Without a glance behind her, she unlocked the door and exited his room, closing his bedchamber door with a clack, not even caring if a servant spotted her in the corridor.

Her reputation was not something she had ever overly valued. At least not her reputed virtue. At any rate, such a thing was a construct of men who wielded power. It was not anything substantial. Her reputation as a person, as a sister, as a friend . . . her reputation as a healer, those were the things she valued.

He did not know her at all if he thought she would accept his insulting offer. Unlike most females her age, she wasn’t after a husband. She was not trying to land a man. So many women needed their reputations as a bargaining device, a negotiating tool for security. Not Nora. She was privileged in that regard.

She realized she was fortunate to have a sister who had married well and would stand by her through anything. Yes, even a loss of reputation. Not that Nora believed herself without reputation.

She was still a maid. Her virtue was intact for all intents and purposes, and there would be no threat of tonight repeating itself. They were not lovers. This was a one-time liaison and he could stuff his sense of obligation toward her.

He’d only succumbed because of the tonic. He would not do so again.

He would return to his former self, the ever-rigid, ever-passionless and ever-proper heir to the Duke of Birchwood.

She took refuge in her chamber and undressed, glad for Bea’s absence as she removed her soiled nightgown. She fetched a fresh one from her packed luggage, standing at the ready for tomorrow’s departure.

She was no longer certain if she was leaving tomorrow. Her head ached when she contemplated it, so she decided not to give it another thought. At least for the remainder of this night. Tomorrow she would consider her fate. Tomorrow she would decide.

Once in a fresh nightgown, she moved before the washstand and poured water on the one she wore to Constantine’s chamber. Taking the soap, she scrubbed it into the fabric, determined to rid herself of the evidence of their tryst.

Would that she could rid it from her mind as effectively.

Chapter 22

Constantine stood near the window in the duchess’s bedchamber the following morning, observing the elderly lady where she sat in her bed, propped up against several pillows. Thankfully, she looked in fine form, happily perusing the array of food on the tray before her.

“You know,” Her Grace began, “the only thing that gave me any relief was that tea from our darling Nora.” She sat cozily in her bed, lathering jam generously on her toast as though nothing unpleasant had ever afflicted her.