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smile, God knows why. “I’d better have that child now or I’ll find myself incapable.”
    “Hardly.” His smile was no more than a twist of his lips.
    “There’s no real evidence that your heart is giving out, is there?” she asked.
    “The doctors see none, but I have the feeling they have no idea what a failing heart would look like.” He did smile at her now, a ruefulness in his eyes.
    “They don’t know,” she said firmly. “You could have passed out that day in Lords because you drank too much at luncheon.”
    She saw the truth in his eyes.
    “All right, you never drink to excess. Lord almighty, Elijah, is there anything you do wrong?”
    A queer little silence greeted her.
    “Besides marrying me, of course.” She said it with dignity.
    “That wasn’t what I was thinking.”
    “Well,” Jemma said, feeling a curious wish to make the bleak look in his eyes go away, “you’ll be very happy to hear that my brother is taking his disreputable fiancée to the country. Your reputation is saved,” she said, leaning forward and tapping his finger. His fingers looked strong and durable. Surely his heart was the same.
    He shrugged. “My reputation appears to be intact; I just received a missive from Pitt asking me to address the House of Lords and prepare them for his enclosure tax. The more pressing question seems to me to be when we begin our next chess game. Tomorrow, perhaps?”
    “It’s very kind of you not to dwell on the fact that you just won the first one,” she said.
    “I see no reason to dwell on it,” he said, smiling at her. “I fully intend to win this game as well.”
    “That would mean no third game,” she said.
    “True, and won’t that make the ton irritable. They are so looking forward to hearing of our third game. Blindfolded and in bed, wasn’t it?”
    He was watching her closely, so she raised her eyes and met his. “Indeed, those were the terms of the match.”
    “You appear to have beaten Villiers in the first game,” he said. He sounded casual, but she knew him better.
    “We began our second this morning.”
    “A subject that fascinates everyone from the younger chambermaid to the highest duke in the land,” Beaumont said.
    There was a moment and Jemma realized what he had said. “You, my lord, are the highest duke in the land.”
    He rose and looked down at her. He had taken off his wig at some point. His hair was cut so short that it left his face unguarded, his beautiful cheekbones, tired eyes. “I would not wish you to think that I don’t find the outcome fascinating,” he said. And then swept her a bow.



Chapter 9
    THE MORNING POST (CONTINUED)
    We will close our report with an admonishment to these Desperate Duchesses…plea sure yourselves as you will, but remember that your dukes will do the same. And when a duke strays, he may well stray permanently and to the detriment of your welfare!
    Nine in the evening
The same day
    F letch didn’t come home for hours. Supper passed, but Poppy didn’t allow herself to be dressed for the night. Instead she sat, bolt upright as her mother had always taught her, and stared at the wall. The only—only—good thing about the day was that her mother refused to go anywhere near the Duchess of Beaumont, so she had not been at the party. While she would undoubtedly hear of Fletch’s insult by the next morning, that gave Poppy a very small window in which to think her own thoughts.
    Not her mother’s thoughts.
    There was a great difference. Somehow she’d fallen into the habit of letting her mother command. It was easier to go along with her, to keep her happy. When she was unhappy…
    Poppy shuddered a little. She had never liked screaming, not from the time she was a little girl. It wasn’t that her mother didn’t love her. She did. She really did. Sometimes Poppy had to remind herself of that, because being Lady Flora’s daughter sometimes felt like being something that belonged to Lady Flora. A possession.
    She