Chapter 28

… It came at last, the dear, critical, dangerous hour came; and now, supported only by the courage love lent me, I ventured, a tiptoe, down stairs…

—from FANNY HILL

They decided to begin at Belvoir's.

Peter rather liked the simplicity of it. Selina had told him one of her private rules was that she could never be seen to carry one of the green-bound Belvoir's books, nor could she be caught entering or exiting the library.

So ten days later, after the rumor mill had had time to churn and when the traffic on Regent Street was at its thickest, they marched brazenly up to the front door, pushed it open, and walked into Belvoir's.

It was crowded with patrons. The rumors of Nicholas's involvement had already heightened interest in the library. Though Alverthorpe had not publicly accused Nicholas Ravenscroft of any misdeeds, Nicholas's sudden attention to the earl—who was not one of his friends or political partners—had been noted.

Then Lydia's domestic gossips had gone to work. Peter suspected that Georgiana had had something to do with the project as well, as knowledge of Selina's involvement spread like wildfire in dry grass. He and Selina had paraded through the Park, gone riding in Rotten Row, called on everyone they knew, and brought the children to a number of fashionable destinations—not that Lu had been impressed by anything she'd seen.

They had gotten many long, lingering, interested looks from other members of the beau monde , but no one had cut them. They'd been received everywhere they went, and if they noticed people whispering behind their hands as they passed—well, Peter was used to that. He didn't mind in the slightest, not now—because Selina had done something good and important, and he had the chance to stand at her side.

His wife—looking radiant in an amber frock almost the color of her eyes—sauntered through the aisles of books at his side, her fingers resting lightly on his forearm. He'd suspected she would be good at this, ruthlessly competent as always. He had not expected how much she would seem to relish her role.

She tilted her head toward a group of dowagers who stood at the side of the room, whispering as they observed the passersby and looking not at all interested in the emerald books. "Over there next," she said in an undervoice. "Lady Malcolm is the only one of that clique who is a Belvoir's patron. The other two, I suspect, are here for the gossip."

They strolled toward the group. Selina smiled and nodded as they passed others—some friends, some Peter's political opposition—and Peter felt a hot rush of pride as he walked alongside her.

The three older women turned as one when he and Selina reached them. He supposed he and Selina had precedence over all three, but from the cool expressions on their faces, he wasn't certain they felt outranked.

"Lady Yardsley," Selina said, nodding at the tallest of the three. "Mrs. Bucklebury. Lady Malcolm."

"Your Graces." Lady Yardsley eyed them both. "I'm rather surprised to see you here, of all places."

Peter contained a snort.

Mrs. Bucklebury, a petite Afro-Scottish woman in purple, did not greet them. She glanced down and straightened the ribs of her Italian fan.

It was perilously close to a cut, but Selina ignored it and smiled brilliantly at the final dowager. "How do you do this afternoon, Lady Malcolm?"

"Quite well, Your Grace." Her voice was soft, and she didn't look at her companions.

"I was just telling Stanhope about the dinner party you hosted in Gloucestershire," Selina continued. "Do you remember that? A few years back?"

"Yes, certainly, Your Grace." Lady Malcolm had a pale foxlike face and a cap of gray curls peeking out from beneath her bonnet.

Selina looked innocently delighted. "What was it that you served? Venison?" She gazed at Lady Malcolm and said meaningfully, "You prepared the sauce yourself, did you not?"

Peter could not imagine what she was talking about.

Lady Malcolm, it appeared, knew very well indeed.

She blanched. "I—perhaps I did. I can't quite recall—"

"And apples!" said Selina. "From your very own orchard!"

Lady Malcolm went faintly green. Peter tried to imagine what apples and making one's own sauce could reference.

"I did not know you had an orchard, Mary," said Lady Yardsley.

"Oh—" Lady Malcolm looked at her friend, then back at Selina, eyes round as saucers.

Selina straightened the seam on her calfskin glove, then met Lady Yardsley's eyes. "Oh—perhaps not. My mistake. It was several years ago. I've quite forgotten the details."

Lady Malcolm looked between her friends and Selina. She blinked. And then, cautiously, she smiled at Selina. She seemed to be considering whether or not she could trust Selina's sudden retreat. "Perhaps we could host you again sometime? Your Grace?"

"We would be honored," said Selina.

"Certainly," Peter offered. "I've heard your younger son is a promising new MP."

He had only the vaguest notion who her second son was, but Lady Malcolm looked at him in alarm. He wondered if the younger Malcolm's wife was also a patroness of Belvoir's. He made his smile as bland and unthreatening as he could.

"Lovely," croaked Lady Malcolm. She turned to her friends, who were watching the proceedings with interest. "Alice," she said, "Cecily—I'm sure you'll both be there as well, will you not? I cannot think of a"—she sounded slightly ill—"higher honor than dining with the duke and duchess."

Lady Yardsley assented. Mrs. Bucklebury lifted her fan and fluttered it in front of her face.

"Cecily." Lady Malcolm's voice was strangled. "I am certain that you will dine with us. I am confident you would not want to miss the pleasure of Her Grace's company."

Silence stretched. Lady Malcolm's face grew increasingly pained. Peter thought she might reach out and snap Mrs. Bucklebury's fan in half.

Finally, Mrs. Bucklebury sighed. "Oh yes, I suppose I would not turn down your invitation, Mary."

And that, it seemed, was that.

Selina chatted briefly with the three dowagers for a few more moments, before placing her hand on Peter's arm. "I fear we must take your leave," she said. "Some business to attend to. Such a pleasure to see you all."

They left the group, and Peter set his hand atop Selina's. "Do I want to know—about the venison?"

Selina vibrated with smothered amusement. "There's a book. Lady Malcolm borrowed it so many times and for so long that eventually I simply replaced it in the catalog."

"Is that right?"

"It describes the—er—adventures of a certain female huntress. Modeled on Diana. She engages in a variety of exotic acts with her fellow archers. Arrows, you see. Piercing, er, numerous things. Toward the end, one is informed that Diana prefers a great deal of sauce. All over her apples."

Peter tried very hard not to imagine any such thing in the context of the dowager they had just encountered.

"Duchess," he said instead, "don't tell me you are having a good time."

She laughed softly, a little puff of air. "Perhaps—just a little."

The afternoon continued in much the same vein, and Peter felt dizzy with pride in her. In her accomplishments, certainly—but also in the way she threw herself into the role, vibrant and strong. She would have fled society if it would have kept their family safe, the same way she had tried to remake the whole damned world in order to help a friend.

He thought of the way she'd thrown herself into the Serpentine for the little wet ball of canine fluff, and tenderness came in a rush that was almost painful.

There was a brief commotion at the front of the library, and Selina's head snapped up.

It was Lady Georgiana, Peter saw—and then, with a start of alarm, observed the Earl and Countess of Alverthorpe behind her.

Lady Alverthorpe hung briefly on her husband's arm, but he shook her off and made toward the back of the library. Peter felt a brief flash of hazy red rage, but fought it back. Selina was stiff beside him, and he had to be steady right now. For her.

They hadn't expected direct confrontation. They had counted upon Alverthorpe's pride to stop him from announcing his family's association with Belvoir's and the Venus catalog. He might withdraw his membership, to be sure—but they hadn't thought he'd come for Selina.

They'd been wrong.

Alverthorpe was tall and bluff and would have been handsome if his face hadn't been carved with fury. He came straight for them.

"Stanhope," he hissed. "I should have known it when you married into this family. Not something a real Englishman would touch in his life."

Selina stiffened further.

The earl's eyes fixed on Selina. "And you," he said. He seemed to relish the words. "I'm going to run this place out of business. And after that, I'm going to have you brought up on civil charges for the filth you've been spreading."

This was what Selina had been afraid of. Tagore had said she couldn't be prosecuted under criminal obscenity charges, but that didn't mean she was exempt from legal action.

Selina lifted her chin. "I am the Duchess of Stanhope," she said coolly. "My membership rolls include several royals. I'd like to see you try."

Alverthorpe's face grew even more enraged. "Control your wife," he snapped at Peter. "Or I will do it for you."

Peter heard his restraint snap, a quiet pop inside his ears. "That," he said softly, "was too far."

And then, at Alverthorpe's elbow, Georgiana spoke. "Enough," she said. "Father. Enough."

The earl turned on her, and Peter stepped forward, prepared for the earl to unleash violence, but Georgiana raised her voice. "No. I'm tired of being silent."

She'd dropped her muddleheaded public persona. She looked almost a different woman, her mouth a hard slash.

"Georgiana"—Alverthorpe's voice was a threat—"we'll talk about this at home."

"I'll talk about it now. I wrote the books you found in my chamber."

"Don't be a fool—"

"I wrote them," she said, "and three others. I can find them here for you, if you'd like to see them."

Peter felt rocked by Georgiana's sudden revelation of her secret. But Selina didn't miss a beat. "It might be hard to find them," she said. "They're so popular, it's difficult for me to keep them on the shelves."

"You're lying," Alverthorpe said.

"I've lied enough." Georgiana looked her father in the eye. "I've written six hugely popular Gothic novels." He started to reply, but she spoke over him. "Yes—even though I am a Cleeve. Even though I am the daughter of an earl. And if you threaten the Stanhopes again, I will tell everyone in the ton what I've done."

Alverthorpe laughed in her face. "You'd destroy yourself? For them?"

"I've been destroying myself for eighteen years," she said, "for you. I've had enough."

Lady Alverthorpe was staring between the two of them, tears painting silvery streaks down the sides of her face. "Georgie," she whispered, "don't."

Georgiana turned to her and, for the first time, looked vulnerable. "Mother," she said, "come with me."

"Try it," said Alverthorpe. "See what happens when you're all alone." His voice was thick with derision. "See how well you'll live with no money—no ton , no friends—"

"They won't be alone," Selina said.

"You?" he spat. "A whore masquerading as a duchess?"

Peter felt fury trembling within him but held it back. "They won't be alone," he echoed. "They have us."

And from behind him, he heard a quiet female voice. "And us."

He turned. It was Lydia Hope-Wallace, looking sick with terror, surrounded by her four older brothers like a protective wall.

"How many dukes do you think you can cut and still expect to be received?" Nicholas Ravenscroft emerged from behind another row of books, his wife's arm in his.

And there, coming up another aisle, was Iris—looking mildly affronted at being dragged into a public space—and her parents, the Viscount and Viscountess Duggleby.

Thomasin Dandridge. Lady Judith, her mouth quirked in a sardonic line.

"You bastards think you can get away with anything," hissed Alverthorpe. His eyes darted around the library.

"No," Lady Judith said. "It's men like you who get away with things, Alistair. For years and years and years. And we're saying that it's gone on long enough."

"We're not alone," Selina said to him. "You are."

"I've had enough." The earl yanked his wife toward him. "Let's go."

Lady Alverthorpe stared at his fingers wrapped around her upper arm but didn't move.

"Come on, damn you!" Alverthorpe tried to pull her along with him, and she nearly stumbled, her arm breaking free from his grasp.

"No," she said, her voice nearly inaudible. "I'm staying with Georgie."

"The hell with you, then!" Alverthorpe's face was mottled with rage. "The hell with all of you!"

As one, the Ravenscrofts closed ranks around Georgiana and the countess. Peter wrapped his arms around Selina, heedless of the rest of the patrons in Belvoir's.

And the Earl of Alverthorpe stormed out of the library alone.

They had the rest of the afternoon to put on a brave face for the gossipmongers who flocked to the library, to act as though the encounter with the earl and his family had never happened.

Selina, of course, managed it like a dream. She bustled Georgiana and her mother off to the Hope-Wallace house, whispering instructions to Lydia that seemed to involve both significant sums of money and all of their favorite scandalous ladies of the ton . Possibly a house in Gloucestershire, but Peter wasn't quite sure.

But when Belvoir's closed its doors for the evening, Selina half fell into his arms.

He held on hard.

"They'll be all right," she said. He wasn't sure if she was trying to reassure him or herself.

"They will," he agreed. "The Ravenscrofts are a force to be reckoned with. Alverthorpe doesn't have the stones to try."

She laughed shakily, and then looked up at him. "I'm sorry. Peter, I'm so sorry."

He drew back, holding her shoulders in his hands. "What the devil for? You shattered him like a porcelain teacup, sweetheart. It was spectacular."

"Oh God," she said. "I wish you hadn't seen that. I wish—"

He waited for her to finish, his heart in his throat.

"I wish you didn't have to do any of this." Her voice softened. "You should've let me leave, Peter. I've only made things harder for you."

He wanted to scoff or shake her. But her eyes were downcast, her dark lashes heavy over her eyes, and so he squeezed her shoulders. "Come here."

She came, not quite eagerly, into his embrace.

"I won't leave you," he said. "I won't stop loving you. Even if I have to watch a dozen jackasses call you names and somehow not strangle them. Even if you and your erotic books end up in newspapers across the Empire." He pressed his hands into her hips. "Even if we do not get the children."

"But why ?" She looked up at him then, fierce and uncomprehending.

"I didn't marry you for that. I didn't want you because you could make me respectable or fix my cursed house or take care of my siblings." He touched the line of her lips with one finger. "I just wanted you."

She said his name. Her lips moved against his skin. "Thank you."

"For wanting you? I promise you, it's no hardship."

She laughed, a little damply. "No. For this brazen, impossible plan." Her eyes flicked to the bookshelves around her and then back to his. "I would not have thought of anything like this, Peter. But if this works—perhaps it's the only way I can have you and the children and Belvoir's as well."

"It will work."

She searched his face. "If it works, it is because of you. Because of the way you turn what could be a crisis into a victory. A flaw into a strength. You see this world and imagine it better, Peter, and I—I think you are remarkable."

His heart battered itself against his rib cage. He wanted—he wanted so much to be what she believed he was.

"I love you," she said, a breathless rush of words. He felt a slow dizzy revolution in his chest.

"Good," he said. "Now can I kiss you?"

She laughed a little, and nodded, and he found her mouth with his.

He felt a little drunk when he finally pulled away from her. Shaky with relief from the afternoon, his body loose-limbed with desire.

"Do you want to go upstairs?" she asked.

He was mad for her, for the flushed pleasure on her face and the eager responsiveness of her mouth, and his desire was shot through with love for her clever brain and her courage and her enormous heart.

"The hell I do," he said. "This time we're finding a bed."

She hummed a little sound and came up on her toes to kiss his ear. He tried to remember why he shouldn't drag the pins out of her hair and spread the dark-blond waves across her shoulders.

He thought of how she would look, naked in their bed, her hair tangled, her eyes heavy with desire, and groaned into the curve of her neck. He bit her, gently, and she made an approving whimper, tipping her head to the side.

"I am going to make you so happy," he said. It was a promise, a whisper, a kiss. He eased back from her and tugged her toward the back door of Belvoir's. He congratulated himself on resisting the urge to press her up against it.

He pushed open the door, pulling Selina's body full-length against his own. They tumbled into the alley behind Belvoir's, and Selina gave a startled laugh that broke suddenly into an audible squeak of alarm.

They were not the only couple in the alley behind Belvoir's. Peter's eyes fell first on the man, a sturdily built fellow, then the woman, plump and graying. His arm was locked around her back, his face bent over hers, a hairbreadth from a kiss.

At the sound of Selina's squeak, the couple jumped apart.

Peter, still lust-drunk, felt his legs nearly give way.

"Lord Eldon," gasped Selina. "Lady Eldon. Good evening."

Lord Eldon's thick white brows lowered sternly over his eyes. Lady Eldon dimpled at them, looking far less shocked than Peter felt.

"Your Graces," Lady Eldon said, entwining her gloved fingers with her husband's. "We cannot keep meeting this way."

"I beg your pardon!" Selina's voice cracked. "We were just—on the point of leaving—"

"Don't rush off on our account," said Lady Eldon graciously.

Selina backed hastily toward their waiting carriage, tugging Peter with her.

"Actually," said Lord Eldon, "please do."

Peter wasn't sure what to do with his face. He handed Selina up into the carriage and tried very hard not to look in any particular direction.

When he climbed into the carriage after her, Selina shut the door with a thunk. And then, quite firmly, she lowered the curtain over the window as well.

Through the thin barrier, Peter was almost certain he heard the muffled sound of Lady Eldon's laugh.