jelly. I want him . . . all of him.”
“Lord, that’s a powerful lust.” Portia cradled the now sleeping baby to her bosom, and reached with her free hand to stroke Evie’s pink curls. She was frowning, thinking of what torment it must be to feel what Phoebe had so graphically described and be unable to satisfy the hunger.
“But what am I to do?” Phoebe demanded. “There must be some way I can get his attention . . . some way I can show him how I feel without disgusting him.”
“Oh, I don’t think he’d be disgusted,” Phoebe said. “Flattered more like.”
“But women of my . . . our . . . breeding aren’t supposed to feel desire like that.”
“Your breeding, not mine,” Portia reminded her dryly. “I’m the bastard, remember. And anyway, breeding doesn’t have anything to do with it.”
“Doesn’t it?”
“No,” Portia stated definitely. She regarded Phoebe thoughtfully for a minute. Then she said, “I think you have to do something dramatic.”
“Yes, but like what?” Phoebe perched on the end of the table. She had the feeling Portia was about to unlock the key to Pandora’s box. Would it let loose a plague or a swarm of heavenly secrets?
“Games,” Portia said. “Play.”
This was not making sense. Phoebe stared at her.
“Well, what I was saying earlier about Rufus’s preferences. Sometimes he likes me to dress in certain ways . . . or pretend to be some other kind of person . . . we play games. Sometimes I’ll surprise him by devising a play, a scene . . . oh, it’s hard to describe. But that’s what I think you have to do if youreally want to get Cato’s attention. You have to surprise him. Show him another side of yourself.”
Phoebe’s eyes were very wide. She began to have an inkling of the possibilities. But supposing it didn’t work. Supposing Cato was horrified, disgusted. Supposing he found her so unappealing in any guise that . . .
“It might be a bit risky,” Portia said, reading her mind. “I don’t know how straitlaced Cato is. Anyone who’d marry Diana has to be pretty rigid, I would have thought.”
“He married Diana for the alliance with my father,” Phoebe pointed out. “Just as he married me. For that and an heir,” she added.
“Mmmm.” Portia nibbled her bottom lip, thinking. “I have an idea,” she said, swinging her legs off the window seat. “We’ll try something first, just to see how he reacts.”
“What?”
“Clothes,” Portia declared, heading for the door, carrying Alex.”Bring Evie, will you? It’s time for her nap. And then I’ll show you what I mean.”
Phoebe scooped up Eve and followed Portia, agog to discover exactly what Portia had in mind. But Portia said nothing until both children had been handed over to the nursemaid and Phoebe and Portia were in Portia’s chamber with the door firmly closed.
“Now, do you have money?”
“Money?” Phoebe frowned. “What do I need money for?”
“To buy things with, of course. Rufus left me with some, but I don’t think it’s enough for what I have in mind.” Portia opened a small leather pouch and shook the contents onto the bedcover as she spoke. A shower of gold coins scattered over the green taffeta quilt.
“Five guineas. It might do.”
“I can’t use your money.” Phoebe was bewildered and growing impatient. “Even if I knew what it was for.”
Portia hitched herself onto the end of the bed. “Newclothes,” she said distinctly. “What you’re wearing now must have been made for you when you had no bosom or something.”
“It was,” Phoebe agreed, unperturbed by this brutal truth. “My father didn’t believe in wasting money on
my
wardrobe. Diana’s was a different matter,” she added acidly. “But I’ve never really cared about such things. There’s too much else to think about.”
“Well, it won’t do,” Portia said firmly. She surveyed Phoebe with her head on one side. “You need gowns that make something of
“Lord, that’s a powerful lust.” Portia cradled the now sleeping baby to her bosom, and reached with her free hand to stroke Evie’s pink curls. She was frowning, thinking of what torment it must be to feel what Phoebe had so graphically described and be unable to satisfy the hunger.
“But what am I to do?” Phoebe demanded. “There must be some way I can get his attention . . . some way I can show him how I feel without disgusting him.”
“Oh, I don’t think he’d be disgusted,” Phoebe said. “Flattered more like.”
“But women of my . . . our . . . breeding aren’t supposed to feel desire like that.”
“Your breeding, not mine,” Portia reminded her dryly. “I’m the bastard, remember. And anyway, breeding doesn’t have anything to do with it.”
“Doesn’t it?”
“No,” Portia stated definitely. She regarded Phoebe thoughtfully for a minute. Then she said, “I think you have to do something dramatic.”
“Yes, but like what?” Phoebe perched on the end of the table. She had the feeling Portia was about to unlock the key to Pandora’s box. Would it let loose a plague or a swarm of heavenly secrets?
“Games,” Portia said. “Play.”
This was not making sense. Phoebe stared at her.
“Well, what I was saying earlier about Rufus’s preferences. Sometimes he likes me to dress in certain ways . . . or pretend to be some other kind of person . . . we play games. Sometimes I’ll surprise him by devising a play, a scene . . . oh, it’s hard to describe. But that’s what I think you have to do if youreally want to get Cato’s attention. You have to surprise him. Show him another side of yourself.”
Phoebe’s eyes were very wide. She began to have an inkling of the possibilities. But supposing it didn’t work. Supposing Cato was horrified, disgusted. Supposing he found her so unappealing in any guise that . . .
“It might be a bit risky,” Portia said, reading her mind. “I don’t know how straitlaced Cato is. Anyone who’d marry Diana has to be pretty rigid, I would have thought.”
“He married Diana for the alliance with my father,” Phoebe pointed out. “Just as he married me. For that and an heir,” she added.
“Mmmm.” Portia nibbled her bottom lip, thinking. “I have an idea,” she said, swinging her legs off the window seat. “We’ll try something first, just to see how he reacts.”
“What?”
“Clothes,” Portia declared, heading for the door, carrying Alex.”Bring Evie, will you? It’s time for her nap. And then I’ll show you what I mean.”
Phoebe scooped up Eve and followed Portia, agog to discover exactly what Portia had in mind. But Portia said nothing until both children had been handed over to the nursemaid and Phoebe and Portia were in Portia’s chamber with the door firmly closed.
“Now, do you have money?”
“Money?” Phoebe frowned. “What do I need money for?”
“To buy things with, of course. Rufus left me with some, but I don’t think it’s enough for what I have in mind.” Portia opened a small leather pouch and shook the contents onto the bedcover as she spoke. A shower of gold coins scattered over the green taffeta quilt.
“Five guineas. It might do.”
“I can’t use your money.” Phoebe was bewildered and growing impatient. “Even if I knew what it was for.”
Portia hitched herself onto the end of the bed. “Newclothes,” she said distinctly. “What you’re wearing now must have been made for you when you had no bosom or something.”
“It was,” Phoebe agreed, unperturbed by this brutal truth. “My father didn’t believe in wasting money on
my
wardrobe. Diana’s was a different matter,” she added acidly. “But I’ve never really cared about such things. There’s too much else to think about.”
“Well, it won’t do,” Portia said firmly. She surveyed Phoebe with her head on one side. “You need gowns that make something of
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