“But for the restoration the Moonstone can bring—I would not waste my time,” Prospero sneered as he circled Phaeton.

“Handsome cock you’ve got there, Mr. Black—and ramrod hard by the looks of him.” Domina dropped to her knees. A long pink tongue unfurled from ruby-red lips.

“If only we had run into each other earlier, Prospero—I would have gladly handed it over.” Phaeton looked down and groaned. “Domina flagellates Phaeton . . . be sure to send Victor a copy . . .” He exhaled a groan of pleasure. “That’s it—suck the tip, love.”

As Domina Valor alternated whip and tongue, Prospero grew more insistent for information. The erotic imagery cut in and out as Phaeton’s pleasure turned more and more to pain. There was no way to tell if the scenes were contiguous or not, for they often seemed oddly truncated, causing Exeter to grow even more suspicious. “Prospero certainly has in mind an insidious carrot-and-stick reward scheme. And I believe Phaeton is aware that he’s being recorded.”

“That’s all there is.” Tim flicked off the machine and turned toward the wall. Hundreds of tiny green specks dotted layers of catacomb maps. “See here,” Tim pointed to a very small cluster of bugs. “This may develop into something significant, or it may not. We’re looking for a much larger mass.” The rotund young scientist turned to Jersey and Exeter. “I don’t think we’re going to see anything definitive until late this afternoon.”

“Is there a way to hurry them along?” Exeter exhaled an impatient sigh.

“They’re stealthy little bugs, mate, what do you expect?”

Exeter left the dining room in an irritable frame of mind. The bugs were moving at a snail’s pace, and he was overstimulated in the way a man becomes aroused by viewing French nudes in a stereoscopic. He loosed his cravat. Hopefully Mia would be near to completing her toilet. He enjoyed a momentary fantasy. Mia, naked in her bath. Good God, such a wicked thought. I am the beast, otherwise known as Mia’s guardian.

In truth, he had become her lover. And it was a guilty pleasure, one that he had not completely reconciled, as yet. He knocked quietly and opened the door. Two young women were having a bath in a familiar copper tub—what a sight to behold.

With the curtains drawn back, sunlight warmed the room. The young ladies’ singsong laughter brought to mind two woodland sprites having a splash in a pond. The lovely sight eased both his mind and spirit. He paused a moment, with his back to the door, just to enjoy them.

Mia noticed him first. “Oh dear, it’s Exeter.”

America shrieked a laugh and sunk deeper into the water. Amused, Exeter ventured closer. “Actually I find this most timely. I’ve been meaning to do a late-term exam on you, America.”

Exeter shrugged out of his coat and held up a bath sheet. America rose from the bath and he wrapped the towel around her. “Why don’t you lie down on the bed?” He helped America out of the tub and turned to Mia.

“I hate to hurry you along—but you might begin to dress, while I have a quick look at mother and child?” He covered Mia in a Turkish towel, redirecting his attention to America. “Having Mia here should make you all the more comfortable with the exam, I would hope.” He opened his medical bag and removed a jar of paraffin jelly and a sterile cloth. “Have you felt the baby move today?” Rolling up his sleeves, he scrubbed his hands in a nearby washbasin.

“Oh yes, with some regularity all morning.”

“This shouldn’t take long—I am curious to see if the child is engaged.” He scrubbed vigorously with soap and water.

“Engaged?” America raised up on her elbows.

“When the head drops down into the pelvis, it is called ‘engaged. ’ In first-time mothers it usually happens in the last two to three weeks.” Exeter propped several bed pillows under her lower back, tilting her hips up. “And you, my dear, are nearly thirty-seven weeks, if our original estimates are correct.” He lifted the towel covering her belly. “I’m going to place one hand on your lower abdomen and two fingers inside you.”

“She’s quite a bit larger than a pea in the pod.” As Exeter palpitated, he smiled down at her. “At this point, you may be feeling more pressure and an occasional, sharp little twinge—that would be the infant turning her head.”

America nodded. “Yes, I have felt both the twinge and the pressure.”

“All completely normal, nothing to worry over.” He slid his fingers up into her vaginal canal. A bit wide-eyed, America inhaled a breath. Exeter gently palpitated. “Your cervix has softened a good deal—I suspect there may be some dilation, as well.”

He glanced at Mia, who was leaning over his shoulder, all round eyes and flushed cheeks. Her towel had slipped off a shoulder, exposing a lovely shaped breast and a hint of beige nipple. “And how are you holding up, my dear?” he asked.

“I’m . . . completely and utterly . . . enthralled, Doctor Exeter.” Mia moved up beside him. “Might I—watch?”

“Even better, I shall put you to work.” Exeter reached for his bag and pulled out a bar covered in paper. “Extracted from the cacao bean. Cocoa butter.” He peeled back the wrapper and placed the waxy square on America’s distended belly. He gently pressed it to her skin and circled slowly. “Her body heat will cause the bar to melt as you stroke her skin.” Exeter showed Mia how to use her fingers and massage. “This conditions the skin and prevents striae—red marks from the skin being stretched.” Exeter handed Mia the cocoa butter. “The baby will enjoy the rubdown, as well.”

“Mmm, like a cup of hot chocolate.” Mia inhaled the scent as she smoothed the bar over America’s belly. A sudden bump sent Mia upright. “Oh, my!”

Chapter Fourteen

“I BELIEVE I AM IN A STUPOR OF EUPHORIA.” Mia sat comfortably beside Exeter as the carriage turned onto Rue de la Paix. “America’s belly ripe with child, tight as drum—when I massaged her with the cocoa butter and the baby kicked, oh, Exeter, I felt so close to the life inside her.”

She suspected she looked a bit glassy-eyed, even dreamy, and for some inexplicable reason, she could not let go of her reverie. “Apologies for rabbiting on, but . . .” Mia caught Exeter staring at her over the top of his news sheet. “Did you feel it, too—during the exam?”

“There is great delight in the birthing of babies.” Lowering the paper, he used his enigmatic smile—the unbelievably attractive one. “Something stirring about a new life, I suppose.” He calmly returned to his reading. How could he possibly be so nonchalant about such an experience? She could only wonder at how miraculous a birth must be.

She blinked at him. “Exeter, you were brilliant with America. Sensitive and thoughtful. I very much suspect those stiff-collared Harley Street physicians aren’t half as competent as you are. Why on earth did you decide not to practice? A specialty in women’s medicine—relief from hysteria, perhaps?” Mia grinned. “Good Lord, they’d be lined up around the block hoping for a massage by Doctor Exeter.”

Exeter snapped his paper, though he cracked enough of a smile to cause a deep crease and a glorious dimple—glorious for its rarity. He lowered his paper. “Did the exam bother you?”

Mia returned his gaze. “At first I was curious—” A thought stopped her speech, and nearly left her breathless. “You’ve no idea what a marvel you are.” There had been a lighthearted reverence in the way he examined America. After locating the baby’s head position, he’d taken her hand and pressed it to her belly. “Do you talk to the baby often? My mother sang Persian songs to me in the womb.”

Responding to the doctor’s query, America had propped herself up on her elbows. “Are you smiling at Doctor Exeter, Luna?”

And when he found the baby’s head, he advised, “I suspect it won’t be long now. My best guess is a few days . . . or a few weeks.” Exeter had smiled at the disappointed look. “Nature nearly always makes doctors look a bit dotty when it comes to predicting the onset of labor, so I leave it sketchy.”

After the exam, he’d grinned at America. “So you have decided on the name Luna . . . even if it’s a boy?”

America had exhaled a funny, exasperated sigh. “She is definitely a girl. Phaeton met our daughter in the Outremer. As he was sucked into Lovecraft’s transporter, his last words to me were: ‘Her name is Luna . . . let go of me, America.’ ”

Having never heard this story before, both she and Exeter had exchanged glances. Mia had swallowed a rather large lump in her throat. “You never told us, America.”

“I couldn’t speak of it until now—without crying.”

Exeter had folded America’s clothes and helped her into Mia’s wrapper. “Take a good long nap—doctor’s orders.” He had seen her down the hall and returned to their room for a quick bath. They’d dressed in relative silence for her appointment with Charles Fredrick Worth of Maision Worth, the famous couturier of Rue de la Paix.


Mia rocked against him as the carriage braked in front of the salon. “You were born to be a physician, Doctor Exeter—a healer. I’ve never seen you as joyful in your lab.”

He arched a supercilious brow. “That is because my work on blood typing is a serious matter.”

“Indeed. So very serious, you rarely leave your laboratory except for fencing twice a week. Or your standing appointment at Shaftesbury Court.”

The very mention of his arrangement with Mrs. Parker caused the cat to stir inside her and Exeter to lower his paper. “Do you suppose there will be time this afternoon to purchase pretty matching undergarments for your gowns?” He folded his paper and tossed it onto the seat, opposite. There was a sparkle in his eyes that caused her heart to flutter inside her chest. He helped her down from the carriage.