Page 60 of A Deal With a Notorious Devil
Fascinating. “Which is?”
“Fidelity.”
Chris jammed his hands into his pockets. “You’re asking me,” he said, “to throw over Charity, whom I’ve known for years. For you.” He could have told her they’d parted company just this afternoon, but he suspected she would find the timing a little too convenient to believe it.
“I am not asking you to do anything,” she said. “Your choices are your own.”
“But it’s a condition,” he said. “I thought you liked her.”
“I do.” she said lightly, bending to retrieve Hieronymus at last, wrapping her fingers about his shell as he wriggled his little turtle legs in consternation at being removed from his stomping grounds. “In fact, I’m hosting her for tea on Friday. I shall not complain if you also retain her friendship. And naturally, I shall I expect you—should you choose to release her—to be generous in the doing of it. But you cannot share her bed and mine.”
“Whyever not?”
“Because I don’t like sharing.” Her little nose nipped upwards in a supercilious tilt. “I’ve got six sisters, you know. And when one has got six sisters, one does grow weary of nothing ever being exclusively one’s own. There are always borrowed gowns, filched reticules, and gloves and shawls that invariably go missing and somehow are never returned.”
“You didn’t mind before.” In fact she had been relieved, if he recalled correctly. Pleased that there would be no wifely duties expected of her, that he had another woman to see to such needs.
“But that was before—” She pursed her lips together, her color ratcheting higher still.
Chris snickered into the cup of his palm. Before, he thought, she had decided she wanted him after all. Before she learned that she could have the one—pleasure—without risking the other—children.
“Never mind,” she said in a huff. “Do as you will.”
“I always do.” She was determined to be in a snit about it, and there was nothing for it but to let her. But as she stalked from the room in a high dudgeon, ostensibly to return Hieronymus to his pond, the way she’d shoved past him earlier nagged at his mind. It hadn’t been strictly necessary; she could just as easily have given him a wide berth. But she had chosen to shove her shoulder against his, which meant—
He slapped at his coat pockets. Came up empty.
Son of a bitch! His mouthy little wife had stolen his freshly-purchased pocket watch.
∞∞∞
“Thank you,” Phoebe said, her brows knitting in confusion as Charity passed a small tin across the table. “But what it is?”
“It’s a tea, of a sort,” Charity said. “A special blend of Queen Anne’s lace, tansy, and pennyroyal. It will not, strictly speaking,” she stressed, “delight the palate. However, one requires just one cup taken every day. A few lumps of sugar or honey and a bit of lemon, and it’s perfectly tolerable. And should you require more…” Charity dug in her reticule and produced a little white card, embossed with neatly-printed lettering. “Here; the direction of the shop at which it may be purchased.”
“Oh,” Phoebe said. And then, as understanding dawned: “Oh. You mean to say—”
“Precisely. Though the particularities escape me,” Charity said, “I’m given to understand that these herbs, when taken correctly, render the womb inhospitable to a man’s seed. Of course there are other precautions that may be taken; a woman who does not desire children cannot be too careful.”
“Yes, I—I’m aware.” Phoebe cleared her throat, certain she was blushing to the roots of her hair. “I’m glad to see you received your sapphires,” she said, nodding to indicate the strand of large blue stones draped around Charity’s neck.
Charity beamed. “Yes, and I thank you for the loan of your bracelet. I’m positive it was instrumental in securing such large stones. Oh, and please don’t worry—Chris can well afford the expense of them. You shan’t have to economize a bit.”
Phoebe bit back a laugh. “I thought I would have to remind him to purchase them,” she said. “He’s not left the house at all recently—well, except for just once.” Which she had reprimanded him for, though perhaps it had not been her place to do so.
“Undoubtedly he sent Mr. Brooks for them,” Charity said lightly, unbothered. “He always does. But the man has fine taste, so I can have no complaints.”
“Really?” Phoebe blinked. “But—” But he’d gone personally for the bracelet he’d purchased for her. And he’d been shot for his pains. “How can there be any meaning to a gift chosen so impersonally?”
Charity gave a lovely trill of a laugh, and a dark curl rolled over her shoulder. “There is none,” she said. “But I’d hate to have such beautiful sapphires tainted with sentimentality. I suppose I’ll wear them until they cease to dazzle me, and then I shall sell them.”
“Sell them? Whatever for?”
“Money, darling. And a great deal of it, mostly likely.” Charity smiled over the rim of her tea cup. “I’ve put away a tidy sum for my future, but I should like to be something more than merely comfortable, you understand.” A sapphire bracelet glinted upon her wrist, which Phoebe supposed she must also have gotten from Kit. Along with matched earbobs—Phoebe thought Kit had said he’d refused her those. “I should have bargained for a carriage,” Charity said reflectively. “And a matched team to go along with it. Ah, pity. At least I’ve got the flat.”
Bargain? “Couldn’t you just ask?” Phoebe said. “That is, he doesn’t strike me as miserly.”
For a moment, Charity stared, her wide, dark eyes framed by thick lashes. “He didn’t tell you?” she inquired, finally.
