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“If he does not, you know what you should do?” Amanda eagerly leaned forward. “Go to him.”

Olivia shook her head.

“Why not?” Amanda demanded. “His room is right beside yours. I cannot imagine the fool would lock the door. What could he possibly be doing, if not sleeping?”

“Not sleeping?” her sister offered.

“Shut up.” Amanda pointed a long finger at Olivia’s nose. “You are not the shy and retiring type, Olivia dear. You are daring and audacious—”

“And you have ink on your nose,” Amelia pointed out.

Flustered, Olivia pulled out a handkerchief and scrubbed at her nose and cheek. Somewhat muffled, she said, “Is it the wife’s place to—”

“Who cares,” Amanda huffed.

Her sister was nodding sagely. “He is your husband now, Olivia, and if you want him in your bed—”

“—you need to go to his bed,” Amanda finished.

“But—” Olivia began, intending to say she’d never actually been in Alistair’s adjoining chambers, but Amanda interrupted.

“And if you did not enjoy yourself as much as you could have, show him what to do.”

All thoughts of argument fled from Olivia’s brain, and she stared in shocked confusion. Show him…?

Amelia, however, seemed to understand. “Yes indeed. That is what A Harlot’s Guide was for, you know. And we will be expecting it back eventually, please and thank you.”

“I…don’t understand.”

Amelia tsked. “You know what you like, do you not?” She didn’t wait for Olivia to answer, thank God, because how was Olivia supposed to answer that without a blush igniting her hair on fire? “Just march into his room tonight and show him.”

“And then—and I want to be completely clear on this—do not tell us how he responded. He is our brother, after all.” Amanda shuddered. “The only way this conversation is happening is that we are both imagining someone else in the role of your husband.”

Amelia nodded sagely, and Olivia remembered the conversation about her feelings for one of Alistair’s friends. Who was Amanda imagining, after claiming she had no interest in marriage? Clearly she had some interest in sexual relations…

But these thoughts were all secondary.

Olivia stared at the landscape painting over the fireplace, eyes wide, not really seeing. She was imagining what it would be like, to march through that door to Alistair’s chambers, and demand he make love to her again.

Perhaps he doesn’t want to make love to you.

No, that couldn’t be the case. He’d clearly enjoyed the act on their wedding night. And he’d been so gentle and—and loving. His touch made her itchy and aching and needful all at once.

Could she replicate that?

Perhaps…

Perhaps she didn’t need to demand he make love to her.

Perhaps she could just show him what she wanted…

“She is considering it,” Amanda whispered loudly.

Her sister sniffed. “Of course she is. It is a brilliant idea. Now, where is that tea tray? Where is that specimen of manhood?”

Amanda rubbed her hands together. “Hopefully Cook sends up those little sandwiches. I need something more substantial than cakes.”

Slowly, a grin grew across Olivia’s face as a plan formed in her mind. She sat up, suddenly excited for night to fall. Tonight, she’d be bold! She’d be daring!