Chapter 3

"Well now madam, it's not any of my business, but all questions deserve answers and you did ask me a question, so when I think of all the years you've bribed dressmakers and housemaids and coachmen to get what's in that book "

"Out of necessity only. Knowing that at any time, this could all tumble down. No. Whatever you say, this is the best, the only way. Besides, think how good it will feel, finally outfoxing Lady Margaret. She insists on an heir. She gets one. Do you really think I'm going to care if the old bat coos over some child that's not Thomas's? When that's going to be the very best feeling in the world? Well?"

"You might not say that in nine months time."

"I can't think of a reason why not."

"So, who are you considering, madam? Southey? He's certainly the youngest."

"Well, now I can't possibly lower myself to having Vellagio, damn it, I'm thinking Malmesbury, actually."

"Malmesbury?" Susan's fingers didn't falter, but Fury sensed her start of surprise. Not in admiration of her sense of judgment either.

"Oh, I do admit that Southey would probably be less trouble and far more malleable. But Malmesbury's hardly one-legged and toothless, now is he? I'm sure he knows how to treat a woman properly. Besides, so long as he's not like Thomas can you give me one good reason why it matters?"

Truth to tell, if anyone could understand her predicament, Thomas would have. For her sake, he'd tried ensuring an heir. But these last six months, as what pressed on his brain swelled, well she certainly didn't want any man treating her like Thomas had.

"That would be hard, madam, given the things His Grace did to you."

"Well, we must remember, he wasn't always like that. No. I think I've decided, Malmesbury, and I Well, I think I should just go along there and get it over with. The sooner the better, don't you think?" She smoothed a smoky curl into place on her forehead. "Besides, my reckoning is, he positively expects it."

"What? Malmesbury? That old--"

"Oh, yes." She reached toward the open trinket chest. "Now, what do you think? Sapphire earrings or plain gold?"

"I don't see either matters, since they're not going to be on very long."

"Just the same." She fastened on the sapphire drops. "You obviously didn't see the way he stared there just now. I very much doubt he can contain himself."

"The old goat."

"Well. Who knows? If he's a randy one, it might even be rather fun." She marveled at herself for laughing when shadows ringed her eyes. But there, so long as she got through this, what did it matter?

Susan's hand rested on her shoulder. "Then I'll get him for you, madam, if this is truly your choice."

"No." Fun or not and she thought not the notion of admitting him here, to the bed she'd shared with Thomas, didn't seem quite right somehow, even if she did manage to conceive the Beaumont heir. "I I'll do it. I need to calm my nerves. What bedroom is he in again? I confess I've forgotten."

"The Blue Chamber."

"Well then, think of England, as they say. Wish me luck. And remember to lock the drawer. However I choose to use it, that book is still the world to me. We must see it doesn't fall into the wrong hands."

She rose, smoothed her dress indigo silk, a perfect match for her hair and eyes-- and took the candlestick.

If she did this, she forfeited forever her claim to be a respectable woman. Who was going to know though? Apart from herself, Susan and Malmesbury. That old coot would marry her in a second, if she gave the word. It was all the more reason to choose him. So why worry when the only thing that could possibly stand in her way was herself?

If she didn't execute this task, then she faced being in the same position as she had been in seven years ago. It was fine at eighteen. But now, she needed to secure some things. Once she had, think of how free she'd be of men and all their machinations. For the first time ever. Women, too.

The Blue Chamber stood at the far end of the landing near the stairs, and she padded there noiselessly in the arc of the flickering candle, past the disapproving busts of the villa-owner Signor Santa-Rosa's ancestors and the draped apertures, which she sometimes imagined hid more secrets than she did.

Malmesbury would be surprised to see her. Irresistibly dressed, jeweled, perfumed in a floating cloud of jasmine, and, hopefully, willing as much as she could make herself, anyway. Who would know that beneath the rustling indigo silk, the heady, intoxicating jasmine she had bathed in earlier, she was like a skittish colt, ready to bolt? Was this how Marie Antoinette felt going to her execution? The queen's deeds were certainly questionable. But her courage now? That was to be admired.

Besides, surprise could sometimes be the best method of attack. A man was, after all, a man. And, as she'd said to Susan, it might even be rather fun. If it wasn't, well, in addition to swiftly retiring to her own bedroom, bolting the door and lying with cool lavender scented cloths on her forehead, there was her book, wasn't there?

If he put a hand on her that was less than seemly, what she'd say to him on the subject of his murkier dealings would certainly ensure it would be fun the next time, if not before. Oh, this was going to be just fine.

Drawing a breath to quell her hammering heart, she raised her hand to tap on the door.

"Hello, sweetheart." A low, American Southern voice drawled. Not from the other side of the door where she expected to hear something, but almost in her ear.

"Imagine seeing you here."