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“We’re giving them a reason why you’re marrying me, other than that you need a nanny or my father owes you money. Yet we can’t risk people thinking that Leonora fled with Bufford because her younger sister shamed her by seducing a viscount. Her viscount.”

“Ah. I see that,” Dominic conceded. “At the moment, they think that she fled my temper.”

He no longer cared what they thought about his broken engagement. He wanted Torie, and if he had to wait to marry her, he would.

“No rabbiting?” he asked, just to be clear.

“None.”

“When do we perform Romeo and Juliet?”

“Tomorrow, because the play is opening at the Theatre Royal Haymarket.” She laughed. “I know that Clara will attend as Mylchreest, the actor she likes, is playing Romeo. She’ll certainly be surprised by our kiss.”

“I have no box at Haymarket,” Dominic remarked. “My father preferred Drury Lane.”

She flicked him a look from under her lashes. “Then you’ll need to take a box by tomorrow night, won’t you?”

Dominic nodded. “You should wear this gown. The spots will glitter under the candelabra and catch every eye.”

“Do you like it? I’ve never worn it before.”

“Yes, certainly the . . . the shape of it,” he said cautiously. “No stays. Every man in the theater will celebrate French gowns. The fabric? Not as much.”

Torie narrowed her eyes. “Your honesty is refreshing, sometimes.”

“It’s a bit gaudy.”

She folded her arms over her chest. “Like a circus costume?”

“I’ve never been to the circus. I don’t care what you wear to the theater,” he said with rough sincerity, drawing her back into his arms. “Wear nothing at all,” he said, kissing her neck. “Please.”

When Torie laughed, Dominic couldn’t believe that he hadn’t grasped two years ago how sensual she was.

“This gown will scandalize half of London, but there’s no need to send them into apoplexies with nudity,” she said.

“Kissing me in front of everyone will scandalize the other half,” he pointed out. “I’ll have the banns read for the first time on Sunday, and for two consecutive weeks . . . and then we marry, Torie.”

“At least two weeks after the third banns,” she said firmly. “I shall wear a gown in this style, making it clear I am not carrying a child.” She looked down. “Not that my stomach is as flat as yours.”

“If we don’t have a child for nine months after marriage, no one can possibly think I married you for that reason.”

“As long as there’s no rabbiting,” she said. “I attend performances at every theater, by the way. So we can polish our roles every week before our wedding.”

Thankfully, he caught back a stupid question just in time. Of course she went to the theater weekly. Unless someone read aloud from the Odyssey or another book, she lived in a world without stories.

“It’s acceptable for a betrothed couple to attend the theater without a chaperone, but I think it would be wise if we were prudent,” Torie added.

“I’ll invite the Duchess of Huntington and her husband to join us at Romeo and Juliet,” Dominic said. “The two rarely visit London, and their presence in our box will ensure that all eyes will fix on us.”

“Very clever,” Torie said approvingly.

“Husbands and wives don’t only dance the horizontal jig in bed, you know.” He brought her hands up to his mouth and kissed first one, then the other.

“Oh?”

“A husband could read aloud to his wife in bed. Not epics or gossip columns, but perhaps novels?” He scoured his memory. “Florence likes Castle Rackrent, which I believe you gave her.”

“You would read that aloud to me?”