Delia had sworn to herself she would never marry a man unless the physical intimacy between them was an improvement over what she had shared with Jack. Her fumbling with Arthur had been a hopeless failure, too, not that she had truly wanted it to succeed. If she had, she wouldn't have worn the diamonds to remind her of her night with Jack.

She had been fond enough of Arthur until his attempt to blackmail her. Might have married him. He'd been at her side for everything she'd endured the past two years. But the frisson she'd first felt when Jack courted her was entirely absent.

There was something else missing inside her. She was unwomanly, cursed with beauty but unable to feel.

"I don't think it's a good idea," she said.

"I don't want you to think."

Perhaps Jack had a point. Her brain had been in an enervated state for the past week and she was past being able to make sense of anything.

Arthur had known Jack was still alive? And yet he'd done everything in his power to seduce her. Not that anything worked. She was as cold as marble. Frigid, according to the writings of that Viennese doctor who was getting so much attention.

"I can see the wheels spinning. Just once, forget about being a proper young girl." He lifted a hand to her.

"I am Johnny's mother, hardly a young girl," Delia objected. But she took his hand in her own. It was rough, the skin scored with marks. He hadn't talked much about what happened and she had been too afraid to ask.

"You're not even twenty. I haven't missed your birthday, have I?" He gave her hand a squeeze.

"Don't you hate me?" Delia blurted.

"How could I? Do you think I was faithful while I was away? I'm ashamed to tell you I was not. Until they locked me up, that is. I didn't have much choice in the prison camp. My celibacy was entirely involuntary."

For some reason, she was not provoked enough to pull back. His smile was rueful. He was telling her the truth when he needn't. She would have born all the blame.

"Why are you confessing this to me now?"

"Because I want us to start fresh. Pretend we've never made any mistakes."

"Johnny isn't a mistake!"

"Indeed, he is not. He's the only good thing between us, isn't he? But I want more good things, Delia. We both deserve them, no matter what you think."

Her face grew hot. Time to tell him this too. "The marital act-I d-don't like it."

He nodded, as if she'd said she didn't like ice cream.

"Do you understand? I can't-"

He pulled her down into his lap. "There is no such thing as 'can't.' You can. You haven't had much experience to go by. My fault entirely. I was a brute on our wedding night, and I'm guessing Arthur wasn't much better. We've always been selfish b.a.s.t.a.r.ds."

Arthur had been all paws and sloppy tongue. Delia shuddered.

"Give me tonight, Delia. I won't ask for more. If you want me to move out after-"

"That isn't right! Marbury House belongs to you."

"Temporarily. It's in safekeeping for our son and his son and all the Marburys in the future. Let's not worry about them. Let's not worry about anything." He cupped her cheek and brushed his lips against her throat.

If she turned, she might catch his kiss. She'd always liked Jack's kisses. It was what had come after that had made her feel so stupid.

His every gentle touch meant he'd forgiven her. Could she forgive herself? It was odd she wasn't troubled by his infidelity-it was common enough, almost de rigueur, with gentlemen of Jack's cla.s.s, she knew. Her guardian had been clear. Men sought their carnal amus.e.m.e.nts outside of marriage. A wife was meant to be held to a different standard.

"I'd like to carry you to bed, but I don't think I'm strong enough yet. Let's walk there together."

He slid her off his lap, and somehow she took the necessary steps that got her across the room. Jack was shedding his clothes even as he walked, strewing them on the carpet. What would her maid think? How silly she was being-her maid would think Delia was performing her wifely duty.

She gritted her teeth. She could do this if she had to, if it meant Jack wouldn't turn her out. Delia had married him for better and for worse, and surely the worse would be balanced by the better eventually. She'd stop thinking, as he suggested. Or think about something altogether different than what was happening between them as they sat down on the bed. The sea beyond her Dorset estate's cliffs. Ma.s.ses of lilacs in the spring, their lush scent overwhelming. The small dinner party next week that Jack had planned to reintroduce himself to his cronies. She would need to consult with Cook- Oh, dear G.o.d, what was he doing? He'd lifted her skirt above her knee and was stroking the skin above her stocking.

"That tickles," she said, wishing she'd just kept quiet.

He was unfastening her garters, his scarred hands sure.

"Lie back and I shall tickle you some more," Jack said, his voice raspy.

She did as requested, feeling uncomfortable. Her maid would have trouble getting the wrinkles out of her dress.

Delia shut her eyes as Jack slipped off her shoes and unrolled her stockings. She could feel his warm breath on her legs, which made her stomach feel very odd.

Then odder still, he bent to kiss her shin, holding her foot aloft and pressing against her arch with a circling thumb. He took turns ma.s.saging each foot and calf and she felt herself relax the tiniest bit.

Oysters, of course. Carrot and coriander soup. Prawn and salmon bouchees- "Oh, what are you doing?" She was sure she'd felt his tongue on the back of her knee.

"Hush, Delia."

His tongue didn't stop at her knee, but was slowly slithering up her thigh. She tried to close her legs but Jack's hands were made of iron. But his mouth was hot and soft and centered over a perfectly ridiculous place. He didn't mean to kiss her there, did he?

Oh! He did. All thoughts of mutton joints with capers and anchovies rolled right out of her head. Jack's edict not to think became all too easy to obey. The sweet roughness of his tongue, the tug and suckle of something inside her, his insistent fingers at her entrance made thought impossible. Delia was growing embarra.s.singly wet and twitchy and couldn't seem to stop. Calm down. She was lifting her bottom up like a hoyden to get closer, hoping Jack would take the hint and do something-something-she wasn't sure what, but she needed him to do it. All her languor had disappeared and she was rigid to her toes, straining toward- This. And this. And this.

She screamed in a very improper way. And then she burst into tears.

"What is it, my darling?" Jack asked, moving up to the pillows from his labors.

"This is all wrong." This-whatever it was-couldn't possibly be what husbands were supposed to do with wives. Jack must think her a courtesan.

A fallen woman.

"It's not wrong if it brings you pleasure. Did it?"

Delia's face was on fire. How could she admit it was the most wonderful and confusing thing that had ever happened to her?

"I should have done it two years ago. I'm sorry I was so hasty. But you were so beautiful, I had no self-control. Like now."

He kissed her lips, and she tasted a dark urgency, and thrillingly, her own essence. This was so wrong. It went against everything her guardian and governess ever told her, not that they had told her much.

"I want to see you again. Let me help you out of your dress."

Of course it wasn't over. Delia rose reluctantly and sat as Jack made quick work of her b.u.t.tons and ties and laces. He was even faster divesting himself of his own clothes.

"Look at me."

Delia's eyes shifted from the mantel clock to her husband's broad chest. He was nicked and brown, a smattering of white-blond hair trailing down to his groin. The hair there was a little darker, and jutting from it was an enormous male member.

She'd been to museums in the past two years. Nothing prepared Delia for her own husband.

"It will be better this time. You'll see," he murmured, nipping at her naked earlobe.

She wouldn't think of the missing earring when there was much more to worry about.

"No thinking, remember? Shut your eyes and lie down."

Did he think he was still in the army giving orders? Nevertheless, she did as he asked.

And he was right. It was better this time, much better. She crested again under the clever ministrations of his fingers as he slid ever so carefully in and out of her. She kissed him back. Kissed him and kissed him, each kiss deeper and more delicious than before. Cried again, but this time her tears were happy ones. Delia didn't need to think of the ocean or flowers or menus when her husband touched and loved her.

She was normal. Well, perhaps not. She felt awfully naughty, and that couldn't be right.

But when she looked into Jack's eyes, she only saw joy and his commitment to their future. No one else would come between them when there wasn't any s.p.a.ce.

Epilogue.

The box was on the pillow where Jack's head should be. Delia's breath hitched as she fumbled with the clasp.

Two. Both the maharani's earrings lay nestled on the velvet, winking in the morning light.

She wouldn't ask how he retrieved the missing earring.

The sticklers said diamonds weren't meant for daytime, but with Jack's help Delia had stopped obeying rules some days ago. She looked forward to breaking more. With shaking fingers, she slid the wires into each ear.

She could hear him whistling in his dressing room. She hoped he wasn't too far along in getting his clothes on. If he was, she'd have to use all her powers of persuasion to make him take them off.

Delia smiled at her reflection in the mirror. She didn't think the task ahead was all that difficult.

The Christmas Scenes

For the past few years, I've been asked to partic.i.p.ate along with other historical authors at the blog Ramblings with this Chick's run-up to Christmas. Each of us is a.s.signed a theme by blogmistress Dani Gorman, and then the fun begins!

The first scene features Evan Raeburn, the only Scottish Raeburn brother who didn't get his own book in the Ladies Unlaced series. Oldest brother Lord Alec Raeburn is the hero of In the Heart of the Highlander, and youngest brother Nicholas woos Eliza in The Reluctant Governess. Poor Evan, like most middle children, was unhappy to be ignored, so it was with the greatest pleasure I sent him to Paris one Christmas to meet his heroine Fleur.

Joyeux Noel

Aspiring couturier Fleur Murray is far from home on Christmas. Good thing there's a Scottish gentleman to keep her spirits up. Evan Raeburn appears briefly In the Heart of the Highlander, and this just might be the start of his own book!

5 rue Auber, Paris, December 24, 1904

Fleur's fingers were so stiff she had difficulty putting on her gloves. She had been sewing since before dawn, and someone would be delighted with the results. Someone would have a new gown to wear for Christmas dinner. Someone would have a Joyeux Noel.

Fleur was not that someone. She was far from her Highland home, about to spend the holiday alone in a tiny garret room with a spirit stove and limited hours of daylight. Not that she was usually there often to watch the sun's winter dimness move across the bare floors-she was toiling at M. Paul Poiret's new atelier from dawn to dusk, st.i.tching seams on shockingly odd dresses.

She had come to Paris to learn her craft, and learning she was. Whether any of her new-found knowledge would translate to ordinary Edinburgh women was doubtful. The price of M. Poiret's j.a.panese-inspired kimonos were twice the yearly salary of the average scullery maid, and she could think of no one she knew who would ever wear harem pants.

It was Fleur's dream to make affordable clothing for young working women. Why should the rich be the only ones to have stylish garments? Her self-imposed year in Paris was half-way done, but she was wondering if her dream would ever become reality.

She stepped out into the dark street. Winter had its icy claws on her immediately. For a woman who sewed for a living, her own coat was sadly inadequate. She shivered all the way to the Metro station, only to find a chain across the steps and a sleet-soaked sign hanging from it. Her French was improving, and with a sinking heart she read that the underground was closed.