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WITHOUT SEEKING AGREEMENT, Miss Herwood began walking in the direction of the stream. Halsten did not like the way Lord Devon had eyed her and did not blame her for wishing an escape.
“Do not stop, my dear,” Devon instructed Isabella. “More delights await.”
Isabella began reading once more. Halsten decided to join Miss Herwood and caught up with her at the stream.
“What say you to the work of John Cleland?” he inquired after they had walked apace in silence. He had noticed her flush earlier and was curious to know her thoughts.
“He is a rather talented writer. Few details escape him. He, well, he creates a vivid picture,” she answered with some unease.
“Do you find the imagery of Fanny and Phoebe repulsive?”
Her cheeks colored. After a moment of thinking, she replied. “No. Do you?”
“The body of a woman is far lovelier than that of a man. Two is twice the sight.”
“But pleasuring one another? Is it not unnatural?”
“I should think a woman more familiar and therefore more adept with what pleases another woman.”
She considered his words. “I suppose you are right. Are there...women such as Phoebe and Fanny at the Chateau?”
“There are.”
Her breath caught. He studied her keenly but detected no strong degree of revulsion. “Would you find such a sight disturbing or stimulating?”
“I know not. As you say, much can be admired in the female form, so I do not think I should be disturbed. I think I should be more curious.”
God help him, the thought of Miss Herwood with another woman would be his undoing. He glanced back towards the picnic. They had walked out of sight, but he had no desire for Devon or Isabella to show up unexpectedly if he were t
o initiate anything with Miss Herwood. Bad enough that Devon was in the company of Isabella. He had no wish for Devon to be further interested in Miss Herwood.
“Have you an interest in reading more of Fanny Hill?” he asked, steering the discussion away from a topic that would have his cock bursting.
“Yes. And I would read of de Sade as well.”
He shook his head. “The images of de Sade are far more dark and savage.”
“That the heroine is but twelve is most disturbing.”
“Devon would not be so dismissive if he had a daughter of his own.”
“Or a sister?”
The hairs on his neck stood on end. The mere thought of Lucille suffering anything of what Justine had endured was enough to drive him mad. He quickly changed the direction of discussion.
“As a work of political philosophy, there is much to be said for de Sade. His work is undoubtedly provocative.”
“Then I would read it but for one overbearing Baron who believes the constitution of the fair sex too weak to bear the imagery.”
He stiffened. “I have faith in your constitution, but I cannot say the same for Lady Isabella. Hers is more delicate.”
“Ah.”
She turned away from him, and he could not read her expression. He sensed a coolness in her demeanor. He tried to improve it with praise.
“You read extraordinarily well. The work is much improved through the quality of your voice.”
She turned to look at him, and he sensed the distance had melted.
