Page 101

“I do have an important point to make, Dom.”

“If you wanted to ensure my attention, you have it,” he said hoarsely.

“The Duke of Queensberry—”

He put his hands on her hips and pushed down, enjoying the way her voice broke off.

“Dom!”

“Yes, darling?”

“The Duke of Queensberry is too afraid of you to take up his seat in Lords.”

His hands fell away. “What did you say?”

“He’s too afraid,” Torie said patiently. She leaned forward and ran her hands down Dominic’s cheeks. “He told me back in April, when he was courting me.”

“He was trying to dissuade you from marrying me,” Dominic said, steel in his voice. The hell he’d buy Queensberry another coat. Next time he saw him, he’d slash a rapier down the back of that pink monstrosity.

“I think he was genuinely worried on my behalf. He said you would surely call him a ‘duffer’ in public, if not worse, and that people already believed his younger brother should have inherited the title if there was fairness in the world.” She wiggled again, a smile curving her lush lips. “Which there isn’t, especially when you were in line to receive physical . . . endowments.”

Dominic ignored that. “If I hold my temper, may we please discuss something else?”

“His Grace would be a vote on your side,” Torie said. “Once you explained things to him. He’s got a good heart.”

“I know that,” Dominic conceded. The duke had been extremely gracious when Dominic offered to pay off his debts. In fact, now that he thought about it, Queensberry had said ashamedly that Dominic probably didn’t have any debts, but he himself was a nitwit who couldn’t resist a lustrous silk.

Dom had silently agreed with him, since he wouldn’t dream of going into debt to buy a coat. But now he saw that exchange in a different light.

Queensberry was being shamed for his intellect, something out of his control. As was Torie.

Looking down into her husband’s face, Torie decided that they’d had enough serious conversation for the morning. Her painting was calling to her, but she would never be able to concentrate until . . .

“I take it your generosity is partly revenge on your father,” she said, leaning over enough to nip his lower lip.

“You could say that.” Sure enough, his eyes darkened.

“Perhaps you’d like to seek more revenge?”

Dominic’s hands on her hips tightened, and he pulled her down again, settling her weight more firmly. “Not a bad idea. What do you suggest?” His voice was a rasp.

“We could buy every child in the Chelsea Orphanage an expensive doll, one of the ones with real china heads.”

“Spending money does make me happy,” her husband said. There was a suspicion of a smile around his lips.

“What else makes Viscount Kelbourne happy? And, of course, makes the ghost of his father unhappy—perhaps even exorcizes that phantom, since Florence is certain of his existence.” She raised a finger. “I have it!”

Dominic’s smile grew.

She wiggled again. “Ah, my favorite clothespin,” she sighed.

Her husband crossed his arms behind his head, flexing the heavy slabs that sculpted his upper body.

Torie’s voice lowered. “You turn yourself over to me.” She trailed her right hand over his chest and stopped at a nipple. “You let me do depraved things to you that no lady would dream of doing, especially in the morning light.”

“Sunlight does make depraved things seem more depraved,” Dominic agreed.

“Lie down,” she commanded, shifting to the side.