who deserves to sleep alone.”

Great was his disappointment to learn upon arriving in Bruton Street that Cressida had apparently responded to an urgent summons from her great-aunt Jane who lived in Bath and who claimed to be upon her deathbed. Brimble, the butler, said he was uncertain when Lady Lovett would return.

Chapter 9

Fumbling in her reticule for her handkerchief as she stood uncertainly in a dim passage at Mrs. Plumb’s the following Wednesday, Cressida mopped her eyes. These tears! Where did they come from? Soon she would be confined to the asylum if she did not find a remedy for the nervous anxiety that afflicted her.

She’d spent the previous five days with her great-aunt before returning this afternoon to find Justin not at home. She had to admit she’d been rather relieved.

If only she could control this infernal shaking. Tonight... What might it bring? It all depended so much on whether Miss Mariah was telling her the truth or not. Could she really have a remedy for Cressida’s woes? Was there really something so simple as a means of adequate protection each time she accepted her husband into her bed? Even something to lessen the risks was better than nothing. In all their years together, there’d been no talk of that, though she remembered broaching the difficult subject with Catherine after she’d discovered she was with child for the fourth time.

“My, my but you’ll bankrupt poor Justin if you insist on producing a daughter for him every year,” her cousin had said, pretending jocularity. “I’ve given James his two sons, which suits him very nicely .”

Feeling overwhelmed, Cressida had struggled not to break down in tears as she asked, “Is there some secret I’m not aware of, Catherine, that you speak like that? Of course I want to give Justin a son. It’s my duty. But you? You may well start producing daughters, too.”

“Not likely,” Catherine had answered wryly, and Cressida had longed to quiz her more. She had, in fact, obliquely charged Catherine with knowing of some practice to ensure that she didn’t produce girls, but Catherine had simply patted Cressida’s knee in that maddeningly superior way of hers and said as she always did, “Don’t ask me, Cressy, ask Justin. You stopped confiding in me long ago when you learned that your darling husband was the font of all knowledge.”

But of course Cressida could not ask Justin when she was growing bigger with the child they hoped would be the longed-for heir and which, when born, turned out to be their darling Emily. Cressida had sobbed with dismay at the time, though she’d loved Emily like the rest of their girls, and so had Justin. Ah, but then Thomas had finally arrived, and Cressida thought that finally she’d somehow find the words she needed now that Justin had his son.

Instead, she simply reverted back to the tongue-tied, country dormouse Catherine had teased since they were children, smiling and pliant on the outside, tormented by her ignorance on the inside.

“My dear girl!” Her friend greeted her warmly and led her into a small conservatory at the back of the house.

“It is such a lovely evening we can sit here, as my own sitting room is currently occupied.” Miss Mariah patted the seat beside her on the cane sofa. “I’m glad you came...and dressed for action, too, I see,” she added, referring to Cressida’s revealing black evening gown. With its deep neckline and figure-hugging cut, it was very different to her widow’s weeds of the previous week. “I promise you, a few minutes are all it will take for me to explain what would advance society’s happiness and end so much suffering.”

From the tray on the table beside them, she took two glasses of sherry and handed one to Cressida.

In the natural light, Miss Mariah looked different from the previous week. There was now no sign of the gray that had peppered her hair, her gown was of fine blue silk and her eyes sparkled. Cressida was surprised she felt no revulsion for this creature who traded her body for what she could not otherwise procure. Unlike Cousin Catherine, Cressida tried not to be so quick to judge others, yet the fact was that Cressida was about to take advice—perhaps the most important advice of her life—from a prostitute. Or, at least a retired one.

Miss Mariah leaned across the small space between them and asked with clear enthusiasm, “Now, where shall we begin? I do admire a young woman who sets out to help herself. You have been an inspiration to me, for I was a lusterless creature last week, I’ll admit it.” She raised her own glass. “You helped me see that, regardless of our trials, we must embrace the future.”

Cressida took a nervous gulp of the amber-colored liquid and looked down at her gloved hand, clenched in her lap. “My husband —” she began, feeling a surge of longing for the man she’d hurt, neglected and lied to over the past week and whose arms she could not wait to feel around her. A week with her fractious aunt had heightened her desire for the simple comfort of his company .

“Your husband is a capital place to start. I’ve no idea what kind of man he is, but, as it is clear you are deeply in love with him, I cannot imagine he’d not be completely amenable to doing his part to lessen the risk of increasing your already large brood when it comes to lovemaking.”

Heat seared Cressida’s face and throat as she spluttered on her sherry .

Her friend laughed. “How many years did you say you’d been married? Eight? Nearly as long as myself. My dear, the way we entertain our husbands is at the very core of how they regard us, and if you are too afraid even to mention what is at the root of your fear then I see you have a very great problem indeed.”

Cressida forced down her embarrassment. If this woman spoke the truth, her world was about to begin anew. She’d grown up with a maiden aunt and cousin who’d taught her nothing about the business and a domineering mother-in-law who’d made it clear that a reluctant wife was undutiful and unnatural. A knowledgeable stranger was as good as anyone to dispense the kind of advice she needed right now .