Page 56 of Love and the Shameless Lady

And God, oh God, why had she blurted that comment about bedmates?

Julian took her hand. She tugged, but then controlled herself. Or maybe he was controlling her. For some strange reason, his touch leached some of her fury away.

She took a deep breath. “That’s true. Again, I apologize for losing my temper.” But ignoring society was easy for them. It didn’t do them any harm. She shouldn’t leave that unsaid. “Still, I—”

Julian squeezed her hand. He was right. There was no point in continuing this discussion. And Melinda was correct to a great extent. Nevertheless—

“Let’s assume you didn’t write anything that upset a smuggler,” Julian said before she could form her argument. “What other sensitive subject matter do you deal with?”

“Such as what?” Daisy grumped.

“Well . . . espionage, for example.”

“There are no spies in my stories.”

“Perhaps not, but spies use smugglers to get information from England to France and vice versa.”

“Not the smugglers in my stories.”

“There’s nothing in there that could be misconstrued as espionage? No secret passwords or letters written in code?”

She sighed. “Yes, there is a password.”

Melinda chuckled. “Petticoats prevail!”

“That’s definitely true,” Miles murmured, and immediately put up a hand. “For God’s sake, don’t fly into the boughs, Daisy. Do try to realize that tyrannical though we frequently are, we men are so slave to our desires that all too often the petticoats do indeed prevail.”

Daisy suppressed the many possible retorts that rose to her lips.

“Whether occasionally or hundreds of times,” Julian said with a grin.

“Maybe the murderer believes ladies should be meek and submissive,” Melinda suggested. “Maybe he feared that another book by the same author would stir up a feminine revolution.”

“Unlikely, but not completely impossible,” Miles said. “People are frightened of revolutions just now, because of France.”

“I don’t aspire to be a revolutionary,” Daisy griped. “I just want to tell stories.”

“Maybe the murderer believes you’re corrupting the women of England by encouraging their, er, impure thoughts,” Julian said.

The others laughed, and he winked at Daisy, a world of understanding in his eyes.

Their blue was tempered with gray, she noticed for the first time. A peaceful sort of color. She actually managed a tiny giggle—at a sensual matter, no less. What was it about him that made her feel so differently?

“A mite extreme, but there are plenty of madmen out there,” Miles said.

Daisy sighed. “Anything seems possible at this point.”

“If we knew who learned your identity, we would have a better starting point,” Julian said.

“I wrote to my publisher.” Daisy counted the days on her fingers. “If he sends a reply by express, I may receive it tomorrow. I told the footman at the Hollow to bring any letters here immediately.”

“Then I suggest we adjourn this discussion for now,” Julian said. “I believe we have at least a day’s grace before the murderer learns where Daisy has gone.”

“I told my people I’ve had word of disreputable men seen nearby. They’ll keep an eye out for strangers, and I shall have a footman on guard all night,” Miles said. “As for the sleeping arrangements, Melinda and the baby will stay in my chamber instead of hers. Julian will remain officially in the bedchamber Mrs. Reams assigned to him, but there is an empty room next to Daisy’s where he may sleep if he so chooses, to be close at hand if there is cause for alarm.” He paused. “Agreed?”

“Agreed,” Daisy said, abashed. “Thank you, Miles.”

They drank their tea. Julian picked up The Lady’s Ruin again. Melinda would soon leave to feed the baby, so Miles challenged Daisy to a game of chess. “I need to keep up my practice,” he said. “Melinda beats us all to flinders at piquet, but I can still best her at chess.”