“Such as holding hands?”
“No. More than holding hands.”
Lucy brought her palms to her cheeks in mock surprise. “Such as kissing?”
“No. More than kissing.”
Cascading visions unfolded in her mind as Henry’s eyes bored a path through her soul. Of what it might be like for a man of his remarkable looks and passionate intensity to take her hand, to touch her face, to kiss her lips, and perhaps to… She shook her head as her drifting imagination dropped anchor once more. She clenched her fingers together with dramatic faux alarm.
“Do you speak, sir, of strumming? Rutting? Knocking? Playing at rantum scantum? Giving the girl a green dress…”
“Stop, Lady Margaret!” he blurted. The duchess barely contained a combination of astonished gasps and swallowed laughter. He huffed. “Where did you learn such vulgar terms?”
She smiled innocently, though a little rattled by the unexpected visions. “If you recall, sir, all the men I know are thieves, scoundrels, and cheats. Except perhaps for you, but I am still debating that point.”
He inhaled a deep breath. “Regardless, you must not repeat such words. That is exactly the vulgarity of which I speak.”
“Then why are you not fainting, swooning, or exhibiting general hysteria at this very instance?”
He flinched as if he had just been stabbed through the throat. “Because men do not react to such vulgarity.”
“But women must react or be considered vulgar?”
“Yes,” he growled.
“’Tis yet another stupid rule. Especially as I have heard that it is common practice among nobles to conduct extramarital liaisons. Is that practice not vulgar?”
Henry frowned, seemingly caught in her trap. “You must never speak of the affairs of others, especially those of men.”
“And regarding women? What of their affairs?”
He nervously adjusted his cravat. “A woman conducting an affair must take great care not to get caught doing so or she will be shunned by Society.”
“And what of the man in the affair? Should not he be shunned also?”
Henry cleared his throat, looking very uncomfortable with the conversation. “Actually, such affairs are somewhat expected of noblemen as a demonstration of virility.”
She stared at him and blinked her eyes twice. “I see.”
He shifted in his chair. “Do not look at me that way. It is the expected way of things, and we must all pretend that such liaisons do not happen.”
Lucy nodded as she closed the net on the floundering man. “Again, I see. But what of you? Is that your way of thinking?”
He abruptly rose to his feet and shook his fist with indignation. “Of course not. I find that ‘way’ more than vulgar. There is no greater disrespect to a wife than for a husband to find solace in the arms of another. The woman I marry will mean the world to me, and I would rather die than provide her any reason to believe she is not enough for me.”
His passionate tirade took Lucy aback. An ache grew within her—a desire to be the object of such devotion. Ofhisdevotion. Henry must have noticed her reaction, for he lowered his fist and gazed at the floor in seeming embarrassment. The need to comfort him overcame her.
“I believe you, Henry. I do.” She sighed. “But regardless, this rule of Society? ’Tis a…”
“Stupid rule. I know. I know.” He rubbed his forehead again. “That is quite enough for me now. My head aches. You may work with Her Grace on the conducts we have discussed, and I will join you again on the morrow. Good day, ladies.”
He bowed and briskly left the room. Lucy glanced at the duchess, who smiled. The old woman leaned near and whispered a single word.
“Touché.”
Lucy returned the smile, but could not dismiss how his declaration of marital fidelity had stirred within her a deep desire to experience what he described. To be worthy of a man of character. To be enough for a man of passion.
A man like Henry.
