Page 107

One Week Later

“It’sverypopular in France,” Beatrice said earnestly, pushing the book across the table.

Stephen pursed his lips, eyeing the tome. “That,” he said sourly, “is not the recommendation you think it is.”

She narrowed her eyes at him.

The past week had been their belated honeymoon. There were no visitors and no visits, and Beatrice was entirely happy with this. The outside world, unfortunately, was crowding in, forcing them out of the intimacy of their bedroom and away from all the new pleasures Beatrice was rapidly learning about in that room.

And also in the conservatory, the garden, the library, the observatory (a popular location), and, on one occasion, the middle landing. After scandalizing an unfortunate maid,Stephen and Beatrice had decided to restrict themselves to rooms with doors that could be locked, lest they lose all of their staff.

She had also discovered an annex in the library that contained a few rather interesting books. The sort of books that did not have titles on their covers, and that were generally kept hidden away from the public.

“Well,Ienjoyed the book very much. You ought to read more, Stephen.”

He shot her another pointed look. “Generally, when one is encouraged to read more, moreimprovingbooks are recommended.”

Beatrice sniffed. “There are interesting social, religious, and political points touched upon in this novel.”

Stephen picked up the book and began to flick through the pages.

“Thérèse La Philosophe,” he read aloud, turning to the title page. “Or,Therese the Philosopher. Why do I feel that there will be little philosophy discussed within these pages?”

Beatrice cleared her throat. “There areinterestingthemes.”

He sighed. “Well, I have just chanced upon a particular scene involving a priest and a woman, whose names appear to be anagrams of—Oh. Oh dear. Beatrice, have you read this?”

She felt the color rising to her cheeks. “I have. It was inyourlibrary.”

“I have not read it.”

“Well, you should have! There are some fine suggestions in there.”

She watched Stephen’s face change as he flicked through the pages. It was not a large novel, but the ideas and scenes it carried inside were… well, weighty, for want of a better word.

Excitement was building inside Beatrice. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, that now-familiar desire coiling in her gut. There was a little less urgency to it these days, knowing as she did that Stephen would always be there, always ready to take her in his arms, to kiss her, and touch her. It seemed unbelievable that at one time, they had shared a house, shared abedeven, and kept a discreet distance from each other.

Did I really hide all my thoughts from him? Did I really consider him my enemy?

Beatrice bit her lower lip, hiding a smile. She remembered when Anna had begun to love Theodore. The changes in her had beengradual, but at the end of it all, she was almost a different person entirely. And yet thevery same.

Life was a strange thing, which innocent little Therese discovered soon enough in the story.

Stephen flipped to the end of the book, his eyebrows rising higher and higher as he read.

“A bet is made,” he murmured. “If our redoubtable heroine can spend a good deal of time in a room full of erotica and not resort to… ahem… self-pleasure, she wins the bet. Interesting. I think I am used to novels with rather higher stakes. Does she win the bet?”

There was a moment of silence while he turned a few more pages.

“Oh, she does not, I see.”

“You should not spoil the ending for yourself,” Beatrice remarked, leaning back.

She’d chosen a new gown to wear that day, a striped, black-and-lavender creation which, while notparticularlycomfortable, had a very tight bodice that showed off her chest to perfection.

It was already one of Stephen’s favorites, judging by the way his eyes lingered on her neckline. The attention thrilled her in a way she had not imagined before.

Stephen closed the book with a snap. “I am still not sure about this book.”