“I am certain those are naught but the angry words of a bereft woman,” Jeremy said, with a touch more confidence than he actually felt. Could women feign pleasure? He supposed they could do so far more easily than a man, and the idea raised a number of unpleasant possibilities in his mind. How was a man ever to know if a woman was truly enjoying herself, if her response could be feigned? What if every woman he’d ever dallied with had been internally critiquing his performance? It seemed unlikely—he did, after all, have something of a reputation. But, of course, it wasn’t impossible. Improbable, yes. But not impossible. And he needed to know, just to be sure.

“If you’re so certain,” Diana said, echoing his thoughts, “then why are you propositioning me in my drawing room? I assume that’s what this is about, is it not? Take me to bed, get a complimentary review of your efforts, head back out into the world reassured of your manly prowess?”

This was, in fact, precisely what Jeremy had in mind, but when she stated it so baldly, it sounded a bit… well, pathetic.

“Something along those lines,” he hedged. “But you would benefit as well, of course.” Seeing the skepticism writ plain on her face, he rushed on. “I’ve heard your discussions with Violet, all this talk of taking a lover. And yet no rumor of a love affair has reached my ears, so unless you are being remarkably discreet, you must continue to sleep alone. Which begs the question: why? You’re young, you’re beautiful, and, er…” He floundered, unsure of how to put into words the quality she exuded, the one that made every man halt and turn as she passed, the one that made it impossible to look at her for more than five seconds without imagining her a great deal less clothed and more vocal. Or, rather, he did know how to put it into words—but not words that were appropriate for a lady’s ears.

“You… attract men,” he finished, which was true, but an enormous understatement. She was like a magnet. She could have bedded every eligible man of the ton—and a good many of the ineligible ones, too. He was surprised the suitors hadn’t been beating down her door before her husband was cold in the ground. He knew—had known for years—that he had this damned weakness where she was concerned, but he also knew he was far from alone in these sentiments.

“And that should make me more likely to share my bed with a man who, apparently, has no idea what to do once he’s gotten there?” Her face was calm, her voice neutral, but he could see the spark of laughter in her eyes and knew that she was baiting him. For once, he refused to rise to her efforts.

“My point is, you seem not to know how to make men understand that you are, er…” The first phrase that sprang to mind was open for business, but he was fairly certain that even he, with his legendary charm, wouldn’t be able to recover from that one. “Open to a liaison,” he settled upon instead. “But a brief, discreet affair with me would send all the right signals.”

Diana looked skeptical. “I’m not certain that the signal I’m looking to send is that I’ve joined the legion of women who’ve lifted their skirts for the Marquess of Willingham. I’m surprised they haven’t formed a society. With matching hats.”

Jeremy did laugh at that, unable to help himself, and he saw suspicious twitchings about her mouth.

“You don’t have to give me an answer today,” he said, wrestling himself back under control. “You can let me know once you’ve arrived at Elderwild,” he added, naming his family seat in the country.

“Shall I do so by waiting for you in your bedchamber one evening?” Diana asked, clearly amused.

“I rather thought a discreet note might do the trick just as well, but don’t let me stand in the way of your desire for theatrics.”

“I don’t need to wait, Willingham, I can tell you right now what my answer will be.”

She meant that it would be no—he could see it written on her face, could hear it in the tone of her voice. And who could blame her? He’d bungled this, there was no doubt about it.

He raised a hand before she could give voice to her refusal. “Just consider it,” he said simply, then dropped his voice. “If nothing else, it would finally dispel whatever this is between us,” he added, waving his hand at the space between them, which always seemed to take on a charged quality as soon as they were in the same room. “And don’t tell me you don’t know what I mean,” he said as she opened her mouth. “Because I know you do.”

Before she could speak a word, he took a couple of steps forward and reached for her hand, pressing a kiss to it and allowing his lips to linger there for two heartbeats longer than was proper. And then, with a murmured word of farewell, he took his leave.

His intention had been to remind her of the strange, potent connection between them, to leave her wanting more. He had no idea, he reflected ruefully as he strode through Mayfair toward his club, if he’d accomplished that aim—but he’d undoubtedly succeeded at reminding himself.

Four

Both the advantage and the disadvantage of an unmarried friend was the fact that she was entirely too easy to shock.

Diana, being a naturally devious person by nature, occasionally took advantage of this fact in her conversations with Emily—there was, after all, a fair amount of amusement to be had from casually discussing indiscretions among the ton and watching Emily’s fair cheeks turn rosier and rosier with each word. At other times, however, when she wanted a piece of good advice, she had less patience when Emily came over missish.