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“You must host guests, at least occasionally. Do you not lack a hostess? Someone to help entertain business associates?”
He nodded grudgingly. “When I attend functions, sometimes I envy the men their wives or daughters. Their presence soothes tensions, keeps men from discussing only trade.”
“What of children?” she asked as nonchalantly as she could.
“I’ve no need for heirs.”
“That’s not the only reason for a man to want children. Do you never wish a family of your own?”
“Never thought of it.”
The response came so quickly, Clara wasn’t sure she believed it. Then again, he had filled his life with his enterprise.
She spoke without meeting his eyes.“A wife would be here to take care of your other needs.”
“Which needs are those?” His baritone voice rumbled.
When Clara eventually met his gaze, she saw his enjoyment of her flush.She refused to explain, since he knew very well what she meant. “Is it because you wouldn’t enjoy…the company…of the same woman night after night?”
He seemed to consider this question before answering. “As you’ve seen, some degree of familiarity enhances enjoyment. With time, have I not achieved a greater understanding of your needs?”
As much as she had enjoyed their first coupling, thought it the summit of pleasure even, he had proved her wrong over the weeks. “Yes.”
“Alas.” He tapped the back of a chair, speaking with a note of finality. “There will come a time when unlocking the secrets of a body, as delectable as they are, no longer yields new benefit. What happens to one’s interest when a mystery is solved?”
“If one is a curious sort, as you are, interest shifts to the next mystery.” She felt the sting, even if she herself had prompted it. As long as she already caused herself pain, she voiced the question she had wanted to ask since their first night. “How many such mysteries have you solved?”
James clucked his tongue. “I don’t keep records on that. But not nearly as many as you’re likely thinking.”
“Your skills are rather developed,” she argued, wondering why she was indulging such foolishness. “You must have worked to hone them.”
He laughed. “Yourexperience is limited to only two months, and I have no complaints.”
Clara’s eyes narrowed. “When you came to my house, you said that ladies of the aristocracy have sought you out.”
“I never accepted.”
“Why not? Because they’re married?”
“Because they’d be far more trouble than they’re worth.”
She shifted topics. “Your other lovers. Did they reside here with you?”
“Tsk, Clara. Do you truly wish to know?”
“Yes,” she lied.
He gave a long-suffering sigh. “No.”
“Did they visit here?”
“No.”
“Where did you conduct your activities, then?”
“Clara, I tire of this. You’re the first to spend the night in my bed—or to be ravished in the drawing room. Women work in this house. Women enter as guests. But none was my lover. Is that what you wanted to know?”
She shrugged, unwilling to admit that he had successfully interpreted her line of questioning. Knowing his reserve of patience was fully tapped—as was her own tolerance—she returned to her curiosity about his home. “You’ve indulged my inquisitiveness patiently, James. Please, show me more of your beautiful home.”
