Page 18 of What Happens in Hedone

“Study at Miss Gregoire’s is quite rigorous. Please do not tell my mother, who sent me there to learn etiquette.”

He chuckled. “My mother had a benefactor in Bath, once upon a time, who was a schoolteacher. She taught me the highest respect for the profession, and my sisters all attended. I shall have to ask the name of their school. Their thoughts on female education would be quite radical to some, but my sisters are very independent minded.”

So that was why he had not been put off by her lectures on sea creatures, Effie thought. He was accustomed to learned women.

What a splendid companion he would make for a woman who knew her own mind. He was hardworking, respected, intelligent, warm. Completely lacking in that self-aggrandizing impulse that so many men possessed. He didn’t require admiration from others; he had earned his place in the world through his own merits.

More and more Effie envied the future Mrs. Jay Burnham.

Heddy, wearing her black mantilla with a purple gown tonight, headed them off at the syllabub, cutting Effie neatly from Jay and finding a quiet space for them beneath one of the scented oil lamps set in its sconce on the wall.

“Have a care, Effie,” Heddy murmured, watching as Jay fell into conversation with the other gentleman who had attended their tableau.

“You think he will hurt me?”

“No,” Heddy said. “I would not have let him in my door if I sensed he is the type to hurt a woman. I rather fear you will want more than you can have from him.”

“I can stand being denied,” Effie said bravely.

“You darling goose,” Heddy said with the tenderness of an old and most privileged friend. “You’ve never been denied in your life. Your parents have given you everything, and what they have not given you, you have taken yourself. You’ve never had your heart broken.”

“But I will,” Effie said. “When I am in a marriage that at best will be cordial. When my husband is out once again with his friends and I am at home with fretting children and the week’s menus to plan. That is what will break my heart, Heddy.”

Her friend put her hands on either side of Effie’s face and regarded her with a serious stare. “I want more for you, dear.”

“I want more for myself,” Effie said. “And for now, that is him. A taste of what I will never have otherwise.”

“And doom yourself to a life of longing for what you cannot have?” Heddy said softly. “Will it be worth it?”

Effie watched Jay, the way he leaned back on one leg, his big frame at ease. The way he listened politely to the prating gentleman. The way a muscle flexed in his jaw when he chewed on a saffron cake.

“Yes,” she whispered. “It will be worth it. I will trade a lifetime of resignation for one night with him.”

Jay stood studying the feast when Effie joined him. A crumb of cake specked the corner of his mouth. She reached up a finger to brush it away.

He caught her hand and held it. She felt like the cuttlefish from the pool, startled, pulsing with color. She could not disguise herself from him; the flimsy mask hid nothing.

“Why is Lady Hedone’s cook so liberal with the saffron?”

Effie held back a laugh. “It is thought to be an aphrodisiac. Did you not know? Everything on this table is designed to augment the senses in some fashion.”

He stared at her. “Almonds?”

“Some think them an aphrodisiac, yes.” She dared to flatten her palm against his shoulder. How firm he was. Her fingertips pulsed with the mad beat of her heart.

He anchored his palm over hers, holding her there. “Nutmeg,” he said.

“Increases desire in women particularly, I am told.”

He shifted his eyes to her. His gaze burned her skin. Or perhaps that was a fever rising. The wish to move her hand, touch more of him.

“The tea Hed—Hedone makes for her patrons? Goat’s head. Your friend there is especially fond of it. Known to incite vigor in rams and goats, and presumably human males also.”

He simply stared. Effie was conscious that well-bred young women did not discuss sexual activity in animals of any kind. They were supposed to be innocent that any such aspect to human nature existed. Babies were discovered under bushes or washed up on the foam like Aphrodite rising from the sea.

She curled her fingers, pressing into the fabric of his coat. Thick, but not padded. He had no need to accentuate his form. He had no need either, she was sure, of supplements. He was the very image of masculine vigor.

“I could ask the lady to brew some for you,” she cooed.