she allowed some gallant carefully controlled liberties. It had been safe enough.
The Marquess of Rothgar would not be safe, of that she was sure, and that in truth was part of his appeal. Wiser to avoid, of course, and yet... from her chilly eminence, he was a most tempting blaze. And, remarkably, a safe one.
Chin on hand, she allowed herself to consider it.
Despite heat and flame he was safe because he, even more than she, did not intend to wed. A safe blaze, like one confined in a solid hearth.
Could she?
She tidied the piles of papers, then strolled, twirling the wilting poppy, back to her bedroom to relax on her chaise longue by an open window. Amid birdsong and summer breeze, she let her mind return to that minuet a year ago.
"What would have happened, my lord, if I had not objected to..."
"To my kissing your palm? Why, we would have indulged in dalliance, my lady."
"Dalliance?"
"One step beyond flirtation, but one step below seduction. "
"I know nothing of dalliance then."
"Would you care to learn?"
Heart beating just a little faster at the memory, she brushed the soft petals of the poppy across her lips.
"If you ever change your mind, my lady..."
If you ever change your mind.
"Clara," she said to the maid, who was busily laying out her clothes for the evening.
"Yes, milady?"
"Tell Ecclesby that we will offer dancing tonight after dinner."
Rothgar, down to breeches and open-necked shirt, was in the frilly boudoir that was part of his suite, attending to correspondence sent on by Carruthers. Disguised among routine business lay a coded report on affairs in Paris, and the actions of the acting French ambassador in London. He frowned over the fact that D'Eon was insinuating himself into the queen's good graces all too well. He needed to get back and deal with that.
He next opened a well-sealed letter and found it was a handwritten one from the king. He quickly assessed that it contained nothing urgent - then he came to a passage about Lady Arradale. After a while, he leaned back, looking out of the window over the lady's beautifully landscaped grounds.
King George should be paying more attention to his queen and less to the countess, but for some reason he was obsessed with her. This development was going to be somewhat difficult -
Someone tapped on the door.
He folded the letter. "Come."
He half expected the impetuous countess, but his sister Elf slipped in with a smile that didn't quite hide uneasiness.
"A lovely wedding, wasn't it?" she chattered, but then paused to look around the pink and white room. "Oh my."
"The Countess's Chambers," he said blandly. "Pink lightens and brightens my thoughts. If you have come to tell me you've plunged us all into poverty with an excess purchase of serge, I will merely smile."
That made her laugh. "I suppose there was a shortage of grand chambers, but..." She looked around again. "Bey, please may I peep into the bedroom?"
He rose and opened the door for her. She stood in rapt study of the swathed bed, the pink and cream silk hangings held up by plaster cherubs, the pristine white posts carved with flowers, the coverlet of heavy white lace.
"Could we swap?" she said at last. "I'm overcome by a need to be taken with violent passion upon that virginal bed."
He laughed. "Perhaps that is the purpose. I have to say, however, that it hasn't had the same effect on me." All the same, a sudden erotic vision to do with the countess assailed him.
"It would be very strange if it had," Elf said, sitting in a spindle-legged white chair.
"Or perhaps I am kept sane by cool liquids," he replied, pouring himself some from a silver pitcher set in a ceramic bowl of ice. "Lemon barley water?" he asked her.
"Oh, lovely!" She sipped the delicious cold drink. "How did you obtain this?"
"I ordered it. After all, I did bring a gross of lemons north with me."
"Not expecting the countess to be well supplied?"
"Imagining hot days and my fondness for lemons. So, Elf, what brings you to my feminine bower?"
Elf took time to sip, feeling strangely nervous. Her brother didn't intimidate her, but then, she'd never tried to meddle in his intimate affairs before. "I have become quite fond of Lady Arradale," she said at last. "I saw you tuck that flower down her bodice, Bey. You're not flirting with her, are you?"
His eyes were steady on hers. "And if I were?"
"I'd object."
"Your objections must always carry weight, of course,