“I think the night still holds interesting possibilities, but in the morning, we must return to decorum,” he said gravely. “If we are to publicly confront Denshire with his sins, you must do so as a virtuous woman. If you are known to have a lover, your quest for justice will turn into a public pillorying of you. It would be ugly, perhaps even uglier than the initial divorce.”

After a long silence, she said, “I know you’re right. I want to have the high ground so I can condemn Denshire to the gutter. But even if I stand unsullied on that high ground with my sword of justice upraised—what if it makes no difference? What if Denshire merely resumes his assaults on my fortune and his claims that he owns Christopher and I have no rights in my own family? What if the Archbishop of Canterbury can’t or won’t lift a hand to help me? What then?”

He sighed and skimmed his hand along the smooth arc of her back. “I don’t think you’ll be any worse off in terms of your status, though you will almost certainly feel emotionally shattered at first. I can bring a bill accusing Denshire of criminal fraud in the House of Lords as I suggested before. I don’t know if there is any legal recourse beyond that.”

She slid her fingers into his hair, petting him like a cat. “Have you ever thought about living with me openly and be damned to the consequences?”

He had considered it, and the prospect was as alluring and dangerous as Eve’s apple: to have her companionship in bed and out, but to be disdained by most of society; to have children who were bastards. “I’ve thought about it. I would prefer better for both of us.”

“So would I.” She sighed. “We don’t always get what we want. Sometimes we have to make do with what we can get.”

“That’s one of life’s most necessary lessons, and one of the hardest.”

After a long silence, she said, “I’ve been thinking about my grand confrontation with my former husband at the Duchesses’ Ball. Part of me wants to hurl my words like arrows into his arrogant, angry face, but I don’t know if I would do that well. I might lose my temper and turn into a screaming fishwife. Even if I don’t, will a woman be listened to as carefully as a man?”

He frowned. “The story is yours, and surely you’re the best qualified to tell it.”

“Perhaps, but I might be considered a weak, whiny woman. Would you present my case? You have a beautiful speaking voice, and as a man you’ll be listened to.”

He was silent for long moments. “My reputation is not unsullied. My dishonor might reflect on you.”