Page 42 of Falling Into Bed with a Duke
“I returned to the Nightingale last night.”
Grace gave her a pointed look. “So he was the one, that first night.”
Minerva sighed. “He was. And he likes—” She shook her head. “I’m not supposed to talk about what happens there.”
“You know your secrets are safe with me.”
“Yes, but these are his.”
Grace looked up at the sky, the trees, as though searching for patience. “I’ll hold his as well.”
He might never forgive her if he found out that she had told someone. On the other hand, she wasn’t the first he’d taken to a room, so other ladies knew. She trusted Grace with her life, with all her secrets. “He likes to take photographs of ladies who join him in a bedchamber.”
Grace’s mouth opened. She snapped it shut. Her brows furrowed. “That seems lewd and unseemly.”
“I thought so, too, the first night. I didn’t do it then, but when I saw his photographs from Africa ... I couldn’t stop thinking about them. They weren’t like the photographs we had taken when we were children and just stood there. Last night ... Oh, Grace, he took such care, was so respectful. I could see in his eyes, the concentration on his face that it was so important to him. And he assured me I was tastefully displayed.”
“Tastefully displayed? I’m not certain that’s very reassuring as I’m not sure how one who is bared can be displayed tastefully.”
“There were shadows, so many shadows that I felt ... well, almost covered. If anyone were to see the photograph, they wouldn’t know it was me.”
“Are you certain?”
“I was masked. Although I do have a little birthmark. I thought nothing of it at the time, but now—I don’t think he’ll show anyone.”
“Who all knows about the birthmark?”
“My mother certainly. My father probably. There is a slight chance that my brothers might know, but unlikely. I can remember us bathing together as children, but they wouldn’t have noticed. Surely.”
“But still. Where is he planning to display these things?”
“He’s not. They are only for him. That’s not my concern.”
Grace took her hands, squeezed them in reassurance. “Then what is?”
“I think he suspects I might be Lady V.”
Grace blinked, frowned. “Who is Lady V?”
Minerva’s bark of laughter echoed around them. “Um, that would be me. I had to give him some name that first night so I thought Lady Virgin.”
Grace smiled. “Lady Virgin? Truly? Minerva, you are too bold by half.”
“Not so bold. I’m still a virgin.” She laced her fingers together, squeezed them. “He’s offered to deflower me tonight.”
Grace’s smile withered, and concern was reflected in her eyes. “Are you going to do it?”
“He knows what he’s about. I think he would make a remarkable lover. But I’m not quite comfortable with his knowing it’s me. He’s intrigued by the mystery of me. He’d be disappointed in the reality.”
“But if he suspects ... Honestly, Minerva, you can’t think to keep something like this a complete secret. You’re wearing a little mask.”
“It’s actually rather large, leaves very little visible.”
“But he’s going to see”—Grace looked down at her toes, carried her gaze back up to her eyes—“everything.”
“Can’t one make love in the dark?”
“Well, yes, I suppose so, but don’t you want to see him?” She pressed her hand to her mouth. “What am I saying? I don’t want to encourage you. I wish I’d never given you the address.”
