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But surely he would not have… Would he? It was true that the city had a reputation for its courtesans. And it was also true that she’d made it clear that she did not wish any further… attentions from him. The marriage had been consummated, which meant that it could not be annulled. She was no longer a virgin. Everything was perfectly legal now.

Besides, she certainly didn’t wish him to get her with child. And as to the rest of it… the melting feelings, the shuddering ecstasy… well, it was quite transparently a cheap trick designed by nature to trick ladies into believing in love and other nonsense. She was surprised that everyone didn’t see through it.

But still. Somehow, she did not care to think of West seeking pleasures with another lady. She didn’t want to imagine the maddening tickle of his lips on some other lady’s neck, or the way prickles of desire had shot through her when his mouth had teased the peaks of her breasts, or the things his fingers had done between her legs, and how he’d caused her to lose all control of herself and cry out… and the way it had felt when his member had filled her, and how she’d moved under him, seeking release…

No. She certainly didn’t want any of that ever again. It was all very… Well. It made one feel… dependent. And weak. And… and needy.

Inexplicably she was now in a dreadful temper. She sat fuming for another minute or two. But it was plain that she would not be getting any more work done, now that West had so inconsiderately interrupted her.

She shoved back her chair and went to investigate.

The palazzo faced the Grand Canal. Its pale pink stone front was broken by the delicate, cream-colored gothic arches of not one but two loggias. Pomona swept along a corridor whose walls were covered in gold damask and lined with portraits of pale, stern men in red robes—cardinals in the Roman church. Apparently, all of them had been members of the noble family that had built the palazzo four centuries earlier during the Middle Ages.

It couldn’t have been a more perfect inspiration for her book. So why was she still so… uninspired?

A footman—one of the hired Italian servants—bowed and opened the dining room door. She reminded herself not to appear to be in a rush, slowed her footsteps, and swept into the breakfast room—the sala da colazione—with her head held high.

West was seated at the table, frowning at a letter that he was reading. A half-eaten pastry sat on a plate before him. Yes, his hair was damp. But he was also freshly shaved and dressed in different clothes than he’d been wearing when she’d seen him step off the gondola. Clearly his valet, Tompkins, had done some quick work.

“Good morning, your grace.”

He looked startled to see her. “Your grace.”

The bright room overlooked the canal. The shutters were half open, and brilliant reflections of the water below rippled across the heavy wooden beams that supported the ceiling. She helped herself to some warm pastries and sat down. West was watching her. “Are you breakfasting here today?”

She raised her eyebrows. “It would appear so.”

The footman poured her a tiny Italian-sized cup of perfect coffee. She added cream and stirred it for far longer than was necessary, the little silver spoon clinking against the translucent porcelain cup. Was West really not going to mention the fact that he’d arrived at the palazzo’s water gate this morning with wet hair?

“I thought that you might have gone to Caffè Florian—since you seem to like it so much.”

He looked up from his letter again. “Oh. No. It is usually rather empty until late afternoon. And I have received the post that was forwarded to us, so I am detained today with letters of business.”

“I see.” She picked up one of the pastries. It was fragrant with cinnamon and dusted with finely ground sugar. Translucent, buttery layers of pastry shattered as she bit into it. It was filled with some sort of lightly sweetened cream. It was one of the best things that she’d ever eaten.

If only she were here with Lady Theodosia, instead of West! She was beginning to understand the reasons behind the politely vicious conversations that her parents had had. Those conversations had always given her a stomachache when she’d been forced to listen to them. And now, sitting here at the opposite end of the table from West in this beautiful, airy room, eating the most delicious pastry she’d ever tasted, she was getting exactly the same stomachache.

How had matters between her and West grown so cold so quickly? Was it really because she’d said that she didn’t wish to have… relations with him again?

Unfortunately, at this moment she couldn’t remember all the reasons for that decision. Perhaps it was the dancing light in this room, or the fact that sea voyage had brought a golden tint to his skin. It was not fashionable to be sun-browned, but on him it was somehow agreeable. His dark eyes gleamed above bronzed cheekbones, and his hair was touched with gleams of dark gold.

“Lost in thought, your grace? Planning another day at your writing desk?”

He must have noticed her staring at him. Her face warmed. “Yes, in fact.”

“Very good.”

What was that supposed to mean? Did he prefer her to be out of the way? She set the pastry down.

“And your… work… is going well?”

Not particularly, she wanted to say. “Yes, very well. Thank you for asking.”

“Excellent. I am happy to hear it.”

She poked at the pastry again. “In fact, I was working this morning when I happened to glance out the library window, and saw you arrive.”

“Oh?”