Mayne ran a hand through his hair. Lord knows, from her point of view, he likely was as old as any Greek god. “I’m not sure that’s a compliment; isn’t Dionysus the Greek name for Bacchus, the god of wine?”

“The god of wine and nature, the one who carries a staff wound with ivy, and whose maenads dance through the night.”

He walked forward, his trousers brushing roses and releasing a rich burst of flavor into the air. “I have no doubt but that you are one of the maenads. Will you dance all night?”

“I am a terrible dancer,” Josie said with a chuckle. “I believe you noticed?”

He sat down next to her on the flagstones. The ballrooms of Almack’s seemed a different world. Above them the dolphin cast his arched shadow across the paving stones.

“This was your aunt’s rose arbor, wasn’t it?” she asked him.

“It was,” he said. “According to my father, she loved this place next after her turret. She planted the roses before she grew very ill. Even when she was extremely frail, she would have the servants carry her to the arbor in fine weather.”

“It’s enough to make me believe in fairies. And I assure you that I am the kind of person whose imagination is decidedly impoverished.”

“I don’t believe that. Not with all the novels you read.”

“It’s the truth. When we were young, we would all play house, of course. Annabel was brilliant at making up stories, and Imogen would chime in. I haven’t a shard of imagination myself; I like things to be very clearly explained.”

Mayne leaned his head back against the pedestal and looked up at the sky. It looked close enough to touch, like soft velvet, so worn that stars shone through. “Cecily truly believed there were fairies living here, in the woods. She hung the glass balls to delight them.”

“I thought that must be it. How lovely that you’ve kept up the tradition.”

“My father would have wished it,” Mayne said. “He died quite suddenly, but I know he would have asked me to do it.”

She said nothing, but she picked up his hand. To Mayne’s horror, his throat felt a bit tight. Her hand was soft and warm, curling around his.

“Would you dislike being left a widow, Josie? We seem to be rather short-lived in my family.”

“That’s absurd.”

“I’m much older than you are.”

“Women die far more often than do men,” she said. “In childbirth, for one.”

“A melancholy thought.”

“And you’re not so much older than I am. How old are you?”

“How old are you?”

“Eighteen.”

“When I was eighteen,” Mayne said after a moment, “I had seduced two married women and been spurned by three.”

“I have been spurned by most of the ton,” Josie said cheerfully, “and if I seduce you, you will be my first married man.”

He turned his head and looked at her, all devil in his eyes. “I’m not certain I heard you correctly.”

“I’m quite certain that you did.”

“An angel’s face,” he said, “but a devil’s tongue.”

“An expression of desire within the bounds of matrimony is a virtuous thing to do. Besides, I always meant to seduce someone and then marry him.”

“It’s too late for that.”

“Actually, this marriage can be annulled.”

He was silent, looking at her. Her nightgown unbuttoned down the front with tiny pearl buttons that shone faintly in the moonlight. Holding his gaze, she reached up to the first button and undid it.

“Josie,” he said.

“I always planned to scheme my way into marriage with an impudent act,” she told him. “In truth, I hadn’t intended to be quite so impudent”—she undid another button—“but I can see quite well that you will annul this marriage on the morrow, saying that you are too old.”

“I am too old for you.”

“Are you fifty years old?”

He made a sound like a startled laugh. “No.”

“Forty?”

“Not yet.”

“How many years past thirty?”

“Almost five.”

“Thirty-four is a very good age for a man.”

If Mayne were indeed Dionysus, she thought, he would seduce her, of course. Dionysus was no respecter of maidens and their maidenheads.

The annoying thing was that Mayne was just holding her hand, as if she were a child of seven.

Yet something about the wild, underwater night had clarified everything for Josie. She wanted Mayne. It was a terrifying kind of hunger, the sort of embarrassing emotion that leads one into tricking a man into marriage.

“Mayne,” she said, making up her mind.

“Garret,” he said. He had let go of her hand and was strewing rose petals around their feet in an absentminded fashion.

“I am,” she said, pausing to make the statement impressive, “a virgin immaculata.”

Mayne responded in a very gratifying way. His mouth fell open and he blinked at her like a village idiot. “You are?”

Josie grinned at him. “Isn’t that wonderful?”

“It is?”

“Well, I think it is.”

“You mean, like Mary, Virgin Immaculata?”

“I suppose so,” she said uncertainly.

Mayne’s face had an odd expression, as if he were about to burst into laughter. “Are you distressed by this…development?”

She frowned at him. “So what did I just tell you about myself?”

“Let’s see,” he said. “I believe you just said that you’re a sanctified virgin. Along the lines of being a living holy tabernacle. My mother, being French, is Catholic and quite fond of Mary. Virgin Immaculata is a reference to Mary, who was born without original sin.”

There was a moment’s silence.

“I always thought that I would marry a saint,” Mayne said. Now she could see the deep amusement on his face. “And how happy my mother will be. You do know that she’s an abbess, don’t you?”

And it was funny. Before she knew it, Josie was giggling, and then, when Mayne started laughing, howling along with him.

“You marry a saint!” she gasped, laughing helplessly.

“Stranger things have happened.” He picked up a handful of rose petals and sprinkled them over her hair. “Though you look particularly pagan this night.” There was something in his eyes that made Josie want to laugh and fall silent all at once. “Of course, I would be most disconcerted to discover that a deity had reserved you for his own child.”

Her laughter died. A silken rose petal slipped past her cheek.

“I’ve a mind to reserve you for my own enjoyment.”

“But you didn’t,” Josie said. This was the moment for the greatest clarity of all. Perfect candor was called for. “You married me thinking that I wasn’t a virgin, Garret. And—And I am.”

“Because you tossed a shovelful of manure over the man before he forced you.”

She nodded. “You didn’t have to marry me. We can annul the marriage.” Although she had no intention of allowing him to do such a rash thing. But from what she’d seen of men, it was best to allow them to think things through slowly.