“Observe rather than participate,” he said quietly.

“I’ve made a good career out of it. Maybe I didn’t fulfill my obligations by making an important marriage and giving a lifetime of those beastly dinner parties and raising a pair of well-behaved, properly bred children,” she said with rising heat. “But I made good use of my education and a good career, which I’m certainly more suited for than the other. I’m out of wine.”

“Let’s slow down a little—”

“Why?” She laughed and plucked out the second bottle herself. “We’re among friends. I’m getting drunk, and I think I like it.”

What the hell, Phillip thought and took the bottle from her to open it. He’d wanted to dig under that proper and polished surface of hers. Now that he was there, there was no point in backing off.

“But you were married once,” he reminded her.

“I told you it didn’t count. It was not an important marriage. It was an impulse, a small and failed attempt at rebellion. I make a poor rebel. Mmm.” She swallowed champagne, gestured with her glass. “I was supposed to marry one of the sons of my father’s associate from Britain.”

“Which one?”

“Oh, either. They were both quite acceptable. Distant relations of the queen. My mother was quite determined to have her daughter associated by marriage with royalty. It would have been a triumph. Of course I was only fourteen, so she had plenty of time to work out the plan, the timing. I believe she’d decided I could become engaged, formally, to one or the other when I was eighteen. Marriage at twenty, first child at twenty-two. She had it all worked out.”

“But you didn’t cooperate.”

“I didn’t get the chance. I might very well have cooperated. I found it very difficult to oppose her.” She brooded over that for a moment, then washed it away with more champagne. “But Gloria seduced them both, at the same time, in the front parlor while my parents were attending the opera. I believe it was Vivaldi. Anyway . . .” She waved her hand again, drank again. “They came home, found this situation. There was quite a scene. I snuck downstairs and watched part of it. They were naked—not my parents.”

“Naturally.”

“High on something, too. There was a lot of shouting, threatening, pleading—this from the Oxford twins. Did I mention they were twins?”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Identical. Blond, pale, lantern-jawed. Gloria didn’t give two damns about them, of course. She did it, knowing they’d be caught, because my mother had chosen them for me. She hated me. Gloria, not my mother.” Her brow knit. “My mother didn’t hate me.”

“What happened?”

“The twins were sent home in disgrace and Gloria was punished. Which led, inevitably, to her striking back by accusing my father’s friend of seducing her, which led to another miserable scene and her finally running off. It was certainly less disruptive with her gone, but it gave my parents more time to concentrate on forging me. I used to wonder why they saw me more as creation than child. Why they couldn’t love me. But then . . .” She settled back again. “I’m not very lovable. No one’s ever loved me.”