“I will cheerfully be your mistress, you know.” Matilda undid the frogs of his cloak and hung the garment at hook. “I’d also marry you, assuming Harry is happy to slink away with the deed to my house in his hand.”

Tremont settled his hands on her shoulders, as if he knew she wanted to discuss anything—anything at all—other than the havoc Harry could wreak in their lives.

“Marriage to me will make a bigamist of you, my love, and that would give Harry even more leverage over us both. Our children would be illegitimate, and thus the shadow he casts looms over them as well. I will not put the woman I esteem above all others at risk for a felony arrest. As for becoming my mistress, that would send the respectability you fought so hard to preserve for Tommie straight down the jakes.”

Matilda leaned into him. “Sometimes, I wish your intellect wasn’t so formidable.”

“Not formidable, but one of few tools I can rely on. Shall I order a tray, Matilda? We certainly have time.”

What do you want, Matilda. What do you want? The words echoed in her memory, as did the wondrous notion of for once having what she wanted.

“I want you,” she said. “Forever and beyond, if possible. If not forever, then here and now would be lovely.”

She expected remonstrations, lectures, philosophy—if Harry was alive, cavorting with Marcus was adultery, a sin, if not a crime.

Tremont regarded her with an odd, slight smile. “You’re sure, Matilda?”

“Yes.” Everything—heart, mind, and what honor a woman could claim—supported that answer. “Yes, and yes, and yes again.”

“So be it.” He took her hand, led her to the steps, and straight up into his sitting room. “We might be late for our appointment.”

“The weather has made traffic abominable.”

“I’m sure it will, but I try not to tell white lies to spare my dignity. If I’m late because I failed to keep track of the time, I would rather say so, or simply apologize for the lapse, and save the lying as a last resort. Shall I undo your hooks?”

“Please.” Matilda stood by the fire and gave him her back. “Do you think your papa is looking down from heaven, knowing when you’ve been naughty?”

“As a boy, I did. Now, Papa holds the place of a benevolent angel, hoping I don’t disappoint him. Do you ever wonder what sort of father your Harry had?”

What an odd question. “He might not know who his father is.” Matilda held still a moment longer while Marcus untied her corset strings.

“Where was Harry when Tommie was conceived?” He slipped his arms around her waist and embraced her from behind.