“I cannot believe it myself.” Phaeton leaned over the baby carriage and cooed. “Pay your godfather no mind, Luna.” The beaming papa looked up at Exeter. “She’s got her mother’s almond-shaped eyes—did you see them?”

America smiled. “Her father’s grin, as well—I saw a hint of it just this morning. And there was mischief in her eyes.”

“Let us hope some good comes of it.” Exeter teased, giving a nod to the two Nightshades behind them.

Jersey Blood and Valentine Smith strolled arm in arm, some distance away. Until they had Prospero safely locked away, precautions were to be taken with regards to Luna, in particular. No one knew exactly what this child born of the moon and stars meant, as yet, but they weren’t taking any chances.

Since they had returned to London, there had been several troublesome episodes at Oakley headquarters in the Outremer. The larger rooms designed to house the wizard had proved less than stable. Oakley had called Exeter over to consult on ways to incarcerate the dangerous, wily Prospero.

“We’ll meet in St. George’s Churchyard.” Phaeton snapped him out of his troubled thoughts. The Blacks and entourage split off at a fork in the pathway heading for Shaftesbury Avenue.

“Bright and early, then!” America called to both of them.

Exeter answered Mia’s wave. “At the stroke of ten, Thursday morning.” He turned them north, toward Piccadilly, where they came upon a new neighbor, a Mrs. Agnes Lassiter. She was heiress to a merchant fleet, and her personal worth was reported to be in the millions. Exeter greeted the woman as she made her way over to get a closer look at the large black cat walking beside him.

“Is he a Panthera parda or onca?” Wide eyes stared at the exotic animal. “I’m somewhat of a philofelist—cat-lover.”

“She is a parda, from the southern region of Africa.”

The fascinated woman nodded. “Look, in just the right light you can see the spots hidden by the excess black pigment—melanin—the effect is similar to that of printed silk, is it not?” Leaning closer the woman hesitated. “Might I touch her?”

“She is quite tame, but I do not advise petting.” Exeter smiled.

The woman straightened with a sigh. “Such a beautiful pussy.”

“That she is, Mrs. Lassiter.” Exeter tipped his hat.


“The pheasant is delightful—very succulent.” Mia chewed quietly. She managed to suppress a growl, but not the glare that shot across the dinner table. It had been exactly twelve days, three hours, and forty-nine minutes since their return to London. She knew this because it had been exactly that long since Exeter had visited her bedchamber or touched her intimately. She had brought up his indifference during the soup course, and he had positioned his lack of affection as a necessary disengagement.

“Paris was lovely, Mia, but—”

“I’d rather not listen to any more buts.”

“You deserve to experience the world, meet people, fall in love.”

“Have my heart broken.” She barely choked down whatever tasteless morsel was on her fork.

“If that is what it takes to make you realize you have your whole life in front of you.” Exeter spoke quietly, but forcefully. “I only want for you what every young woman should have. Especially one as bold and beautiful as you are.” Exeter paused to pour them each another glass of claret. “Now, we need to see if you can go it alone. See if you can manage your shifts by using all the techniques I have taught you.”

She took a sip of claret and then another. “What sort of skills do you mean—exactly?”

Exeter sliced a bit of leg meat off the bone. “We shall continue this discussion after dinner. In my study.”

Mia exhaled an exasperated sigh before changing the subject. “Just think, in a few more days, Phaeton and America are finally to marry. And baby Luna will be christened—all in an afternoon.” She smiled. “Even though it galls me to say it, well done, Exeter.”

Since they were to be godparents, Exeter had gamely contrived to meet with the vicar, an amiable man by the name of Wicklow, to make arrangements. “A small wedding after the christening—what could be simpler? As long as Phaeton and America were in the chapel, I thought it expedient to add a ceremony.” Exeter chewed. “Mr. Wicklow agreed.”

He made merry eyes across the table. There was no doubt he felt the tension between them, and was trying to cajole her. “How are the reception plans coming along? Sorry for springing all this on you and then dashing off to Cambridge.”

“Invitations are printed and mailed. Champagne is ordered. We are to have a light supper around seven—with any luck we’ll have the whole motley crew out the door by midnight.”

Exeter tilted his head, curious. “You invited Mrs. Parker and the girls?”

“Of course. They are Phaeton and America’s friends—yours, as well.” She rested her fork and knife on the edge of her plate. “When I used the expression motley crew, I was referring to those unruly Nightshades, including Gaspar, who should be restored enough to attend.” Mia couldn’t help a devilish grin. “Though I suspect a few of Esmeralda Parker’s girls can be just as unruly.”

“I don’t believe our guest list has ever been this interesting,” Exeter sipped his claret. “I hand-delivered invitations to Oakley and Victor. They said they’d try to make it.”

Her brows elevated, then crashed together. “After everything Phaeton has gone through—what he has done for them?” Phaeton’s first act of Moonstone business was to restore Gaspar, as well as their world. “I should think they could do better than try.” A frown did not quite do justice to how she felt at the moment. “You’ve made several unplanned trips to the Outremer of late. Something has gone wrong, hasn’t it?”

“In a manner of speaking.” Exeter hesitated. She knew that look. He was holding back, in a protective way. Finally, he met her gaze. “The Moonstone has turned out to be—temperamental. It’s not just about Phaeton asking politely for powers with an open heart. Apparently . . .” He exhaled. “There are extenuating circumstances.”

Absently, she twirled her wineglass about by the stem. “More than once, Prospero made references to Oakley and Victor—he claimed they had painted him the villain.”

Exeter set his napkin beside his plate. “What else would you expect the man to say?”

“Just—be wary.” She met his gaze. “Things may not be what they seem.”

“I will keep that in mind, if it eases yours.”

She lifted her chin and plastered a smile on her face. “It does.”

Exeter studied her false grin, then changed the subject. “I understand you received an overseas cable today. Anything you’d care to discuss?”

She removed the telegraph wire from a pocket in her gown. “You might read it, first.”

She inhaled a quick breath as he opened the message. When Exeter had cooled toward her, she had felt confused, abandoned. She had also suffered a bad patch of tears and anger—until this wire arrived.

Exeter looked up from the missive. “You’ve been accepted to the Boston University School of Medicine.”

Mia knew without a doubt that she was beaming. “A women’s medical college in Boston. The first school in the world to formally educate female physicians.”

Exeter continued to stare, openmouthed. “Are you sure about this?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. I wish to practice medicine. Perhaps forge a specialty in women’s health. Seeing you with America, in the hotel—being your eyes and hands for Luna’s birth . . .” Since his shocked expression hadn’t changed, she continued to state her case. “How perfectly women are made to procreate, to nurture a child in our womb, bear the pain and the joy of childbirth.” Mia jumped up and leaned across the table. “It is my calling, Exeter—be happy for me.”

“I am over the moon, Mia. The world needs more physicians with such passion and dedication, but . . .”

Her eyes flicked upward. “Yes, of course, you are over the moon, but . . .”

She watched him temper a sharp intake of air into a quiet exhale. “Boston is rather far away. I know we could find something closer. I am acquainted with the Dean of the London School of Medicine for Women, an Elizabeth Anderson. I could speak with her.”

Mia was stunned at his sudden turn of heart. He had avoided her at every turn, making two trips to the Outremer and one to Cambridge, for a lecture. He had stayed overnight, chumming about with colleagues and friends, and yet now he wished to keep her close.

Mia angled her bustle as she returned to her seat. The tea tray arrived, along with a decanter of Exeter’s favorite port. A lemon curd tart appeared in front of her. Without much enthusiasm, she added a dollop of clotted cream while Exeter continued. “There is also a new school of medicine for women in Edinburgh—”

“I am beyond fortunate to have received this offer.” Mia cut in. “London has a waiting list, and Edinburgh’s program is still very small. I wired the Dean of Boston University School of Medicine on the off chance they might allow a midyear enrollee. They will hold a slot open until the tenth of January. All I need is the tuition.” Mia scraped a spoon over her tart, nervously.

Exeter appeared to have no appetite for dessert, preferring to sip on his port. “It’s not the money, it’s . . . I’m sure you don’t want another repeat of Oxford.” Exeter was unfairly referencing the start of her women’s studies this past fall. She had been found naked in the forest, wandering and incoherent. The incident had marked the beginning of her change.

“I am well past those days.” She must have appeared stricken because he softened his argument.

“Indeed, you are. You’ve made wonderful progress with your feline counterpart.” Exeter smiled a simple closed-lipped smile, the kind that brought that long dimple to one side of his mouth. She loved that dimple.

He settled back into his chair. “I arrived home early yesterday afternoon. Mr. Tandi placed a finger to his lips and bade me follow him into the garden. Four-legged Mia was catnapping in a tree branch.”

Her favorite shade tree in all the world, the old oak took up nearly the entire garden space, except for a small patch of sunlight that grew roses. The panther loved to snooze on a low-hanging limb, almost every afternoon.

“Did Mr. Tandi happen to mention that while dozing off one day, she slipped off the branch and was quite rudely awakened by hard ground?”

A blush of warmth rose on her cheeks when he barked a laugh. Exeter hardly ever laughed. “I take it she survived the fall.”

“She’s a hardy pussycat.” Mia returned his grin.

His rather charming, wistful gaze turned a bit edgy. A gulp finished his port and he set the glass down. “Shall we retire to my study?”

Chapter Twenty-five

EXETER OPENED THE DOOR and Mia swept past him in a stunning gown—one of the new evening dresses that had just arrived from Paris. Layers of diaphanous blue silk covered in a swirl of dragonflies. The embroidered silver fairies flitted their way up the bodice of the dress to a décolleté that was stunning. He had watched the curves of her breasts rise and fall throughout most of dinner this evening. Most distracting.

“The dress is lovely on you.”

She smiled. “I think it might be my favorite, thus far. A Madame Mateau, here in London, is doing the few nips and tucks.” She took her usual chair, while he poured them each a brandy. “The rest of the gowns should arrive by week’s end.”

He braced himself against the edge of his secretary and swirled two glasses of Armagnac, one in each hand. “Those pretty ball gowns won’t get much wear in medical school.”

Mia placed her hands in her lap, steepling her fingers. “Medical school in Boston or London?”

She perturbed him more than ever, now that he knew what it was like to lay with her. Her sensuous body, how wonderfully open and responsive she had been with her lovemaking—something he hadn’t foreseen. Now that they were home, just being with her had become a torture. He wanted her morning, noon, and night. Just the way she sat in the wing chair, posture perfect, and yet there was an ease about her, the picture of elegance. His gaze flicked down her neckline to the delicate material that barely covered—nay, even hinted at—those rosy tips.

A surge of arousal raged through him as he considered clearing the top of his desk and tossing up her skirts. He resisted the urge to act like a randy schoolboy and caught himself before he slipped deeper into reverie. “It seems you are set on Boston, no matter what I advise.”