She shrugged. “I liked some of the new clothes. In case you haven’t noticed, I do appreciate a well-designed dress.”
Her eyes sparked with mischief. She was joking with him. For some strange reason, this put a lump in his throat.
“But,” she continued, “I did not like being told what to do every second of every day.” Holding up her hand, she began making points for each finger. “I do not crochet. My singing is atrocious and only slightly better than my playing of the pianoforte. I cannot draw, paint or sketch, except for dress designs, and I shall never, ever understand why a gentleman would prefer to talk with a lady who has no opinions.”
“An utter failure then?” Stephen teased. “Whatcanyou do, my lady?”
And then, ah, yes. A very real smile. A smile that was simply, incredibly… Cecily Nottingham, or perhaps, in truth, Miss Cecily Findlay.
“I design gowns. For all occasions; daytime, evenings, riding, even for sleeping. When I am not devising methods for killing my husband, I am imagining new ensembles that I would draw. I assisted the modiste in almost all of my trousseau. Half the designs were mine, and I ordered the fabric for my negligees shipped all the way from China.”
Stephen had every intention of mentally picturing her in a day dress, but his baser urges were stronger. Instead, he’d somehow conjured up an image of her in that red nightgown she’d worn the other morning, sitting astride him, the skirt pushed up to her waist. In his imagination, her hair, the color of a setting sun, was unbound and cascading down her back. And those lush lips, mmm… soft and open. The memory of her touching him earlier did little to help cool this unwanted stirring.
“What else can you do?” His voice sounded gravelly to his own ears.
“I am quite clever with numbers. Occasionally, Papa still brings me the books to look over when they don’t balance. I understand contracts and negotiations and — hmm… let me see, oh yes, I am an excellent dancer.”
At that, he laughed. “Ah yes, as I was witness to the other night.”
She pouted at him. She really was something of a flirt. And then, after blinking a few times, her eyes dropped. When she spoke, her voice was almost a whisper. “I hadn’t danced since the wedding.”
Considering why she hadn’t danced, Stephen nodded solemnly. “If your papa were here right now, what do you think he would tell you to do?”
“Seriously?” she asked.
“Profoundly,” he said. “In your situation, what advice would he give you?”
“My papa,” she began cautiously, “would tell me that if I really wanted out of this marriage, I could find a way. He would tell me,” she continued with growing conviction, “that I would probably have to make some sacrifices… nonetheless… if I truly wanted to be free of Flavion. My papa would remind me that I always have choices.”
Stephen raised his eyebrows at this, although it didn’t surprise him to hear that Thomas Findlay would teach his daughter thusly. The man himself had beaten all odds by raising himself to phenomenal wealth and power.
“What would your choices be?” He enjoyed watching her think, which was odd, because in the past he’d been annoyed by women who took it upon themselves tothink.
“I could resign myself to my predicament and make the most of being a countess. I’m certain this is what Flave would wish me to do…andI could use my money and position to punish those who did not give me respectorI could remove to the country and ignore them allorI could remain a victim and continue allowing those who disapprove of me to dictate my attitude.”
“All valid options,” Stephen said.
“Or…”
Uh, oh. The tone of her voice warned him as to something outrageous. Stephen did notlikeoutrageous. He preferred normal and proper and methodical.
“…I could do something that would force Flavion to divorce me. Something so horrendous his pride would not allow him to stay married to me.”
Oh, hell.She faced him full on now. In her eyes, her face lit up with an excitement he hadn’t seen there before. It concerned him, and yet his heart lifted at her sudden animation.
“There would be a considerable price to pay if you were to become a divorced woman. Have you considered what all it would include?” He tried to sound stern but found himself instead noticing that her lips looked plump and inviting when she pouted.
“Of course I have.” She pushed her bottom lip out even farther.
“And?”
“It is my opinion that the benefits outweigh the other consequences.” She smiled weakly before speaking again. “We are talking about the same thing, aren’t we?”
“Cuckholding your husband?”
The minx blushed. “Well, not in truth.” She rushed to get the words out. “But if hethoughthe had been cuckolded, and the whole of thetonthought the same thing, then there is a good chance, don’t you think, that he would divorce me?”
Stephen turned and fell backward onto the concrete bench. Lying on his back, he found himself looking straight up into the sky. Unconsciously, his mind began noting the various constellations. He’d done a lot of sailing, even captained his own ship for a while, and a clear sky such as tonight’s was generally very soothing. Bending his knees, he lifted his booted feet, planted them on the end of the bench and sighed. Even the stars could not soothe him tonight.
