Free A Thoroughly Compromised Lady by Bronwyn Scott

laughed. ‘I haven’t the same freedoms as a man, Jack. I can’t pack my maid off to Egypt with me as if it were a trip to Bath.’ Dulci bit into her meal with a ferocity that echoed her disapproval of such strictures.
    â€˜Of course not. Surely something can be arranged. There are guidebooks and tours these days. You’d hardly be alone.’
    Dulci shook her head and made a face. ‘I don’t want to travel with a tour. It would be in credibly boring, visiting all the same places everyone else visits. I want to explore. You’ve seen land no Englishman has ever seen. It’s simply not fair. You got to because you’re a man.’ Dulci sighed and sank back against her chair. ‘You don’t know how lucky you are, Jack. Your life is portable, your body is portable. I wager you could walk out this door and be on a ship to anywhere by the tide, or a mail coach within minutes of leaving my house.’
    Dulci’s eyes burned with a need so intense Jack felt it sear him deep inside. Shame on society for having no idea or tolerance for such a fire. Inside the walls of her brother’s house, she could wear trousers and fence,write her articles, collect her artefacts. But not beyond. Outside Brandon’s home, she was trapped by society’s rules and by her sex.
    â€˜Is that why you haven’t married?’ Jack took an educated guess. Dulci could no more bear half a life for herself than she could half-measures from anyone else.
    â€˜Whatever does that have to do with anything?’ Dulci’s answer was sharp and defensive. He didn’t blame her. His comment sounded entirely non sequitur , only it wasn’t. He could see the connection. Marriage would take her out of Brandon’s house, out of the only place she had any freedom. Jack loved women, but he was heartily glad he’d not been born one. He wanted to say something that would comfort her, but he could not give her empty words. She would know they were just that.
    â€˜For your information, I haven’t married because I haven’t met the right man.’ Dulci took a defiant bite. Jack fought a smile. It wasn’t anyone who could convey all manner of message by simply eating.
    Jack wasn’t ready to let the conversation go. It was proving to be far too interesting. ‘The right man would be…’ Jack let his words fall off.
    â€˜Out there somewhere.’ Dulci fluttered a hand. Not the answer he was looking for. He’d been hoping for a list of itemised qualities. ‘I am in no hurry. I have no reason to marry.’ She fixed him with a pointed stare. ‘Unlike yourself. What are you now, Jack? Mid-thirties? You need an heir for that new title of yours.’
    â€˜Same reasons as yours, I suspect.’ The conversation was suddenly not as interesting as it had been. Thoughts of an heir and how they were begot had aroused him. He set down his plate and rose. ‘Come and show me theVenezuelan items. It is why you brought me up here, isn’t it?’ he charmed shamelessly. ‘Or is this a new rendition of showing off the etchings?’
    Dulci led him to the long work table beneath the windows. The items were laid out by groupings, some already tagged with notes lying beside them. ‘These are cooking implements from what I can tell—a metate , a pestle.’ Dulci reached for a book nearby on the table and turned to a marked page. ‘The items match the drawings here and the brief description.’ She showed Jack the page. ‘I’d like to know more, though. These items suggest a certain diet and they rule out the presence of other foods. One can grind grains and seeds with these, but I have yet to find any tools that would be good for meat dishes. It tells me these people don’t eat meat at all or at least very little.’ She stopped herself. ‘I didn’t mean to go on. Am I boring you?’
    â€˜Hardly.’ He