“And that is the problem,” Leonie said, choosing her words carefully. “I don’t know that I want a man’s thing near me.”
“His thing?” Her mother’s brows came together and she started laughing. “Leonie, it is called acock. If you are fortunate enough to marry a man who knows how to use his, you will be a happy woman. A ‘thing,’ ” she repeated, and laughingly shook her head before looking up as if struck by a new thought. “Does this have anything to do with that unpleasantness in India?”
She didn’t wait for Leonie’s answer but said, “I feared he’d taken you. Your father refused to think on it, butI knew. Paccard had you, didn’t he? You are no longer a virgin.”
Leonie balked. “Why are you asking me such a question? Especially after so much time has passed. One would think you would have been more concerned when I returned.”
“I feared the answer when you returned. Besides, what with Paccard’s death, you were more than a touch hysterical. One wrong word and you turned into a watering pot.”
That was true. Leonie had been horrified at what had happened to her, at what she’d done.
“But the bastard took you, didn’t he?” Her mother opened a dressing table drawer and pulled out her silver flask. She unscrewed the top and took a drink. She offered it to Leonie, who shook her head. It was a point of honor with Leonie that, although she had taken a nip out of almost every bottle on display in the house, and there were many, she did not touch her mother’s flask.
Well, she had one time—when Roman had returned her to her parents after her elopement. She had been frightened and inconsolable. She hadn’t eaten or slept. While Roman had conferred with her father, her mother had pulled out her flask.
“Drink,” she’d said, and Leonie had obeyed. That was her introduction to brandy and it had been a good one. Within minutes, the most delicious warmth had spread through Leonie and she’d been able to regain control over herself. She’d even had a second nip.
In truth, Leonie hadn’t much liked the taste that first time, but she’d enjoyed the feeling brandy gave her. Whenever she felt a bit anxious, or the memories and guilt of that night became too much for her, a nip always helped. Always. Some days she couldn’t go without two or three.
But she had not touched her mother’s flask since that night.
Her mother had another good pull on the flask and then screwed the top back on. “At least no harm was done,” she said as if reaching a decision. She opened the drawer to replace her flask.
“No harm?” Leonie was confused.
“No child.” Her mother closed the drawer.
“My Indian maid at the time, Adya, had me drink a tea.” It had been foul tasting. “She said it would prevent a baby.”
“Adya? I don’t remember her.”
“You might not.” Her mother didn’t pay attention to servants.
Her mother pondered for a moment and then gave Leonie a small smile. “Well, everything ends well.” The brandy was making her mellow. She changed the subject. “Have you seen Lieutenant Gilchrist recently? He was the man who returned you to us and was almost court-martialed for fighting a duel over you. I was told this evening that someone saw him in town.”
Leonie was surprised her mother would single out Roman. “He was at the marquis’s ball.”
“Oh.” Her mother pulled her hair over one shoulder to curl around her hand. “The world is a curious place. Whoever thought we would see him again?” Her lips curved into a sly smile. “I remember him as brawny man with the clearest gray eyes. Tall, dark haired. Interesting, especially after he shot his best friend over you. I may have to search him out to express my appreciation for what he did years ago.”
Leonie didn’t want to think about what she meant. She stood abruptly. The hour was too late for her spend it watching her mother moon over Roman. She’d received the answer to her questions—her parents would not support her living on her own. And she would probably not escape marriage.
“I’ve taken up enough of your time, Mother.” Leonie bent to give her mother a dutiful peck on the cheek. “Thank you for talking to me.”
“I enjoyed myself.” Her mother stood and moved toward the bed. Leonie was almost to the door when she said, “Remember, daughter, a woman’s power is between her legs. Don’t be afraid to use it.”
A picture rose in Leonie’s mind of Arthur over her, his hand smelling of horses and leather a weight across her mouth to stop her screams, his “cock”—see? She could use adult words—tearing her to pieces inside.
That was power?
Her smile felt frozen. “Good night, Mother.”
“Good night, lamb.”
Leonie escaped the bedroom. She started for her own room, but then stopped and walked to the study. Just a nip would help ease her anxiousness. She made her way to her bed.
She climbed onto the plush feather mattress and pulled sheets of the finest linen over her. She stared at the bed canopy, wishing her mind would stop its frantic working.
A woman’s power is between her legs.
