She would change that formal garden, she decided, combing through her wet hair. It was large enough for a little maze, perhaps, with an airy folly in the center.

With some sort of bed or sofa in it, she thought, her cheeks warming. On a warm summer night she and James could walk the maze. That thought led directly to the rather scandalous idea that someday she’d like to kiss him there, the way he had her.

“His Grace sent a message to say that he is returning sooner than he planned,” Amélie said, laying out a morning gown.

“I suppose I’ll see the duke at luncheon,” Theo said unenthusiastically. “Not that one,” she added, seeing what Amélie put out. “I wish the garments I ordered yesterday were already finished.”

“At least three weeks, Madame said,” Amélie reminded her.

Theo sighed. “I suppose the yellow one will have to do, though I don’t like the contrast with my hair.”

Amélie nodded. “A shade darker would be better.”

That was one of the many things Theo loved about her maid: Amélie was as enthusiastic about fabric and color as she was.

But her mind drifted back to James. She never would have thought that she could feel so alive. That is, she’d known she was alive, of course, but last night, when their eyes met, she was more alive than she’d ever been.

Who cared if she was the “ugly duchess,” as long as James looked at her as if she were beautiful beyond words?

She found herself humming that old song as Amélie buttoned her morning gown. And she couldn’t stop smiling at the mirror as her maid wound all her heavy hair in an elaborate arrangement. Before her betrothal, she had thought that she’d crop all her hair off in one of those daring new cuts, but not now. Not now that she knew how much James loved it. In the middle of the night he had lit candles around the bed, and then played with her hair. No. She would never cut her hair.

She looked up and met her maid’s eyes in the mirror.

“I am just so glad to see you happy, my lady,” Amélie said, her French accent lending charm to her sincerity. “We all are. Those bâtards who named you so . . . they should be beaten. But his lordship made it all better. As a husband should.”

Amélie’s smile was purely wicked collusion.

“He did,” Theo said, smiling in return. “He did. The nickname still stings, I have to admit. But being married means that only one person’s opinion matters, doesn’t it?”

“I have never been married,” Amélie said. “But I do think so. Most men are imbéciles, but his lordship, he has always known you were beautiful. He watched you during meals, that is what Mr. Cramble said. And he could not take his eyes off your bosom.”

“That’s what he told me! I cannot believe I never noticed it when Cramble did.”

“You are young in the ways of men and women,” her maid said wisely.

Theo threw her a mock glare. “And are you pretending that you’re old, Amélie? Because we both know you turned eighteen a week after I turned seventeen.”

“Je suis française,” Amélie said with smug exactitude. “Here is the scarf you wanted, my lady.”

“Watch this!” Theo picked up the pair of miniature scissors that Amélie used to trim her fingernails and briskly cut the scarf in two.

Amélie gave a shriek. “Indian silk!”

Theo shook out the half square of heavy silk. “It will make all the difference to this insipid gown.” With one sharp wrench she pulled out the lace fichu tucked into her bodice and replaced it with the scarf. It flashed raspberry red against the almond-colored muslin of her gown.

She turned to the mirror again. “I like it,” Amélie said. She reached out and deftly rearranged the silk. “I will pin it here and here, my lady.”

“It draws attention to my bosom,” Theo said, wondering if James would notice.

“That should hold,” Amélie said, stepping back a moment later. “I can sew it in later.”

“I don’t think I’ll leave the house today,” Theo said. It was one thing to tell herself that James’s opinion was all that mattered. It was another to walk down Bond Street with all those etchings staring her in the face.

“Let the excitement fade,” Amélie said, nodding. “By next week, there will be some other poor soul under attack.”

“Perhaps I’ll see if my husband would like to go to Staffordshire, to Ryburn House.” Suddenly she was quite sure that James would go wherever she went. She could feel a pink flush rising in her cheeks, but she kept her voice steady. “In fact, if you could pack my clothing, Amélie, I believe we will pay a visit to the country, perhaps for as long as a month.”

“You are leaving London for the rest of the season?”

“Do you think I am being a coward?”

“Never!” Amélie said. “But there might be even more talk if you retire to the country, my lady. Because they will think you are afraid, you see.”

“We can return for the Elston ball,” Theo decided, thinking aloud. “By then my new wardrobe will have been delivered; Cramble can send it to the country and we’ll have the final fittings there.”

She stood up and took a last look at the mirror. The dress was still altogether too virginal, but the jarring touch of raspberry helped turn it to something with a claim to style.

Her heart beat a little rhythm at the idea of seeing James again. Though by now he was likely out of the house, on a horse, or boxing at Gentleman Jackson’s. He had a ferocious amount of energy and couldn’t be kept indoors or he started to look tormented, like a caged tiger.

She’d have to keep that in mind, she thought idly, her fingers trailing down the polished banister as she descended the stairs. Her husband needed regular exercise. Rather like having a dog.

Though James was far from a pet. There was something wild and undomesticated about him, something that was unlike any other aristocrat she’d met. The most she could hope for was to lure him to her.

It wasn’t quite time for luncheon. If James was home, he was probably in the study. A thrill of feminine power went through her. Perhaps he had decided to stay home, at least until he saw her. Perhaps they could go riding in Hyde Park. Now that they were married, she really should become a better rider.

But not until she could wear a charming riding habit of her own design, with braided trim, epaulets, and military flare.

Twelve

Her husband strode through the library doorway the moment Theo reached the bottom of the stairs. His face was dark with rage—but at the sight of her, it cleared, though his eyes remained troubled.

“Hello,” she said, feeling acutely self-conscious.

He said nothing, just grabbed her hands and walked backwards into the library. He smelled faintly of leather and a high wind.

“You’ve been out for a ride,” she said a short time later, when they stopped kissing for a moment.

“God, I’m mad for you,” he whispered in her ear, ignoring her comment altogether. “But I’m surprised you’re able to walk. We shouldn’t have done it, that last time.”

“I wanted you,” she said against his lips. “I want you now.”