MINERVA had taken extra care in preparing for the day, choosing a pale pink dress that managed to draw out the red in her hair so it didn’t appear quite so dark. Her maid put it in a soft style that left tendrils curling along her cheeks, highlighting her eyes. She wasn’t conceited enough to think she looked pretty, but she considered herself more than passable.
Her nerves causing butterflies to alight in her stomach, she barely ate any breakfast, incredibly grateful that her father didn’t comment on it. She wasn’t accustomed to being anxious about a gentleman’s calling. She’d had plenty. But none with whom she’d lain. She knew the firmness of his muscles, the warmth of his skin, the way he moved against her—
She feared something was wrong with her moral compass because she felt no shame at all for knowing all these details.
While the hours ticked by until it was an acceptable time for a gentleman to call, she sat in the morning room trying to read. After scanning the same sentence a hundred times, she finally closed the book and walked around the outer edge of the room. A light rain had begun to fall, so she couldn’t go into the garden. She considered writing a letter to the Times on the need for more people to engage in charitable works, but she doubted she’d be able to concentrate enough to make it eloquent or convincing.
Her nerves were stretched taut when the butler finally entered and announced she had a caller. Still, she was taken aback by the joy—
“Lord Burleigh,” Dixon continued, his words slamming into Minerva and halting her progress across the room.
“Lord Burleigh?” she repeated as though she’d taken leave of her senses. The man had never called on her before, had never danced with her. They’d spoken in passing, but he certainly hadn’t indicated an interest.
“Yes, miss. I saw him to the parlor. Your mother is joining him there.”
Perhaps she should take out an advert announcing that she was no longer in search of a husband. On the other hand, she would be foolish to discount the possibility that she might find love late in life. Of course, any man now might have to accept her scandalous behavior. Not that Ashebury seemed to have any problem with it. “All right then.”
Lord Burleigh, whose physique suited his name, jumped up from the sofa as soon as she entered the room. “Miss Dodger.”
“My lord, how nice of you to call. I’ve rung for tea.”
“I’ll leave you two young people to visit,” her mother said as she picked up her stitchery and moved to a distant corner of the room to give them a bit of privacy.
Minerva sat on the sofa. Lord Burleigh joined her, keeping a respectful distance. She tried to imagine Ashebury doing the same and found it quite impossible.
“It’s a rather dreary day,” Burleigh said.
“I like the rain.”
“As do I. Many people don’t. It’s good for reflection.”
“It is that.”
“I enjoy the sound of droplets pattering against the pane.”
“That was rather poetic phrasing. Are you a poet, my lord?”
His cheeks turned red. “I dabble.”
“Bravo for you!”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “Are you mocking me, Miss Dodger?”
“No, absolutely not. I think all creative endeavors are to be applauded.”
“Apologies. I’d heard—” He snapped his mouth closed, took out his pocket watch, glanced at the time, no doubt disappointed to discover not even two minutes had passed.
“You’d heard what precisely, my lord?”
Shaking his head, he stuffed his watch back into his pocket just as the tea arrived. Thank goodness. Minerva set about preparing him some.
“Three lumps of sugar,” he said. “A dash of cream.”
She handed him his cup, which he expertly balanced on his thigh.
“Mother?” she asked.
“No, thank you, darling.” She barely looked up from her needlework. Minerva could never become so absorbed poking and pulling thread through cloth although she certainly envied those who were able to create such lovely tapestries.
After preparing her own tea, Minerva glanced over at Burleigh to find him studying her. She gave him what she hoped was an encouraging smile.
Drawing his brows together, he cleared his throat. “I saw you at the Lovingdon ball last night.”
Her heart gave a little stutter. Hopefully he’d not seen her in the garden. “Oh?”
“I realized that we’ve never really gotten to know each other.”
“I do wish you’d asked me for a dance.”
“My size makes me somewhat clumsy in that regard.”
“I suspect you’re a bit hard on yourself, but in either case, I think we could have managed.”
He blinked several times. “You’re kind to say so.”
“You say that as though you’re surprised I’m kind.”
He touched his teacup, released it. “I’d heard you were . . .” He cleared his throat.
“A termagant?”
Giving a little nod, he furrowed his brow, wrinkled his nose. “Difficult.”
“And yet you’ve come to call.”
“My father recently passed.”
What had that to do with anything? “Yes, I heard. I should have offered my condolences when I greeted you.”
“No need for that. He was up in years; had a good life. But I must see to my duties now. I’m in want of a wife, and so I thought to call on you.”
“That’s very kind of you.”
“I’m a bit older, and so I don’t have a lot of patience for the silliness of young girls.”
This reasoning was one that she hadn’t encountered before. While it was refreshing, she also found it a bit insulting. “So my age appeals to you?”
“You don’t giggle.”
“Not as a rule, no, although I have been known on occasion to laugh.”
“Not loudly, I hope.”
“Depends, I suppose.” She thought she heard the door knocker. She’d welcome Lord Sheridan at this moment.
She glanced over as Dixon walked in, holding a silver salver. He extended it toward her. Lifting the card, she read it and tried to tamp down her joy. “Please show in the Duke of Ashebury.”
Minerva didn’t miss the speculative look in her mother’s eyes as she lifted her head from her work nor the disappointment in Burleigh’s. Everyone rose as Ashebury strode in. He headed straight for her mother, took her hand, and kissed the back of it.
“Madam, how wonderful you look.”
“Thank you, Your Grace. It’s a pleasure to have you visit.”
“The pleasure is all mine, I assure you.” Turning, he zeroed his gaze in on Minerva, completely ignoring Burleigh, as he crossed over. She halfway hoped he’d brazenly take her hand as well, but he merely tipped his head to the side. “Miss Dodger.”
“Your Grace.”
He shifted his gaze slightly. “Burleigh.”
“Ashebury.”
“Hope I’m not interrupting.”
“You are never an interruption,” Minerva said. “Would you care for some tea?”
“I would love some. One lump of sugar, no cream. I lost an affinity for cream on my various journeys away from civilization. Quite impossible to transport.”
Minerva took her seat, aware that Burleigh sat just a little nearer to her. Ashebury took the chair closest to her. “You must have missed having tea on your travels.”
“On the contrary, a gentleman always takes tea with him, even into the wilds.”
“I don’t see how one could properly prepare tea in the wilds,” Burleigh said.
“Oh, it can be done,” Ashebury said. “You must read The Art of Travel, Burleigh. Fascinating. You’d be surprised what one can and is willing to do out of necessity.” Taking the cup Minerva offered, he sipped the brew. “Darjeeling. Excellent.”
“I’m not certain I’ve ever had a gentleman identify the type of tea before.”
“I have a refined palate. I can distinguish the flavors of almost everything that carries a unique taste: wine, spirits, tea.” His eyes darkening, he lowered his gaze to her lips, and she realized what he had left unsaid: a woman’s kiss, her mouth.
Shifting in her seat, Minerva took a most unladylike swallow of her own tea. Silence began to ease around them. She noticed the teacup resting on Ashebury’s firm thigh, thought how much more delicate it appeared there than it did on Burleigh’s thigh. While Burleigh was broader than Ashebury, Ashebury seemed larger. Perhaps it was because his clothes fit so well, leaving no doubt that he didn’t possess an ounce of fat. It could also be that she knew the feel of that thigh beneath her sole, knew that it provided a very secure place upon which a saucer could rest.
“What were you discussing before I interrupted?” Ashebury asked.
“The merits of age,” Minerva said, hoping he wasn’t aware of where her gaze or her thoughts had drifted.
“Of wine?”
“Of ladies.”
“That seems rather inappropriate. The ladies I know are so secretive about their ages.”
“We were discussing that older ladies don’t giggle like silly younger ones,” Burleigh said impatiently.
“What’s wrong with giggling?” Ashebury asked.
“It’s irritating. I don’t want a wife who giggles. Miss Dodger is not prone to giggling.”
Ashebury’s gaze came to bear on her. “Is she not? I wager I could make her giggle.”
“Why would you want to?” Burleigh asked.
“Why would you not?”
“As I mentioned, it’s irritating.”
“On the contrary, Burleigh, it’s a joyous sound. A woman should giggle at least once a day.” His gaze never left her.
She noticed a faint tinkling sound, Burleigh’s teacup rattling slightly on the saucer, as he was growing agitated. He was her guest. She couldn’t let Ashebury unsettle him so. “How does one make tea in the wilds?” she asked.
Ashebury gave her a slow smile, and she knew he was fully aware that she was attempting to defuse the situation. “A fire, a kettle, a teapot, and tea.”
“The same way one makes tea in civilization,” Burleigh said.
“A little variance here and there. We did end up giving our kettle, teapot, and some tea to a tribal chief. He was rather fascinated by the process. I’m not sure where he’ll obtain tea once he’s used up all that we left. Would you like to see a photograph of him?”
“No,” Burleigh answered as Minerva said, “Yes.”
“I cannot deny a lady her desires,” Ashebury said, setting aside his cup before shifting his body from the chair to the edge of the sofa cushion.
Minerva slid over quickly to prevent his landing on her, which only served to nestle her up against Burleigh. She was acutely aware of the man stiffening, couldn’t imagine Ashebury reacting in a similar manner. If he found a woman up against him, he would no doubt curl around her.
A small smile played over Ashebury’s lips. The bugger was enjoying manipulating them, making Burleigh uncomfortable. She shouldn’t find herself drawn to him when he was misbehaving so, and yet, she couldn’t seem to work up any annoyance over it. Burleigh hadn’t done anything wrong, but neither had he done anything right. She wasn’t attracted to him. His suit of her would go nowhere. She should probably tell him. Later. When Ashebury was no longer here.
He slipped a large hand inside his jacket pocket, removed a packet tied with string, and placed it in her lap. “You may do the honors.”
He was as close as Burleigh, if not closer, his thigh resting against hers, their hips touching, and yet she didn’t feel crowded on the right side. She couldn’t say the same for her left. Was it because she’d been incredibly intimate with the man, because of what they’d shared? Or was it simply his way to be completely comfortable against the female form? Probably the latter. She didn’t want to consider how many ladies he might have been this close to.
Pulling the ends of the bow, she released the string from the wrapper and set it on the low table before her. Then she slowly peeled back the paper. She was greeted with the sight of the chimpanzees. Soul mates, she’d bet her life on it. The pyramids were next, dwarfing the humans who stood around them. She was familiar with the structures, had seen other pictures, had always wanted to visit them. No longer on the husband hunt, she was free to go wherever she wanted. She could go touch them in person if she so desired. The next picture revealed some sort of stone shrine barely visible through the foliage. She had no idea what it might be, and yet it seemed so lonely, as though waiting to be of use again.
Moving that picture aside, she was greeted by a man with long white hair and what appeared to be white paint in various designs on his dark, wrinkled face. Grinning, he held in his hand a dainty teacup that seemed remarkably out of place.
“That’s him,” Ashebury said.
“He looks so happy.”
“He bargained me out of my teacup,” he said grumpily.
She looked at him. He was close, so very close, his shoulder nearly touching hers. “What did you get?”
“Two of his tribesmen to escort us farther into the jungle.”
“What did they get?”
“The privilege of accompanying us, I suppose. They have no need for money. They’re self-sufficient.”
“They’re savages,” Burleigh said.
“What exactly is a savage, Burleigh? I’ve met quite a few within England’s borders.”
“You know what I mean. They’re not civilized.”
“Not like you and I, perhaps. They can’t quote Shakespeare, but I assure you that they hardly qualify as savage. As far as we could tell they live a peaceful existence. Welcomed us.” He winked at Minerva. “Drank tea with us. Doesn’t get much more civilized than that.”
Moving that photograph aside, she caught her breath at the sight of a woman dressed in her native clothing, what little there was of it. But it wasn’t the bared breasts that held her attention. It was the woman’s face: so proud, with such a noble bearing. No embarrassment, no shame. How could anyone be offended by this remarkable image? It was simply . . . life. And Ashe had managed to capture the essence and beauty of it.
He was right. The human form in all its natural wonder was exquisite.
Although Burleigh apparently didn’t agree. He was making gasping sounds as though the tea he’d swallowed had taken a wrong turn. Snatching the photo from her fingers, he went to his feet. “You can’t show photographs like this to a lady!” It was a wonder that his indignation didn’t cause the chandelier above his head to shake.
“Why ever not?” Minerva asked.
“Madam, the duke is showing your daughter vulgar photographs.”
Her mother looked up, her brow pinched tightly.
“It’s a native woman, Mother. In her natural habitat.”
“She’s not wearing clothes,” Burleigh said.
“Not garments as we wear,” Ashbury said, “but I assure you that to her people, she was perfectly attired.”
With grace and dignity, her mother rose and walked toward them. Ashebury shoved himself to his feet. Her mother held her hand out to Burleigh. He hesitated.
“Lord Burleigh.” She snapped her fingers.
“It is not appropriate, madam.”
“I shall determine what is appropriate and what is not.”
He handed it to her.
Minerva had to respect her mother’s aplomb. She might as well have been looking at a blank piece of paper for all the expression that crossed her face. “If the woman is not accustomed to wearing clothes, I don’t see how we can call her vulgar for honoring her traditions.”
“But Ashebury shouldn’t be shoving them in your daughter’s face.”
“We’re all adults here, my lord. Surely we can’t be offended by life.” Still, her mother returned the photograph to Ashebury. “I have seen women wearing less in paintings although they are not works I would display in my parlor.”
“My apologies, madam, if I offended you,” Ashebury said.
“I’m not offended, just making a point. Shall we return to our tea now?”
“I must be off,” Burleigh said.
“I shall escort you out, my lord,” her mother said.
“What of Ashebury?”
“I don’t believe his time is yet up.”
“You can’t leave them alone.”
“Oh, I’m certain nothing untoward will happen.” She slipped her arm through Burleigh’s. “How are you holding up, stepping into your father’s shoes?” she asked, leading him from the room.
As soon as they were through the door, Minerva slapped her hand over her mouth, her shoulders shaking as she tried not to laugh out loud. Ashe sat beside her, leaned in until his breath feathered over her cheek. “Are you giggling?”
A sound that very much resembled a giggle escaped. She shoved on his shoulder. “You did that on purpose, making him uncomfortable with that photograph.”
“Don’t be daft. I didn’t know he’d be here.”
“Then why didn’t you wait until he’d left to show it to me?”
His eyes were dancing with mischief. “Because as I was sitting there, it occurred to me that it might be fun to see his reaction. He’s a rather somber sort. Is he courting you?”
“I’m not sure. This is the first time he’s ever come to call.”
“He’ll bore you to tears.” He cradled her face. “He’ll kill your spirit. Don’t let him call on you again.”
“It’s not your place to tell me who I can allow to call on me.”
He swept his thumb over her lips. “You won’t be happy with him.”
She capitulated. “I’m not going to marry him, but neither do I want to embarrass him. He’s just lost his father.”
“You have a tender heart.” He leaned in. “I like learning things about you, Minerva.”
She wondered if he might kiss her. She wanted him to.
“Come to the Nightingale tonight,” he said seductively. “We can continue to learn things about each other in a more intimate setting.”
“I’m expected at the Dragons.”
“Do what’s not expected.”
The challenge mirrored in his eyes almost had her agreeing to meet him, but she wanted more than the physical coupling. She yearned for a coming together that involved hearts and souls. “Too many questions would be asked if I didn’t show.”
“I trust you can handle them.”
“I’d rather not.”
“I’d make it worth your while.”
Slowly she shook her head. “I’ve no doubt of that, but I need you to be a little in love with me.”
Lightly he touched her cheek. “You’re turning my words against me.”
“I simply understand them better now.” She glanced back, returned her gaze to his. “My mother will be returning at any moment now.”
“Then we should return to the matter at hand,” he conceded without rancor. “Did you like the photographs?”
She smiled softly. “I did, yes. They were extraordinary. Especially the one with the woman. I quite agree that we’re all prudes if we focus on what she isn’t wearing rather than on what she is: pride, elegance, and grace.”
“I thought you would appreciate what I had hoped to capture. She reminds me very much of you.”
At the compliment, heat warmed her face. “You have quite the imagination,” she said.
“If you can convince your brother to allow me to use the bridge in his garden as a setting, I can show you.”
“I’m flattered, but I seldom pose for photos or paintings. I never like the way they turn out.”
“You’ll like mine.”
She laughed. “I don’t know if you’re confident or arrogant.”
He leaned in a little more until his breath was skimming over her cheek. “You know what I can do in the dark. Let me show you what I can do in the light.”
She was struck with the image of him laying her out across the bridge, hovering over her, before using his mouth to take a delicious journey along her body to the juncture between her thighs, bringing her pleasure as the sunlight warmed her skin, and her cries—
A throat clearing had her jerking as though her thoughts were dancing around the room for all to see. With a decidedly wicked smile that implied he knew exactly where her imagination had been traveling, he slowly shoved himself to his feet. Tamping down her pounding heart, Minerva rose as well.
“I must take my leave,” he said. “You’re welcome to keep the photographs.”
“I shall treasure them.” And she would. She wouldn’t be able to look at them without thinking of him and the intimacies they’d shared. Those intimacies were beginning to go beyond the physical to include shared moments that connected them in ways that she’d never been associated with anyone outside her circle of family and close friends.
“Then I’ve found them a good home,” he said quietly before walking away. He stopped to have a word with her mother, then carried on through the doorway.
Sitting back down, Minerva picked up the photographs. Nothing he could have given her would have pleased her more. She rather suspected he knew that. He knew her better than any other man. Should she be comforted or wary by that thought?
Acutely aware of her mother settling on the cushion beside her, Minerva fought not to blush.
“What an interesting afternoon. When did Ashebury start taking an interest in you?” her mother asked.
“We spoke a little when I attended Lady Greyling’s party. Our paths have crossed a few times since.”
“You looked rather pleased when he walked through the door.”
“I find his adventures interesting and his photographs . . . he’s very talented.”
Her mother took the top one—the chimpanzees which Minerva thought would forever remain her favorite—and studied it. “He has a good eye.”
She thought her mother was talking about more than the picture. “How did you know, unequivocally, that Father loved you?”
Her mother’s eyes softened with remembrance. “When I met your father, he cared only about acquiring wealth. His coffers were overflowing, yet he wanted more. It was all he valued. Then, one day, he was willing to give it all up for me.”
She’d always known the basics of her parents’ tale, but not the specifics. “I think that’s the reason that I dislike fortune hunters. They have nothing to give up.”
“Don’t be so sure, sweeting. Everyone has something to sacrifice.”
“I THINK Ashe is in a bit of bother financially,” Edward said, sipping his brother’s scotch, waiting for his turn at the billiards table.
Grey lifted his gaze from the colored balls he’d been studying. “Has he told you that?”
“Not the details, but he’s moving into Ashebury Place. His situation must be dire for him to do that.” While none of them knew precisely why Ashe had an aversion to the place, they knew it was associated with the death of his parents. He’d suffered through nightmares when they first moved to Havisham.
“He’s got pride, Edward. I can’t do something if he doesn’t ask. If he wanted me to know, he’d tell me.” He turned his attention back to the table.
“Well, that’s the thing you see. He thought I might like to take over the lease on his residence, and I thought it was a jolly good idea. I know it’s a bother for me to stay here when I’m in London.”
“Not a bother.”
“Your wife doesn’t like it.”
Grey straightened. “You’re a sloppy drunk, and you boast about your conquests. She finds it unseemly.”
“She doesn’t have to listen.”
His brother scowled at him. He capitulated. “All right. I’m aware I can quickly wear out my welcome. But I can’t keep imposing on Ashe either, so I thought it was high time I had my own place. He suggested I purchase the furnishings there. Would save me from having to search for pieces, would give him a bit of capital. If you could see your way clear, that is, to providing the funds needed. It would be helping him out, don’t you see?”
“And the lease?”
“I would probably need a slight bump in my allowance for that.”
Grey smacked a ball, sent another down a hole. “What are you going to do with your life, Edward? It should have some purpose to it.”
“It has a grand purpose. Pleasure.”
“Which was well and good when we were twenty. But you’ve lived for more than a quarter of a century now. You need to take on some responsibilities.”
“I’m the spare and a gentleman. I’m required to live a life of leisure. I believe it’s written in the law somewhere. Perhaps even in the Magna Carta.”
Grey chuckled. “God help me, I’m torn between insisting that you grow up and hoping you never do.”
Edward took a step forward. “Go on a final adventure with me. Our last. Then I’ll settle in and do something respectable and mad—run for Parliament perhaps.”
“Good God, the country in your hands? That would be a nightmare.” Tossing his cue stick onto the table, he lifted his glass, drank deep. “You’re smart, though, smarter than you let on. You’ve a good head on your shoulders, and I think somewhere”—he poked Edward’s chest—“deep inside, you long to do good. But you’ll have to accomplish all this without us doing a final trip. I can’t leave Julia, especially now, when she’s so vulnerable.”
Turning away, Edward drained his glass. “When you married, I didn’t gain a sister by marriage, I lost a brother.”
“I grew up. You need to do the same. I think your having your own place is a step in that direction. I’ll fund it.”
He spun back around. “Including the furnishings?”
“To help Ashe, yes.”
“Jolly good. He’ll be relieved, I’m sure.”
“When’s he moving?”
“He’ll be out completely in the next day or so.”
“I think you gentlemen have had enough time alone with your after-dinner port,” Julia said, interrupting them, as she went to Grey, lifted up on her toes, and kissed his cheek. “I was growing lonely. Missed you.”
“The arrival of the mistress of the house is my signal to depart,” Edward murmured.
“You don’t have to go,” Grey said.
“I believe I do.” He gave his sister by marriage a little salute. “And it was scotch actually, rather than port.”
“I thought gentlemen always drank port after dinner.”
“As you’ve pointed out on numerous occasions, I’m no gentleman. Your husband indulged me, as he is one. But now I must be off. Thank you for the lovely dinner.”
“We’re glad you could join us,” she said.
Leaning in, he bussed a quick kiss over her cheek, and whispered, “You are a lousy liar.”
“It’s not that I don’t like you, Edward, but you have such potential and opportunities. Yet you waste it all.”
“Without my wastrel life to pick over, how would you entertain yourself?”
“Edward, you’ve gone too far,” Grey snapped. “Julia has your best interest at heart. She and I are both concerned.”
“As you should be. I’m happy, have a jolly good time wherever I go, and entertain those who seek out my company. But now I must be off to plan my next adventure. Good night.”
He strode from the room with a purpose to his step. The woman irritated the very devil out of him, and he didn’t know why. She wasn’t a complete witch, but not once had she ever looked at him as though he were anything other than a blight on the family name and honor.
WITH relief, Julia watched her brother by marriage storm from the room. Things were always tense when he was around. It didn’t help matters that he’d been the first man to ever kiss her—not that she’d ever confessed that to Albert. Devilishly handsome, upstanding Albert had been courting her. But it had been devilishly handsome, disreputable Edward who had approached her in a garden during a ball, planted his mouth on hers, and introduced her to the passion that could exist between a man and a woman. It was an honor that should have belonged to Albert, should have been his, and well Edward knew it. But he had thought it would be a lark to pretend to be Albert, to steal the kiss, and she’d never forgiven him. Or herself for how very much she’d enjoyed it.
It was only by being ever vigilant since that she was able to tell the brothers apart. Their looks were identical. It was only their mannerisms and behavior that distinguished them. Edward cared for nothing save his own pleasures while Albert put everyone before himself. It was one of the reasons she loved him so very much.
Her husband walked to the fireplace, rested a forearm against the edge of the mantel, and stared down at the empty hearth. She disliked Edward’s visits because they always left Albert feeling as though he should do more for his brother.
She glided over to him, raised up on her toes, and whispered, “I wish you wouldn’t torment yourself so. I wish he was gone.”
He turned his head, smiled at her, rubbed the lobe of his right ear. “Sorry. My bad ear. Did you say something?”
Another thing that distinguished the brothers. Albert had lost his hearing in the right ear when he was five and Edward had shoved him into an icy pond. That he’d then jumped in to save him didn’t alter the fact that he was responsible for the infection that damaged Albert’s ear. Not that Albert saw it like that. He claimed they were simply rambunctious boys who allowed things to get a little out of hand, but Julia sometimes suspected that Edward was jealous of his older brother. Albert inherited everything, while Edward was merely the recipient of his brother’s generous heart.
“Only that I love you,” she said.
His grin grew. “You should always say that only to the left ear.”
“I’m sorry that I can’t make him like me,” she lied. She couldn’t care less if Edward liked her. Every time he went on his travels, she prayed fervently that he wouldn’t return. Life was so much easier when he wasn’t about.
Albert tucked loose strands of her hair behind her ear. “Edward can be trying at times. I think where you’re concerned, though, he’s jealous. I have a beautiful wife. And he is alone.”
She gave him a teasing look. “Based upon all the women he talks about, I’m not certain you can accurately claim that he is alone.”
“But none of them are good for him. Not the way you were good for me. Although he did say that if we took a trip together, he would grow up when we got back.”
Her chest tightened. “Are you going?”
Slowly, he shook his head. “I won’t leave you.”
Swallowing her fears, the fears she’d always had regarding her good fortune in having such a wonderful man’s love, the fears that their happiness could be ripped away, she said, “You can go if you want.”
Cradling her jaw, he held her gaze. “I’m not going to leave you while you’re with child.”
“I’ll be perfectly fine.”
“If you were to lose the babe while I was away, do you think I’d ever forgive myself?”
“It wouldn’t be your fault. Neither of us did anything that caused me to lose the other three. I hope this one is a boy. I want to give you your heir.”
“I hope only that it’s healthy and that you survive bringing it into the world.” He drew her close, wrapped his arms tightly around her. “I don’t want to lose you, Julia.”
“You won’t,” she promised, even knowing that some promises weren’t meant to be kept.
SITTING in his library, Ashe swirled the amber liquid in his glass, mesmerized by a vortex that seemed to resemble his life. He needed to marry a woman with a dowry. Minerva Dodger had the largest available. Why would he settle for less?
Plus he liked her, especially in the bedchamber. What they had shared revealed a passion that far surpassed anything he’d ever experienced.
He hadn’t liked one bit walking into the Dodger parlor to find Burleigh sharing the sofa with Minerva. As a rule, he wasn’t the jealous sort, but it appeared, where she was concerned, none of his rules were holding.
Tomorrow, preparations for moving into Ashebury Place would begin in earnest. Tonight he was in need of a distraction. It existed at a gaming hell, even if he didn’t wager. And Minerva would be within the walls of the establishment. Getting up, he returned his glass to the sideboard, turned for the door.
“Ah, there you are,” Edward said as he strolled in. “Have some jolly good news. I’ve spoken with Grey. Whatever items you want to leave here, I shall have the means to purchase.”
Ashe released a grateful sigh. “That certainly makes things easier all the way around. I’ll have my man of business tally up the costs.”
“I thought you’d be pleased.” He walked to the table, poured himself a scotch. “What shall we do tonight to celebrate?”
“I was about to head to the Dragons. You’re welcome to join me.”
Edward studied his scotch as though he were seeking an answer within its depths. “No, I’m more in the mood for something that involves women.”
“Women are at the Dragons.”
“Respectable women.” He shook his head. “Not the sort I fancy.”
Ashe felt somewhat of a dilemma, not wanting to abandon Edward after his generosity but very much wanting to see Minerva. His desire to be with her won out. “As I’m not in the mood for the sort of women you fancy, I’ll leave you to them.”
Edward grinned. “You’re already starting to sound married. By the by, when you do move out, leave the spirits.”
“If you want any staff to stay behind, just let me know how many.”
“Leave as many as you like. I’ll keep them on.” As though his words were of no consequence, he tossed back his scotch.
But Ashe knew them for what they were: an attempt to ease his burden. “Edward, I appreciate everything you’ve done here.”
His lips twisted up into a mockery of smile. “We orphans have to stick together.”
“As much as I wish you hadn’t lost your parents, I was always rather glad I didn’t have to go to Havisham alone.”
Edward reached for a decanter. “You’re getting sentimental. It doesn’t suit you. Go lose some money. You’ll feel better.”
Grateful that Edward was putting an end to what might have become an uncomfortable conversation, Ashe chuckled with relief. “And you . . . go find yourself a good woman for the night.”
“Don’t want a good one.” He grinned devilishly and wiggled his eyebrows. “I want one who is very, very wicked.”
But Ashe knew that sometimes they were one and the same. Minerva Dodger had taught him that.