Vice

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“I do not have such a piece at present, Your Grace."

"I didn't imagine you would, madam. But I assume you could procure one." Tarquin, third Duke of Redmayne, bent to inhale the fragrance of a rose in a deep bowl on the table at his side.

"Such specific requirements will not be simple to furnish," Mrs. Dennison mused from behind her painted fan.

A smile flickered over the duke's lean countenance. "You and Mr. Dennison will find the reward matches the effort, Elizabeth."

His hostess glanced over her fan and her eyes twinkled "La, Duke, you know how I hate to discuss terms… so vulgar."

"Very vulgar," he agreed smoothly. "However, it must be the genuine article, madam. I have no interest in counterfeit maidenhead, however fresh the piece might appear."

Elizabeth Dennison looked wounded. "How could you suggest such a thing, Your Grace?"

The duke's smile broadened, but he shook his head slightly and drew a lapis lazuli snuffbox from the deep pocket of his full-skirted velvet coat. There was silence in the sunny parlor as he took a leisurely pinch, closed the box, and replaced it before dusting his nose with a lace-trimmed handkerchief.

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