Page 53 of Secrets Between Lovers

“No. Do you intend to take a mistress during our marriage?”

He straightened his legs out until her skirts swept around his lower legs. “No.” He cocked his head to the side. “I see no need to do so.”

She tore her eyes away from the way his britches stretched across his strong, muscular thighs. “But you’ve kept mistresses in the past.”

“No again. If I needed … release I usually visited a widow or two up for a jolly time.”

“Ah.”

“May I ask a question now, Maggie?”

“Yes, of course.”

He sat up straight and leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “Why didn’t you just ask that in your letter?”

“Didn’t I?”

“No.”

She frowned and reached for her reticule. She pulled from its shallow depths a small packet of papers folded together and flicked through them. She found the one she looked for and perused it, her eyes widening. Then she pulled out another paper and read it quickly. She finally dropped the packet to her lap and looked up at him, stunned. “I didn’t ask about a mistress until the very end!” She’d asked if he’d been in love. Of course he wouldn’t answer that question. How humiliating.

He moved across the coach to sit beside her. “You did not. I can see now why the writing of blackmail letters was difficult for you. Perhaps written language is not your strong suit. I do not recommend you take on the occupation of letter writer for any elderly ladies. You’ll send condolences to married couples and congratulations to the mourning.”

She bristled. “Hmph.”

He picked her up and set her on his lap. “My, I’m glad you’re tiny, Pocket Princess.”

She should struggle to remove herself. She leaned into his shoulder instead.

He wrapped his arms around her. “Are your worries over a mistress allayed?”

“Yes.”

“And shall I answer your other question, too? About being in love?”

Her breath hitched. Did she want to know the answer? She nodded. “Yes.”

“Then I’ll tell you. Only if you answer a question of mine.”

She glanced out of the window. “We have very little time between here and the manor.”

“We’ll make the most of it. You asked”—he took the letters from her lap and perused them with a low brow—“Ah! Here it is. You asked, ‘Have you ever been in love?’ and I did not answer. Correct?”

She nodded.

He took her hand and raised it to her lips. Holding her gaze, he kissed her knuckles. “I have not.”

“Very well. And your question?”

“Actually, I have several. About the painter and the contortionist.”

She groaned. “I should have guessed.”

He booped her nose. “Yes. You should have. And if you do not answer my questions now, I shall imagine my own answers, whether they are true or not.”

“Proceed then, so I can give your imagination rest.”

“Kind of you, wife. First, when were you engaged?”