A Secret Affair

would drag me upstairs by my hair.”

“A studded club waving from my free hand,” he agreed. “Do you wish to resist?”

“Not at all,” she said. “Is it possible for you to move faster? Take the stairs two at a time, perhaps?”

And, ah, at last she startled a laugh out of him.

“You will be fortunate indeed, Duchess,” he said, “if I have any energy left by the time we reach my bedchamber.”

“Then save your breath, you foolish man,” she said.

He appeared not to be lacking in either energy or breath, though, when he finally set her down inside his bedchamber.

Hannah moved against him and wrapped her arms about him and sighed with contentment—and desire and an anticipation that had her blood pumping almost audibly through her body.

“If you wish,” she said, “you can continue masterful, Constantine, and toss me on the bed and have your wicked way with me. Or if you do not wish, for that matter.”

He picked her up again and tossed her.

Quite literally. She bounced three inches into the air before sinking into the mattress.

Oh, she had very definitely chosen the right man.

He proceeded to have his wicked way without stopping to unclothe either one of them first, except in strategic places.

It was, Hannah thought when it was over, worth sacrificing her royal blue evening gown for, even if it was one of her favorites. It must be creased beyond redemption.

And she was committed to her spring affair beyond redemption too.

“Mmm,” she grumbled when he moved off her and rearranged them so that her head was on his arm and her body was curled against his—the bedcovers had somehow materialized around them.

And she promptly fell asleep.

Chapter 8

HANNAH WAS SEATED on the window seat in her private sitting room at Dunbarton House, her legs drawn up before her. It was one of her favorite poses when she was not on public display, but she was reminded of that first night at Constantine’s the week before. This seat was wider, though, and padded with comfortable cushions, and it was daylight and the window looked out on a long green lawn and colorful flower beds rather than on the street. It was a lovely day. Yet here they were, indoors.

“You are quite sure you do not want to go out, Babs?” she asked, turning her head to look at her friend. Typically, while she sat idle, Barbara was sitting very straight-backed on her chair, working diligently at an intricate piece of embroidery. “I feel guilty for keeping you inside.”

“I am quite happy,” Barbara said. “There has been nothing but a whirlwind of activity since I arrived here, Hannah, and I am feeling almost overwhelmed by it all. It is pleasant to have a quiet day.”

“But there is the Kitteridge ball tonight,” Hannah reminded her. “Are you sure you are up for it?”

“Of course,” Barbara said. “If I do not go, then you cannot, Hannah.”

“Because I will be unchaperoned?” Hannah asked with a smile.

“Even you would not be brazen enough to attend a ball alone,” her friend said, looking up.

“I could dash off a letter to Lord Hardingraye or Mr. Minter or any of a dozen others, and I would have a willing escort in no time at all,” Hannah said.

“Not Mr. Huxtable?” Barbara raised her eyebrows.

“After our appearance together last evening at the theater,” Hannah said, “even though you and the Parks and Mrs. Park’s brother and Lord and Lady Montford were there with us, I do not doubt that drawing room conversations throughout London this afternoon have firmly established us as lovers. Nevertheless, there is still the game called propriety to be played, Babs. Mr. Huxtable will not be my escort tonight even if no one else will be and I am doomed to remain at home.”

“Oh, I shall come,” Barbara said, picking up her work again. “There is no need to write to any gentleman.”

“Only if you are sure,” Hannah told her. “You are not my paid companion, Babs. You are my friend. And if you would like an evening at home, then so should I.”

“I must confess,” Barbara said, “that having attended one ton ball with you, Hannah, I am quite eager to attend another. Am I becoming quite … decadent, do you think?”

Hannah smiled at the top of her head.

“You have a long, long way to go before you can legitimately apply that epithet to yourself,” she said. “Unlike me.”

The sunshine beaming through the window was making her feel drowsy. She had woken up at five this morning and had roused Constantine to bring her home, but it had been well after six before they had actually left. She had been quite right about the danger of actually sleeping with a man, especially a man who had somehow got up during the night without waking her and removed all his clothes. They had both been warm and sleepy and amorous, and they had already been tangled together. A whole hour had passed very pleasantly indeed before they got out of bed.

“Was it very difficult,” Barbara asked after a few minutes of silence, her head bent over her work, “to change from who you were to who you are, Hannah? After you married, I mean.”

Hannah did not answer immediately. Barbara had never asked such a question before.

“Not at all,” she said eventually. “I had a very good mentor. The best, in fact. And I did not at all like who I was. I liked who I became. I like who I have become. The duke taught me to grow up, to value myself as I was created to be. And he taught me how to be a duchess, his gift to me. He taught me to be independent and self-reliant. He taught me to need no one.”

That last point was not strictly true. She had not realized quite how much she needed him until he was gone. And he had never told her that she needed no one. Quite the contrary, in fact. He had always told her that she needed love and the precious cluster of persons that would surround that love when she found it—her little community of belonging, he had called it. He had assured her that she would find it one day. He had taught her in the meantime not to be needy, but to rely upon her own inner strength to resist grabbing at any pale substitute for love.

Like sex, she thought now, closing her eyes briefly. It was far more intoxicating than she had expected it to be. It would be very easy to come to rely upon it, to live for the hours at Constantine’s house when all her needs could be satisfied.

But not all. She must never forget that. She must never make the mistake of believing that the needs Constantine satisfied in her were the fundamental needs of her being.

They had nothing to do with love. He had nothing to do with love.

“I liked you, Hannah,” Barbara said. “Indeed, I loved you dearly. I often remember how wonderful it was to have you always close, just a brisk walk away across fields and meadows. And I often wish you were still there.”

“I would soon find myself abandoned if I were,” Hannah said. “You will be marrying your vicar soon.”

“He is not exclusively my vicar,” her friend said with a smile for her embroidery, “though he is exclusively my Simon. I love him dearly, you know. He is bookish and intelligent and quite incapable of holding a frivolous conversation, though he does try, the poor dear. He wears eyeglasses and is losing his hair a little at the forehead and temples even though he has not quite reached his middle thirties yet. He is perhaps an inch shorter than I am, though when he is wearing riding boots we are of a height with each other. And he has the kindest smile in the world—everyone says so. But he has a special smile