How to Catch a Duke (Rogues to Riches #6) - Grace Burrowes Page 0,66
to take me to bed once,” de Beauharnais said, watching Harmonia carefully. “I declined his offer.”
“You were one of the few, then. His flirtations drove Stapleton halfway to Bedlam, which is why I never protested them too loudly.”
“You aren’t appalled?”
“By Champlain’s behavior? I was devastated to think I could not be enough for him, that his appetites were so voracious and worldly, and all I had to offer was boring old wifely devotion. I got past that phase, to the one where I pretended amusement and near indifference, as he kindly directed both at my peccadillos.” This recitation made Harmonia sad, for herself mostly. “I should have boxed Champlain’s ears. He was appalling.”
“I declined his offer. I’ve accepted those of other women—and men.”
De Beauharnais was asking a question, about whether this would be his last call upon her, about whether she’d withdraw her commission. Being de Beauharnais, he put the questions to her through innuendo, leaving it to her to give an answer or make light of the whole exchange.
She looked him up and down, and liked what she saw very much. An adult male, not an adolescent in a protracted frenzy of self-gratification. A man willing to develop a talent into a profession, one who took her situation to heart.
She kissed his cheek. “I am long past judging others for where they turn for pleasure and company. Let’s pay a visit to the nursery, shall we? Time with Nicky always improves my mood. We can kidnap my son to the garden and have a look at your sketches there.”
She needed to see Nicky, to hug him and let him restore her sense of balance. De Beauharnais had surprised her with his honesty and his loyalty. If she were similarly forthcoming with him, he might be the one appalled.
“Do you mind jaunting up to the nursery with me?” she asked.
He smiled, a purely friendly and startlingly attractive smile. “I love children. They are the most enjoyable commissions by far. To the nursery, my lady, but I will also look forward to escorting you to the Portmans’ ball on Wednesday.”
“I will look forward to that too.” Harmonia paused before opening the parlor door. “De Beauharnais, are you acquainted with Lord Stephen Wentworth?”
“I am. As it happens, I consider him a friend. Why do you ask?”
“No particular reason. I overheard Stapleton mention him. Lord Stephen and I are acquainted, though our paths haven’t crossed for some time.”
And that, quite frankly, was an enormous relief.
Stephen handed Abigail down from the coach, torn between insisting that she take his advances seriously—they were lovers, for God’s sake—and a hesitance to dispel her lighter mood.
He ordered a raspberry ice, Abigail chose vanilla, and she took charge of carrying their sweets out to the benches on the square. Opposite them across the walkway sat a young couple, clearly of modest means. The husband held a fat, jolly baby on his lap, while the wife nibbled at an ice.
“What do you suppose the infant’s name is?” Abigail asked, stealing a bite of Stephen’s treat. “She looks like a Georgina to me, little Georgie to her family.”
An inquiry agent would pay attention to her surroundings, and yet, Stephen had the sense Abigail would never ignore a baby.
“Georgina, possibly, or Georgiana,” Stephen said, emphasizing the first a, “like the late duchess. She’s a merry little shoat.”
The baby smacked her papa’s chin, and he pulled back in mock dismay. The mother smiled at him—a tender, indulgent smile—and at her baby, whose nose she touched with a playfully admonitory finger.
Stephen had just taken a spoonful of raspberry ice when a thought chilled him from within. “Abigail.”
She cocked her head. “My lord?”
“I did not…” Stephen looked around, then lowered his voice. “I did not withdraw.”
“I beg your pardon?”
How could he have been such a heedless, rutting, idiotish, imbecilic, hopelessly stupid, inconsiderate, foolish, thundering dolt as to not withdraw?
“I always withdraw, or wear a sheath, or wear a sheath and withdraw. I did not withdraw. I cannot beg your pardon humbly enough. Do you take precautions?”
She set her spoon in her empty bowl and put it aside. “I am not entirely certain of your meaning.”
“Pennyroyal tea, ginger tea. Rue can work to prevent conception, but I don’t favor it. The effective dose can be dangerous.”
Abigail gazed at the gurgling baby and doting parents, her expression vaguely puzzled. “You refer to avoiding an interesting condition.”
“I do. I apologize for having behaved abominably, but this is not a topic to ignore. I do not seek to