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“Exactly,” Villiers said. “You’re more of a pirate.”

Cosway narrowed his eyes. “A—”

“A man who slashes his way to his lady’s side,” Villiers said, almost dreamily. “Beating all the odds, including causing grave bodily harm to those highest in the realm (for which he could be hung, mind you), he makes his way to his chosen bride and slings her over his shoulder, heading for the freedom of the open—”

“I have it,” Cosway said, cutting him off. “I suppose you write melodramas on the sly?”

“Do you think I ought to?” Villiers said, widening his eyes. “I’m so pleased you think I have talent.”

“God,” Cosway said. “If I didn’t know you were one of the best fencers in Europe, I’d wonder about your manhood, Villiers.”

Villiers shook down the lace at his wrists. “I’ve only lost one duel. And that was to a man in love.”

“Ah.”

“So you see,” he continued gently, “I have a great respect for the condition. I would put myself in danger from such a man only under the strongest persuasion.”

He could see Cosway thinking, accepting it, learning to live with it. He even smiled, a moment later. “So who forced you to come here?”

“Jemma, Duchess of Beaumont,” Villiers said. “Now we must leave. It will take me at least three hours to prepare for the king’s festivities tonight.” He eyed Cosway. “Depending on the skill of your valet, it should take you at least four.”

Chapter Forty-one

The Peregrine

Yacht to His Royal Highness, George III

March 26, 1784

Isidore knew it was a silent, defiant gesture. Her solicitor assured her that the king himself intended to speak to her that very evening about the dissolution of her marriage; she chose to wear the dress in which she first met her husband. She had a strong feeling that the majority of men on the royal yacht would not react to her presence by querying whether her taste ran to the unorthodox.

“Lord,” Jemma said, coming up behind her. “You look astonishing, Isidore.”

“It’s something of a debutante ball for me,” Isidore said, smiling at her in the mirror. “I intend to impress all available men with my attributes.”

“No debutante could wear that gown,” Jemma said, “given your meager bodice and less-than-meager curves. The design is so beautiful: I love the blue watered silk petticoat underneath the silver. Gorgeous! Especially with the diamonds sewn all over it…You look like a fairy.”

“I think of fairies as small green creatures with transparent wings,” Isidore said dubiously.

“A fairy queen,” Jemma amended. “One look at you and mortals lose their wits, forever wandering in the depths of the forest.”

“You are rather odd, Jemma, do you know that?”

“I accept that about myself. And I’m not the one with diamonds pasted everywhere from her bottom to her heels.”

“I just want to make it clear to everyone that I’m—it is ridiculous, isn’t it?”

“Everyone knows how much you’re worth, darling,” Jemma said soothingly. “I like the glittering look. It’s a public service. You’ll reflect the candlelight so no one falls overboard. You know, last time the king had a gathering on his yacht, Lord Piddle tripped over his own feet and somersaulted into the water.”

“Did he come back up again?”

“Naturally,” Jemma said. “He floated like a cork.”

“If I fell overboard,” Isidore said, “I would sink like a stone. These diamonds are quite small but put together, they’re quite heavy.”

“I suggest you sit in a throne to receive the admiring hoards.”

Isidore bit her lip.