It’s not right.” Lady Mary Linden, third daughter of the Earl of Whitten, snatched the book of Ancient Greek poetry from her cousin Harry’s hand. “Rubbish. You’ve read it. Why shouldn’t I?” “Because you’re a female!” Harry’s voice rose in offended outrage. “Some of these poems are…um…quite shocking.” “You mean they’re sexually explicit,” Mary snapped. “The poems are from the classical Greek period. They’re not meant for women. The female constitution is delicate,” Harry said. “Excessive stimulation is harmful.” “You don’t really believe that nonsense you’re spouting.” Mary grinned at him. Her cousin knew her better than that. He knew she was hopelessly curious—about everything. “A lot of people do believe it.” He ran a hand though his hair, dislodging a straight golden lock that flopped onto his forehead. “They also say women don’t like sex.” “That’s probably not true either,” Mary argued. “If women were given the chance I know they would enjoy sex just as much as men do.
