They were in Emm’s bedchamber. Emm had finished feeding baby Bertie, and now held him against her shoulder, rubbing his back. “Do I take it that you no longer detest the duke?”

“I want to strangle him.”

Emm laughed. “That’s not quite the same thing. I occasionally want to strangle Cal, but I love him dearly all the same.”

George pondered the question. She’d definitely softened toward the duke. A bit. His kisses drove her wild, but that wasn’t it. She mightn’t be in season like a mare or a cat—though she was still sure that something was going on—but liking, respect or love had nothing to do with physical desire—she knew that much. Men were like stallions, only on two legs. They’d jump a fence for a filly they fancied.

She’d been angry that he’d come chasing down to Bath after her but . . . though jealousy was unattractive, it at least showed he cared, even if he didn’t trust her. And with a mother like his . . .

Actually, that was when she’d started to soften toward him first, when he realized how his mother had deceived and manipulated her. He could have left it, not exposed the lie—it would have made it easier for him—but he hadn’t. He realized she’d given her promise based on a false premise and he’d taken her to see for herself what his mother had done.

And then he’d offered to release her. Despite all his efforts to entrap her. He’d played fair, shown her a side of him she hadn’t suspected—an honorable streak.

And then, when she’d told him he was just like his mother, just as ruthlessly manipulative—well, he had every right to be furious with her. She wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d denied it, and refused to give her opinion any credence at all.

But he hadn’t. He’d listened, he’d thought about it. And he’d taken it on the chin—and later he’d apologized.

That was probably the moment she’d looked at him, really looked at him, past the haughty manner and the cold arrogance, and glimpsed the possibility of another man.

The baby belched loudly, startling George. She didn’t think such a tiny thing could make such a sound. “What a clever boy you are,” Emm murmured as she placed him on his back on the bed beside her. He lay quietly among the pillows, staring intently at the world around him with bright, dark blue eyes. He waved a little hand and George slipped a finger in it, smiling as he gripped her firmly.

“Just because a convenient marriage is arranged,” Emm said, “it doesn’t mean that’s how it will continue.”