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“How was it?” Temperance beamed.

“It was…” Life changing. Soul shattering. An awakening. “Good.”

“Good? That’s all? Are you sure?” Temperance’s hand flew to Verity’s forehead, then dropped to her cheek in a flash. “You’re looking a bit flushed, sister. Are you sure it was only good?”

“Well—”

Not giving her time to reply, Pru jumped in. “Are you going to kiss him again?”

“I don’t know…” She hadn’t expected that question, though she probably should have. “Should I?”

“Do you want to kiss him again?” Verity could see the stars in Temperance’s eyes, only pushed out by the ever-blossoming hearts. “Oh, I think you should most definitely kiss him again. Pru, look at Verity’s cheeks. Have you ever seen them so red?”

A ribbon of caution was sewn into Pru’s tone. “No. I suppose I have not seen her cheeks this precise shade of red.”

“Don’t you think she should kiss him again?”

“To what end?” Pru volleyed.

“To what end?” Temperance snorted. “To pleasure’s end. Haven’t you two read The One With the Wanton Woman?” And then she fake swooned on the spot, resting her head against the towering yew. “It’s to die for…I believe the French even refer to that…caliber of pleasure as le petit mort.”

“How do you know about le petit mort?” Verity whipped her head toward Temperance, her virginal sister. Or so she thought. That pink leatherbound book was top of her mind since her first encounter with the stablehand, but she wasn’t about to admit that aloud.

“Oh, don’t get in a huff. I do know some things.” Temperance waved off her sister’s concerns, while Pru covered her cheeks and stared at the dirt as if tracking the movements of the ant at her foot was her new life’s ambition.

Sometimes Verity didn’t think her older twin sisters could be more different from each other. Other times, it was as if they shared one mind. But always, she felt slightly like an outsider. That they shared something she could never be part of. When paired off, Verity had often been with Fidelia, but the age gap prevented the deep connection Verity craved. Add to that a struggle in her relationship with her own mother, which only further alienated her, and Verity had built up what she had thought were impenetrable walls of competence, self-assurance, and independence.

Her marriage to Alec exposed her vulnerabilities, and that’s why it mattered so much now that she vindicate herself and prove her capabilities.

“You should kiss him again,” Temperance practically glowed while suggesting the wanton act.

“Or not.” Pru kicked at the dirt trail the ant had left behind. “Only if you want to.”

And for some reason, Pru’s words prickled her more than Temperance’s outlandish suggestion. She wasn’t going to kiss him again. What would that even look like? Marching back to the stable, grabbing him by the collar, hauling him into an empty stall, and having her wicked way with him. No. No. No.

No, she told her head.

No, she told the pulsating between her legs.

No, she told her burning lips.

But also…she did not like Pru telling her no. “Didn’t you kiss and eventually marry England’s most notorious rake, Pru?”

Flushed. Deep red. Splotches. Verity almost felt bad about it. But not quite.

“Second most notorious, if we’re counting Ash the way you do. And yes, I did. But that was different—”

“Becuase he’s a duke?”

“Well, yes…there’s that—”

“I’m a widow. I should be able to kiss whoever I damn well please.”

Startled, Pru’s saucer wide eyes met hers.

“So you’re going to kiss him again then?”

“Yes. As a matter of fact, I’m going to do so right now.” She spun on her heel and called out over her shoulder, “Good luck with the maze. I’m sure you’ll both have fun.”