Maggie MacKeever (29 page)

Lady Davenham experienced no difficulty in deciphering this somewhat cryptic comment, as result of which she stared wide-eyed at her husband’s rueful face. “You thought I had taken you in aversion and I thought you were indifferent. Yes, and that you wished to sow your wild oats! We have been a couple of gudgeons, I think. But, Vivien! You know that I am not a, a
pushing
sort of female. I did not wish to force myself on you. Oh, the devil with propriety! I have never truly wished to be adventurous with anyone else!”

Thea might push or no, as the impulse took her, and she would still be the perfect wife for Vivien. So he explained, as he drew her close to him, and rested his cheek on her dark curls. “About the other night, my dear. I fear I took advantage—”

“Fudge!” Lady Davenham drew back, rosy-cheeked. “You refine too much on it. Whichever of us took advantage, I liked it very well! I see now that I should have told you so before.”

“In the future you may do so.” Lord Davenham’s voice was very close to a caress. “As in the future you may not doubt that I love you, Thea. Far more than any of my estates.”

So much as that? Thea drew a deep, shaken breath. “And I love you, Vivien. I always have. Gracious, what larks we have been involved in! Cracksmen and blackmail and Bow Street. I shall be glad to return home.” One did not recover overnight from excessive dosages of propriety, but both Lady Davenham and her lordship felt she had made a very good start. In proof of this assumption was her ladyship’s next action. Shyly, the Duchess fixed her gaze on her husband’s unbuttoned waistcoat, the sight of which inspired her to deal similarly with his shirt. “And as regards the other night —of course it is too soon to be certain—still, sometimes one just
knows!”

Looking not the least bit abstracted, Lord Davenham once more caught his wife’s hands, which made concentration extremely difficult. “Are you speaking, my dear, of our long-anticipated heir?”

“I think I must be,” responded Thea, who at this point wasn’t certain
what
she was talking about, and moreover didn’t care. So moved was his lordship by this intelligence that he promptly embraced his wife in a fashion that left her no doubt whatsoever that he was capable of strong emotion indeed.

Relish as might Lord and Lady Davenham the reconciliation of their differences, the occasion was not equally enjoyed by the hound Nimrod. Jealously, he had watched the proceedings. Now that the Duke had been inspired to actively embrace his Duchess, and in a manner much more suited to ancestral bedchambers than to bookrooms, Nimrod felt compelled to intervene. Growling and snarling, he wheezed across the room, and snapped at the Duchess’s heels. Thea gave a little shriek. Rising magnificently to the occasion, Vivien swept his wife up in his arms and callously shoved aside his hound with one booted foot. Vanquished, Nimrod descended to the kitchens, where he consoled himself by terrorizing the cook.

Lady Davenham simultaneously sought to smooth her hair and adjust her
décolletage,
clutch her husband’s shoulders, and puzzle out why he was carrying her up the stairs. “And in case I am mistaken, there is always the
next
time!”

His lordship’s grip tightened, and she gasped. “What
are
you doing, Vivien?”

Lord Davenham gazed down into his wife’s face. The Duke looked most engagingly rakish. “I thought we’d get on with the next time,” he suggested, with a whimsical smile.

Copyright © 1981 by Gail Clark

Originally published by Pocket Books (0671412760)

Electronically published in 2008 by Belgrave House/Regency

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This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.