contrast to its earlier flushed color, Charlotte’s face was now a queasy shade of white. “Is something amiss? You look like you have seen a ghost.”
“I have… in a manner of speaking.” She held up a large book, its tooled leather cover stamped with ornate gilt lettering. “This was on my dressing table, along with a copy of Les Fleurs Alpines de Haute Savoie.”
“How odd. Have you any idea how they got there?” Her grandfather was very strict about letting valuable books out of the library. Kate suddenly felt her jaw tighten. “Don’t worry. I won’t allow Cluyne to blame you for any confusion on the part of his servants.”
Charlotte made a strange little sound in her throat. “There doesn’t seem to be any confusion.” She passed over a sheet of crested stationery.
Kate skimmed the short note. There was no mistaking the writing—it was Cluyne’s distinctive script.
Lady Fenimore,
I purchased these books because I could not bear to see them fall under the knife. Now that I am aware of their true owner, I cannot in good conscience keep them in my possession any longer.
It was signed with a sweeping C.
“Well, this is a surprise,” murmured Kate.
“That is putting it mildly.” Charlotte sat down rather heavily on the bed. “Damn the man.”
“Don’t you want them?” asked Kate.
A finger traced the lettering on the age-darkened leather. “For years I’ve said that I would give my eyeteeth to get these back. They are very special to me.”
“Then what is the problem?”
“The problem is, I don’t have anything but my teeth to offer in exchange. I can guess what Cluyne paid for these, and I cannot afford to pay him back.” She laid the book on the counterpane. “I’ll bring the other one in. Kindly return them to him.”
“Charlotte, it is clear that he does not expect any recompense,” said Kate softly. “He is just trying to… do the right thing.”
“As am I.” Her friend’s mouth quivered ever so slightly. “The duke is not the only one who has his pride.”
“If it makes you feel any better, Cluyne can well afford it.”
“That is not the point,” insisted Charlotte. “It is a matter of principle. I do not wish to be in his debt.”
Kate understood the feeling all too well. An independent-minded female had to fight a constant battle to keep her spirit from being squashed. But perhaps pride and principle could once in a while bend without breaking.
“You don’t owe him anything,” she reasoned. “Look at it this way—he has a moral obligation to return stolen property. He is merely righting your husband’s wrong.”
The steel in Charlotte’s eyes wavered just a little as she slanted a longing glance at the book. “I… I don’t know what to say.”
“Say thank you,” murmured Kate, and then added her own silent whisper of gratitude to her grandfather. She had the oddest feeling that he was acting not just out of duty, but also some other emotion. Cluyne showing compassion? The idea was hard to accept. And yet…
“Thank you.” Charlotte’s voice was tentative as she tested out the words. “I suppose that’s not too hard to swallow.” Her hand hovered above the book. “You are sure?”
“Quite,” answered Kate firmly. “Now go finish dressing.”
“Miss Woodbridge and her friend should enjoy studying these engravings.” Tappan wrapped the rare books and placed them in a leather travel case. “But before we ride back, let me give you a look at something that we definitely won’t be showing to the ladies.”
He led the way outdoors and crossed through the back gardens to a large stone pavilion overlooking the lake. At first glance, it looked to be a copy of a classical Greek temple. But as they approached the colonnaded entrance, Marco noticed that the walls were solid marble, save for a single row of narrow diamond-paned windows set just below the lip of the roof.
Taking a key from his pocket, Tappan opened the lock. “This collection was purchased by my grandfather from a Turkish pasha, whose tastes ran to the…” The hinges groaned as he eased the heavy iron portal open. “Well, see for yourself, Ghiradelli.”
Marco had been prepared for something exotic, but the sight that met his eyes made him blink. “Good God,” he murmured.
“Yes, but only a pagan deity would have wrought such creations,” quipped Tappan.
Indeed, the place was a paradise of… sculpted sin. Marco stepped inside the pleasure palace and looked around at the marble statues on display. The theme was the same—sexual gratification. But the variety of positions