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“Right.” Her tone was laden with skepticism. “What were you doing at Vauxhall with a newly married contessa?”

“The gossips apparently didn’t notice that Gianna and I shared the box with a dapper Italian,” he said, taking a bite of toast. “The newlyweds were in London on their honeymoon, touring its attractions, which included Vauxhall. She asked me to join them there, and I stupidly—I can never apologize enough, Torie—I stupidly agreed. The reporters who stalked us ignored her husband.”

Dominic had spent the last months reading Torie’s expressions more closely than he ever did a legal document. Sea-blue eyes darkening to navy? She was curious, even bewildered. Well, the truth was confusing.

“The diamond necklace was a wedding present from the conte, who was so jealous, by the way, that when they arrived in London, he demanded to meet the viscount who had supported his dear wife for several years, this kindness being entirely due to said viscount’s childhood friendship with Gianna’s dead brother.”

“That’s . . . that’s mad,” Torie stammered.

“Gianna takes a flexible approach to the truth, never more so than when she wove the story of how a storm of fraternal kindness led me to give her a house in London. I must have loved her brother dearly.” He took another bite of toast.

“The conte cannot have believed her!”

Dominic finished his tea and put it to the side. “All signs were that he did. The brother, by the way, may or may not have existed. I never got around to asking. Gianna simply gave me my script and demanded I join them at Vauxhall.”

“That story is almost mad enough that I believe it,” Torie breathed. Then: “You bought her a house?”

He raised one shoulder. “We were together for five years.”

She eyed him over her toast. “Is that normal? I’m sure that my father hasn’t bought anyone a house. He’s lucky to have inherited the one I grew up in.”

“The only person I’ve ever spoken to on the subject was my father,” Dominic said. He heard amusement fall from his voice. “The late viscount was miserly in thought and deed. Consequently, I have made a rule of generosity.”

Torie glanced at him. “That explains your willingness to throw pounds at problems, but I don’t know whether I believe you about the contessa. The story is too incredible.”

“We could drop by the newlyweds’ palazzo in Florence during the honeymoon that the twins are planning for the four of us. After I paid for several bottles of champagne, mostly consumed by the conte, his lordship issued an invitation to me and my future bride. You do know that the twins plan to join us in Italy, don’t you?”

Torie ignored that digression. “Just to summarize: you went to Vauxhall two days before your wedding because your former mistress asked you to convince her new husband that you had never been more than a generous friend of her brother, who may or may not be fictional.”

“It didn’t take any skill on my part to act completely indifferent toward Gianna,” Dominic said. “By the end of the evening, the conte was probably grateful to escape my soliloquy about your paintings of rabbits, your sense of humor, your opinions of classical texts, your kindness to my orphaned niece and nephew, and your overall perfection.”

He eyed her. “I told him that you were the most beautiful woman in London. Gianna scowled, but she could hardly complain, given the tissue of lies she’d told him.”

“You could have told me this before we married,” Torie said hoarsely. “You let me think that you had been kissing me—and then going to her bed!”

Dominic nodded. They’d reached the sticky part. “I was furious.”

“Because I had the temerity to ask you to be faithful to your wedding vows?”

“Because of this.” He plucked the last bite of her toast from her fingers and threw it on the tray before he rolled on top of her, bracing himself on his elbows. His heart was hammering in his chest.

It was all so disconcerting. Why was he feeling scorching desire for a woman whom he’d hardly noticed a year ago?

Torie stared up at him, her eyes defiant. But she wasn’t saying no. She wasn’t keeping him at a distance or shouting at him. It was just the two of them in a silent bedchamber smelling of marmalade and buttered toast.

“I likely wouldn’t have gone to Vauxhall, but the only thing I could think about was going to bed with you. I lost my train of thought talking about the farm bill in Lords and had to sit down in disgrace.”

He dropped a small kiss on the corner of her voluptuous mouth. Then, as her lips eased open, he nibbled on her lower lip. Finally their tongues met in a sensual dance that sent hunger raging down to his groin.

She tasted like sweet, sticky, jammy woman—like every idle dream he ever had about making love. He suspected Torie didn’t even like him, and she certainly didn’t approve of him, yet she was kissing him back with a burning intensity that matched his own.

They were matched in lust, he thought dimly.

She pulled away. “Not yet,” she said breathlessly. “I still don’t understand why you didn’t just tell me the other day that you weren’t with Gianna at Vauxhall? Why didn’t you just say that she hadn’t been your mistress for—for how long?”

“Since the fifteenth of February.”

“It would have been so easy.”