Duncan was chewing. When he’d finished, he replied, “You want Reeve and you’ll probably never have him. I, on the other hand, wanted Maggie—but fair as she is, she’s not worth my life, so I’ve had to give up the idea.”

“I have an advantage over you, Mr. Kirk,” Eleanor said frankly. “When Mrs. McKenna grows fat with his child, and not so eager for her husband’s loving attentions—”

Duncan arched one skeptical and quite dirty eyebrow, interrupting without apparent chagrin. “The advantage,” he pointed out flatly, “is Maggie’s, I’m afraid. I can’t imagine her turning that man away for any reason—she adores him—but even if she were to do that because of a difficult pregnancy, at any rate, Reeve would even be more indulgent, not less so.

“You waste your valuable time seeking McKenna’s bed, Miss Kilgore. Especially when you would be so welcome in mine.”

Color surged up over Eleanor’s bosom and into her face. If the truth be known, she didn’t find the prospect at all untoward. “Rumor is,” she said primly nonetheless, “that you’ve taken Miss Loretta Craig for a mistress.”

Duncan laughed. “Alas, that affaire decoeur is over. Loretta’s sold everything she has to organize her own theater troupe—I confess to contributing a few hundred pounds to the cause. She is sailing off to America, there to become a sensation.” He spread his marginally clean hands. “For all I know, she’s gone by now.”

Eleanor folded her arms. “Why have you stayed on here, all this while, if you’ve given up on having Maggie for yourself?”

“Good Lord,” Duncan breathed, “am I really so transparent as that?”

Eleanor only nodded.

Duncan sighed philosophically. “One always hopes, I guess. One always hopes. Some terrible accident could befall McKenna and leave his lovely wife widowed. Besides, I really rather enjoy working the land—it’s a welcome change from the stiff-collar doings in Sydney and Melbourne.”

“Perhaps,” Eleanor agreed, hiding a smile. “But I think there’s more—you want to be nearby so you can get reports from your spy. Tell me, Mr. Kirk, is Cora your mother, or your maiden aunt?”

Duncan’s mouth fell open.

“You didn’t think anyone knew, did you?” Eleanor asked, her tone sweet as marzipan. “It’s really not such a staggering deduction—after all, Cora is an American and so are you. And, of course, I’ve seen the two of you meeting—as if by accident—on a number of occasions.”

Duncan gave a long sigh and pushed away his bowl. He scowled at Eleanor. “Cora is my aunt,” he admitted grudgingly. “She came to Australia, at my request, to look after my sons. By the time she’d arrived, I was in love with Maggie and I asked her to seek a position in Reeve’s house—so I’d always know that she was safe.”