Page 50 of Cold November Rake

Temperance's mouth fell open.

The duchess snapped her fingers, and a footman appeared at her elbow as though summoned by sorcery. "Move the countess's things tae her husband's chamber."

"Yes, Your Grace."

The duchess took Temperance firmly by the elbow and steered her toward the stairs. "And while they're at it, we may as well pay a visit tae my modiste. Ye need more fashionable gowns."

"My gowns are perfectly fashionable. I bought them in Paris⁠—"

"How many years ago?"

Temperance swallowed. "Three. But Paris is ahead in fashion."

"Only by two years," the duchess lied, with perfect brazenness. "Which means yer gowns are already out o' style."

Chapter Thirteen

Turin

18th February 1817

My dear Sutton,

Turin is all arcades, so one may walk the whole city in the rain and never get wet. I have decided I like a city that takes such care of its ladies.

A captain of the Piedmontese guards has asked whether my husband exists or is a story I tell to keep officers at bay. I told him I have letters to prove it. Two of them.

As you asked, I have sketched the coffee. It is black and very strong, and served in cups the size of a thimble. You would like it.

P.S. You called chocolate mud with sugar stirred in. I have found a café here that makes it quite differently. I am determined to learn the trick of it myself. I have not given up on you.

Your wife,

Temperance

[Sketch of a coffee cup no bigger than a thimble in the margins]

Temperance stood before the mirror in Sutton's dressing chamber, feeling uncertain. The silk—if it could be called that—clung to every curve of her body as though it had been painted on.

The nightgown was the color of morning fog. And it might as well have been made of fog for how transparent it was. She could see the dark shadow of her nipples through the fabric, the dip of her navel, the pale curve of her hip.

He has already seen me naked. How much worse can his seeing me in this gown be?

Perhaps I should wear my old one.

The duchess had been the one to insist that she buy new undergarments, and she had told the modiste that Temperance was a newlywed, which might as well have been the truth for how little time she had spent with her husband since their wedding.

As a result, the modiste had suggested only the most risqué nightgowns.

Luckily, the duchess had been absorbed in the fabric stand at that very moment. Otherwise, Temperance might have perished on the spot from shame.

Temperance smoothed a stray lock of hair over her shoulder. Would Sutton like seeing her like this? Would he care?

She picked up the candle from the dressing table and walked back into Sutton's bedchamber.

The room was dark, with only the dying embers in the hearth and a single candle burning on the nightstand, casting long shadows across the walls and the ceiling and the great expanse of the four-poster bed.

When Sutton had learned of their new sleeping arrangement, he had swept into her chamber to study the supposed mold. Luckily for Temperance, the workers had already stripped half of the room down.