He held her eyes with his own. "You are not a virgin," he said, "by your own near admission. Are you content to go through the rest of your life without any more sexual experiences?" She flushed but did not look away from him. "As you believe I will," she said, "if I do not marry you?" "As you probably will," he said, "if you do not marry me or someone else. I do not judge you to be promiscuous. But why /not/ me? I could give you that experience. I believe I could make it very enjoyable indeed for you. Unless, that is, you prefer the passive pleasure of simply reading about it." "Assuming," she said, "that there were somewhere I could read about such a thing. Are there any such books? I daresay there are in the male world. But is this how you would woo me, Lord Sheringford? By telling me how skilled and satisfying you would be in the marriage bed?" "It is not a slight consideration," he said, "even though properly nurtured ladies are doubtless taught to believe that a marriage bed is a place for duty, not pleasure – and that there is no other type of bed in which the pleasures of sex can be indulged and enjoyed." /"You/, Lord Sheringford," she said, "are quite outrageous. Is this how you planned to woo a frightened young girl with impoverished parents?" "Good God, no," he said. "I would not have needed to woo her at all. I would have wooed her father with statistics detailing the prosperity of Woodbine Park and a listing of my grandfather's holdings. Though it would have been unnecessary to do either. My title and the one to which I am heir would have been inducement enough." "I believe God /is/ good," she said. "But I would prefer not to have the fact blurted out as an exclamation in my hearing, Lord Sheringford." "I beg your pardon." He felt his first real amusement of the evening. "But you believe your present wealth – provided you marry within the next two weeks – and your future prospects will not weigh sufficiently with me?" she said. "But of course you do. I told you so this afternoon. And so I must be enticed with the promise of – of – " She seemed unable to complete the thought. "A good time in bed?" he suggested. "I must be enticed by /that/?" she said. "I believe it might weigh with you more than you will admit," he said. "You are beautiful and attractive, Miss Huxtable – and thirty years old.

And single. And it is presumably ten years or more since you last lay with a man. I believe the prospect of being able to do so again, not just once but nightly – and even daily too, perhaps – must be very appealing indeed to you." "Nightly and daily with /you/?" she said. "Do you find me repulsive?" he asked her. "You are not handsome," she said. "You are not even particularly good-looking." Well, he /had/ asked!

He raised his eyebrows.

Her flush returned with a rush. "But you are not ugly either," she said. "You are certainly not repulsive. Indeed, you are – " At which interesting point in their conversation they were interrupted when someone tapped on the door of the box and opened it without waiting for an invitation. His mother stepped inside, followed by Sir Graham. "Duncan," she said. "Oh, how brave of you to come to the theater this evening, though Graham calls it foolhardy, just as he did last evening when you attended the Tindell ball. I ought to have waited for you to bring your betrothed on a formal visit, I know, but you did not come this afternoon when I remained at home in the expectation that you would, you provoking man. Introduce us now, if you please." "Mama," he said, "may I have the honor of presenting Miss Huxtable, who is /not/ my betrothed, though she was kind enough to invite me to join her family in the Duke of Moreland's box this evening? May I present my mother, Miss Huxtable? And Sir Graham Carling, her husband?" "Not /betrothed/?" His mother stepped forward and took both of Miss Huxtable's hands in her own, preventing her from curtsying. "But of course you are or will be soon. The whole world believes it, and what the whole world believes inevitably come to pass later if not sooner.

And did you not, Miss Huxtable, admit last evening to some military officer whose name escapes me that you are betrothed to my son?" "I did, ma'am," Miss Huxtable said. "But I was vexed with Major Dew over a private matter and lied, I am afraid." "At my suggestion," Duncan added, noticing the pained expression on Sir Graham's face. "And so you have found yourselves in a very public scrape today," his mother said with a laugh. "But it need not continue to embarrass either of you when the solution is so easy. You must make the lie into the truth and announce your betrothal. You make a very handsome couple. Do they not, Graham?" "I believe, Ethel," he said after growling out something that might have been agreement and might not, "the play is about to resume. We had better return to our box." "Yes, we must," she agreed, squeezing Miss Huxtable's hands before releasing them. "My son must bring you for tea tomorrow, Miss Huxtable.

We will talk about the wedding, which must be arranged quickly because Duncan's grandfather, who has always been an old grump, is being even more odious than usual and has cut off his funds. He is bound to restore them if Duncan marries someone so very eligible. He will really have no choice, will he? But even a hasty wedding need not be a clandestine or dreary affair. I shall have some ideas to suggest by tomorrow. Do promise to come." Miss Huxtable looked at Duncan – and then smiled. "I will be delighted, ma'am," she said. "Though I must warn you that there may not /be/ a wedding." "Of course there will," his mother said. "All men develop icy feet when marriage looms large on their horizon. I shall work upon Duncan before tomorrow afternoon and bring him to heel. You must not lose a wink of sleep over the matter." "I shall not, ma'am," Miss Huxtable promised, and her eyes were actually twinkling as Sir Graham ushered Duncan's mother from the box and they resumed their seats. "Oh," she said, "I /do/ like your mother. I like people with character." "Do you also like the infamous sons of such mothers?" he asked.

But she merely laughed as her family returned to the box.

Perhaps, he thought as the play resumed, his mother would talk her into the marriage. He hoped so.

There was so little time left to begin all over again.

The box that had been occupied by Turner and Norman and Caroline was empty, he noticed.

9

SIR Humphrey and Lady Dew had arrived from Shropshire on a rare visit to London. They had brought their granddaughter with them and were staying at Grillon's Hotel.

They had come primarily to spend some time with their son and bring his daughter closer to him. However, they were delighted to find that their old neighbors, the Huxtables, were in town and lost no time in sending invitations to them all to come for dinner in their private dining room at the hotel the evening after the theater visit.

Stephen was obliged to send a reluctant refusal, though he did promise to call upon the Dews another day. He had another engagement for that evening. But the others were free to go.

Margaret wished she were not. She had loved the Dews as neighbors and was quite eager to see them. But she also feared that Crispin would be at dinner too. Indeed, it was almost inevitable that he would be. She really did not want to see him again. She was still angry with him and upset and confused. She did /not/ still love him, and she did /not/ want to marry him. But even so… Well, she wished his wife had lived and he had stayed with her and their child in Spain. She had put that painful part of her life behind her, and it was disturbing to have it all resurrected again.

Lord Sheringford had told her she still loved Crispin.

He was /wrong/.

Nevertheless, she did send off an acceptance to her invitation.