“You would love when the lovers are reunited.” He leaned against her.
“You were the one who said you liked comedies because there was too much darkness in the world,” she teased, her breath tickling his neck. “Besides, it’s nice to see everyone end up with who they are supposed to. Even if Demetrius is the worst.”
“Perhaps loving Helena will improve him. They say love has that sort of effect on a man.” Archer muttered.
He looked at her then as she started longingly up at him.
“Hermia got the man she desired, and Helena too,” he whispered to her, his eyes drawn to her lower lip as it got caught between her teeth. “Now, if I were Oberon, you would surely punish me,” he said as he took a strain of her hair and kissed it. “And I would doubtless beg your forgiveness for making you love an ass.”
“Perhaps loving an ass would not be so bad,” the Duchess whispered, and he felt her breath on his lips. There was an odd catch in her voice.
He could almost taste her rose-red lips, so sweet yet poisonous. He desperately craved to know the soft pull of her bottom lip between his teeth as she generously nibbled on hers without restraint.
“You are so undeniably beautiful,” he whispered as he drew closer, smelling her intoxicating marjoram soap. The smell brought him back to their first night together. He had wanted to kiss her back then but even more so now.
Archer hadn’t realized his hand had reached up to cradle her neck until his fingers brushed lightly along the ridge of her jaw. His lips brushed against hers ever so lightly. She let out a soft whimper, waiting intently for him to cross the line.
But he didn’t.
The smell of whiskey permeated the air, and then the audience broke into applause. The lights of the theatre were re-lit, and the spell was broken.
“We should go. The crowds will make leaving slow going,” he murmured as he drew back, his heart thundering in his chest.
He thought he saw a look of hurt or disappointment flash in Lydia’s eyes, but he couldn’t be sure. He didn’t want to be sure. He had come too close to giving in.
He had lost himself in her, and that terrified him. He had seen what that kind of power could do to a man. He had felt how Lydia already seemed to wield it over him.
“I suppose we should.” Lydia’s face was turned from him, but he heard the catch in her voice.
More than that, he felt it like a punch to the gut.
He reached towards her, his fingers stretching, and then stopped himself. “Let’s go home.”
He waited until she stood but made no move to move closer to her. He needed to get back under control, to return to familiar ground.
When did I become so lost?
Chapter Twenty-One
Over the next few days, the heartache in Lydia’s chest grew, and Lydia felt like Archer was slipping further and further away.
“Not that I should be particularly surprised.” Lydia’s lip curled bitterly. “He told me what I was getting into at the start of all of this, and I am the fool who went against everything she said she would do.”
She had let him in. She had fallen for his easy charm. At the theater, she had taken a chance and proven herself right. “Of course, he does not want me. He will never want me. I was a fool to think otherwise.”
Their strange distancing was cut short by the arrival of Lord Rupert, her husband’s uncle, who ‘popped in’, as he put it, to see how things were progressing with the house.
“My, my,” he said, admiring Lydia’s redesigned front entrance—the fresh rugs, the bright curtains, and the polished tiles. “Dare I say, did you turn back time, Your Grace? I can’t say I’ve seen this entrance look more prestigious than the day it was built.”
“You weren’t even alive then, Uncle,” Archer greeted Lord Rupert with boisterous hugs accompanied by loud pats on the back.
“Thank you, dear boy, for not calling me old.” Rupert laughed his booming laugh.
Lydia guided the men into the sunroom, where she and her sisters-in-law sat sunbathing, knitting, and gossiping.
“Uncle!” the ladies cried in joyful surprise. It was only when the whole family sat down to play a game of whist that Archer finally relaxed and opened up. With a pang, she realized this openness had nothing to do with her—it was all to do with his uncle.
Lydia reached into a small drawing desk beside her and pulled out a deck of cards. They laughed and joked as they played.
