…Her brows lifted but she seemed more amused than anything. Her smile returned. “And who decides that?”
She had him cornered but that was all right. Regardless of her reaction he’d enjoy watching it. “Men of means.”
“Yeah, I thought something like that was coming. I majored in classical literature, remember? I know all about how things were.”
“And how were things?” he asked.
She traded the book for her wine. She turned in the chair to face him better. For a moment, in the soft light of the antique lamp, he could see her as she would be, if she were like him. If he’d changed her. He could see in her the enhanced version of herself, forever young, locked in the perfection of her beauty, down to every last freckle on her cheeks.
He wasn’t sure what to think of his vision. Today had held one too many revelations and he wasn’t ready to consider the long term ramifications of Catherine being bound to him.
“Don’t get me wrong,” she said, “I don’t get any satisfaction working a job I don’t like for rich people that drive fast cars.” She stopped. “No offence.”
“None taken.”
“But slavery for one,” she said. “That was someone’s bad idea.”
“It existed before I was born, but yes, I do agree.”
“But you did say that some women were meant to work.”
He thought about that. “Some have things they want to be doing. I wasn’t implying they should have to. If all men are free then men of means can come in any color.”
She smiled again. “Okay, good enough come back. I’ll give you two points for that one.”
“Are we keeping score?”
She laughed. “No.” Then she seemed to remember herself and hid behind her glass. Her cheeks colored.
She was so easily embarrassed…
Darcy Branwyn 
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