“I think it is brilliant. I suppose what I most want is to be outdoors, and not suffocating in ridiculous neck cloths. I loathe starch.”

“We are so different,” Theo exclaimed. Even though it was something she’d known practically her whole life, it struck her anew. “I love thinking about clothing, and judicious use of starch can have such a gorgeous effect. Madame Le Courbier—that’s my modiste—and I came up with a wonderful plan to use blue starch to stiffen some fine pleats. She’s putting them at the wrists and the neck of a walking dress of cherry-colored twilled sarcenet with cord trim that will make it resemble the uniform of the Queen’s Household Cavalry.”

“I don’t recall any pleats on their tunics,” James drawled. He had tipped Theo forward, away from him, and now she realized that he was deftly unbuttoning her gown in the back.

“James, we can’t possibly do this,” she said, twisting about to look at him over her shoulder.

“What are we doing? I fancy sitting around with my wife while neither of us has any clothes on. You know there are religions where people behave like that all the time. ‘The Family of Love,’ I think one of them is called. My cousin was telling me about it in the club the other day.”

“Not your cousin Pink,” Theo said, allowing him to continue unbuttoning, because no matter how calm her tone was, her heart sped up at the very idea of sitting unclothed on James’s lap.

“He prefers Pinkler-Ryburn,” he replied, undoing the last button and pushing her gown forward, down her arms.

Theo pulled the gown farther down so that she could free her arms. “I really can’t bear him.”

“I can’t imagine why. After all, he’s as interested in fashion as you are.”

“No, he’s not. He’s just a heedless follower of other people’s ideas. He looks absurd. At the wedding his collar was so high that he couldn’t turn his head at all. And did you see the absurd coat he was wearing? It was lined in pink satin, and he kept fidgeting with it to make sure that everyone saw inside.”

“He’s a macaroni, but he isn’t a bad fellow once you get to know him,” James said. “Why aren’t you wearing one of those corset thingies?”

“I don’t need to,” Theo said with a flash of pride. “They’re meant to keep in one’s stomach, but I don’t have one.”

“You have one,” James said, easing her back against him. He slid his hand down over her chemise, from her neck, over her breasts. “Right here.” His hand slid a little lower. “Like a path leading right to where a man most wants to be.”

Theo squirmed, half wanting his hand to slide lower, half wanting to jump from his lap. “I have an idea,” she said, rather breathlessly.

“What?” His hand slid a little lower.

“Well, the ugly duckling turned into a swan, didn’t she?”

James stopped what he was doing. But then he lifted her up and tugged her gown straight down to the floor. “How does this chemise come off?”

“There are just two buttons,” she said, lifting her hair to show him.

“Tell me about the swan,” he said, pulling her back down onto his lap.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Theo mumbled. She changed the subject. “I’ve been thinking about ideas for months, actually, ever since I debuted and Mama made me wear all those white ruffles.”

“Like the gown you threw out the window.” Nimble fingers brushed her hair to the side, leaving warm sparks wherever they touched her skin.

“Yes, like my wedding gown,” Theo said, bending her head forward. “Are you really unbuttoning my chemise?” It was a stupid question; she could feel his fingers at her neck.

“Yes.”

“But Amélie might enter any moment,” she said, rather panicked. “It must be time to dress for supper.”

“I told my valet to keep them all away until we ring. We will be dining here.”

“Oh.” The very idea of eating with James in such an intimate setting—though surely they would dress again—made her breath quicken. “I intend to develop my own set of rules for fashion,” she said, changing the subject. “The opposite of your cousin Pink. He merely imitates whatever the other fops are doing.”

“Rules sound good,” James said agreeably. He had the yoke of her chemise undone and was starting to slide it forward, off her shoulders.

Theo had a moment of panic, and then let him do it. He plucked her up and then pulled the chemise free. Without a word he nestled her back against his chest, quite as if she wasn’t almost entirely naked but for her lacy little drawers.

“That’s a very pretty garment,” he said, with a distinct note of masculine satisfaction as he ran a finger along the lace trim.

“I designed it myself,” Theo said. “It’s made of knotted silk. That’s double-edged lace.”

“What are your rules?” he asked in her ear just as one of his hands settled on her bare knee.

He didn’t seem to be looking at the lace, but Theo couldn’t think very clearly. She was too fascinated by the contrast of James’s sun-darkened hand on her white knee. In that moment, she actually felt rather pink and white, at least compared to his brownness. “Here’s one: Look to the Greeks.”

“Don’t,” James said. “They have an awful lot of facial hair as a rule, Daisy. Besides, you’re married to me now. You shouldn’t look at any other men.”

There was a note of hot possession in his voice that made her feel ridiculously joyful. “It’s not about men,” she said with a giggle. “I was thinking of Greek gowns.” She felt even more naked because James was still covered by his dressing gown except for where it gaped in the front. Although she could feel something beneath her. “You are no periwinkle,” she observed.

James laughed. “True.” He sounded suddenly happy, without that subtle grimness that hadn’t left his eyes even during the wedding ceremony.

She hopped from his lap, turning around with hands on hips. “Perhaps it’s time you removed your dressing gown.”

It was gratifying to see a hard pulse beating in his throat, and the way his eyes seemed to devour her. Perhaps she could live in a world in which she was thought ugly, as long as she had James waiting for her.

She came quite close and bent down to undo the knot holding his dressing gown in place. His eyes were hot and painfully eager. “So, is this a winkle, if it’s not a periwinkle?” she asked mischievously, brushing the organ that burst up the moment she pulled the fabric to the side.

He gave a husky laugh. “You may call it whatever you like, if you’ll just keep . . . ” His voice trailed off. She ran her fingers over his velvety hardness, coming down on her heels so she could see better.

“That’s a great deal bigger than I realized last night,” she said at last, her voice rather weak. She felt a painful little twinge between her legs at the very sight of it. A winkle indeed. With a capital W.

“But we did fit together,” James said. His breath was uneven. “Do you think you might take your drawers off, as long as we’re both undressing, Daisy?”