“For larking!” At his expression, she paused. “Is that… not a common activity?”
“I couldn’t say. I don’t know what that is.”
“To put a man’s member between one’s breasts and—” She gazed up at him, her cheeks growing pink. “Never mind.”
He could not speak. All the blood had drained from his head.
She was still talking. “Blast it all. Belvoir’s. So hard to know what is usual and what is not.” She shot him a look of concern. “But… flogging. That’s surely not usual. Is it?”
“Flogging?” Evidently hecouldspeak, though his voice seemed to have attained an unusual register.
Selina ground her teeth. “No, obviously not. Damn you, Jean Laventille, and your peculiar interests!”
He tried manfully not to laugh. “Are you interested in flogging, wife?”
“Ofcoursenot!” Her flush deepened. “I suppose I don’t know.”
“Oh my God.” He gathered her into his arms and fell back onto the bed. “I beg you. Tell me every last thing you’ve seen in image or text that’s intrigued you.”
“I… I am not sure… there’s time.”
He groaned. “You cannot imagine what you do to me.”
One long-fingered hand found its way in between their bodies and stroked up his thigh, stopping just short of his cock. “I have some idea.”
“Mmph,” he muttered, and kissed her, quick and hard and deep, trying to recall why he needed to slow down.
“Peter,” she said, when he came up for air. “Last night. In our bedsport”—she hesitated—“is that quite the right word?”
“It is thebestword. But I urge you to try out all the words you know, just for comparison.”
“Absurd man.” But her rum-colored eyes were soft. “In our bedsport, why did you withdraw? Is that your preference?”
He paused, startled. “I—don’t know. I doubt it. But we had never discussed children, Selina. I didn’t want to assume. Do you want to discuss it now?”
“I… oh.” She looked surprised but not displeased. “I suppose I just presumed—you are the duke. You must want an heir?”
“Not especially.” He had been a duke for more than a month now, but he had never expected the title. Neverwantedthe title and felt no particular attachment to the dukedom. “Do you want to have children, then?”
Her dark eyelashes were working rapidly up and down. “I’m not sure. I… don’t know.”
“Well, then,” he said, pausing to kiss her before continuing. “We’ll wait. Until we both are sure.”
And then he pressed her back against the mattress and kissed her again.
Several hours later, Selina hummed as she fastened her earbobs. Humming! It was outrageous, really. She had only Peter to blame—Peter, and his tendency to whistle at inappropriate moments. Peter, and his infectious joy.
She kept on humming as she buttoned her gloves and slipped out of her dressing room. Peter was already in his study, working on his next parliamentary speech. She had plans to drop by Laventille’s office later in the afternoon—ostensibly to discuss purchasesfor the Stanhope residence’s plundered library, but in fact to talk about the print run she needed of Walter Scott’s upcoming novel and to discuss the recent rumors connecting Nicholas to Belvoir’s.
At the bottom of the stairs, she stopped in delight. “Lydia!”
Humphrey was ushering Lydia Hope-Wallace into the sitting room, and Selina mentally added a stop at the registry office to her afternoon schedule. Staff—they desperately needed staff. Humphrey and Lydia both paused at the sound of her voice.
“Perhaps the dining room,” she said to Humphrey. It was, at the moment, the only room on the lower level with chairs. She tried not to laugh at Lydia’s expression of bemusement as they seated themselves nearly knee-to-knee at the square dining table.
“I’m so pleased to see you!” she said instead. “You should have sent a note—I was just on the cusp of leaving, and then I would have missed you entirely.”
“Selina.” Lydia’s voice was low and grave, and Selina’s eyes snapped to her face. “I wouldn’t have come the morning after your wedding if it were not urgent.”
