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There was quite a lot of Isidore in the chest area. She generally viewed this feature dispassionately, as an attribute that made certain corsets impossible, and others very uncomfortable. But she wasn’t blind to how much men liked to be presented with abundance; if Cosway turned out to be someone enchanted by an expanse of flesh that would suit a worthy milk cow, Isidore was just the right one to enchant him.

In fact, she thought she had the virginal male fantasy in play. Breasts barely covered, with light, billowing skirts that appeared easy to remove, check. Unpowdered hair piled in loose curls, check. Just a touch of haunting perfume—the sort that smelled clean and innocent rather than French and seductive—check and mate.

Years of assessing male attraction were coming in quite useful. She thought it was quite likely that the duke, her husband, would experience her femininity like a bolt of lightning.

There was only one thing she didn’t envision.

Two males appeared at the door. Make that two virgins. And when they both walked in her front door, Simeon bending his head slightly so as not to strike his forehead on the lintel, it was his little brother Godfrey who looked as if he’d been struck by lightning. He stopped short and Simeon walked straight into him.

His mouth fell open. Strange noises came out, resembling frogs singing on a summer night.

“Good evening, Simeon,” she said, moving forward. Didn’t he have any sense? Couldn’t he have guessed—

Apparently not. Without even a flicker of regret in his eyes, Simeon was turning to his brother and introducing him. “Godfrey, stand tall. You haven’t met the duchess for years, but I’m sure you remember her.”

Godfrey bowed so deeply that she was afraid he wasn’t coming back up again. He did, eventually, face red and hair on end.

She dropped into a curtsy that unfortunately put her breasts directly under his nose. He turned purple and cast a desperate look at his brother.

“It’s my pleasure,” Isidore said. She gave him a kindly smile, one that said calm down.

But the duke was moving into the room and suddenly it seemed to have shrunk to half its size. Isidore stopped herself from falling back. It was just that Simeon was so…male. Very male. Very large.

“What a charming little room this is,” he was saying, wandering about just as if she wasn’t there, quivering like a jelly tart fresh out of the oven.

“Yes, charming,” she said, watching his shoulders. They were broad and beautiful. If he didn’t even kiss her good night, she decided, that meant he was incapable.

Alternatively, it could mean that he found her unattractive. No. That option was unacceptable.

He pulled out her chair and she sat down, mentally giving herself a shake. Obviously, her earlier plan wouldn’t work. But she had once boasted of her ability to make any man flirt. Flirtation was halfway to the bedchamber.

This duke wouldn’t see it coming, and Godfrey could take a lesson in adulthood.

She leaned forward, employing the smile that set half of Paris on fire during her twentieth year. That would be the male half, naturally.

“Do tell me about yourself, Simeon?” she cooed. “I feel as if I hardly know you.” In her experience, there was nothing a man liked more than to talk about himself.

Simeon put his heavy linen napkin in his lap. “I am so uninteresting,” he said blandly. “I would prefer to hear about you. What have you done during the years while I was wandering around Abyssinia and the like?”

He was obviously a worthy opponent. He looked genial, friendly, utterly calm—and about as interested as he would be if she were a nursemaid.

“I traveled Europe with my aunt,” she said. “Surely you remember from my letters?” She let just a tiny edge sharpen her words.

The footman was pouring wine and Isidore noticed out of the corner of her eye that Godfrey was drinking with marked enthusiasm. Did boys of that age drink wine? She had the vague idea they were all tucked away in schools; certainly one never saw them at formal dinners.

“I expect that many of your letters did not reach me. I remember getting a note from my solicitor once informing me of some action he’d taken on your behalf.”

“Weren’t you concerned that I might discuss intimate matters in my letters?”

He looked surprised. “I never considered the possibility, given as we had never met. What intimacies could we exchange? Of course I instructed my solicitors to act on my behalf with regard to any missive from my family that appeared on their desk. One never knew how long it would take to get mail, let alone to return my instructions to London.”

“Didn’t you ever wonder where your wife was?”

He paused for a moment and then said: “No.”

Well, that was straightforward.

“I wondered where you were,” Godfrey said eagerly. “I still remember your stay at our house, though it was brief.”