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The Siren, his Siren, had her pride, as he had witnessed all too often. She would not weaken after how he had treated her. Seeing her had been so exhilarating, however. Even having to lock his muscles so as not to touch her, the sight of the beauty had carried him to a decent mood throughout the day. The week.
Edmund wanted her back.
He would bring her back.
He could not continue like this.
Neither could Otilia. Could she?
Hell!
He had not even tried to resist buying her the book she had put back on the shelf. It was unaffordable for her meagre wage, he deemed. If he had only been able to watch her as she received the parcel and the emotions it would evoke in her. Since it did not come back, he assumed she had kept it. Whether in goodwill or not, was yet to be determined.
The carriage lurched to a stop. It was time to enjoy the evening, or rather, enjoy the single good thing about it.
The single good thing about it stood between the Marchioness and Lady Edwina in the foyer. His eye never wavered from the Siren—his! Her sombre attire annoyed him. She was made to wear silks, lace, soft linens. Or nothing at all. Better nothing at all, come to think of it. Even in this undefined colour, coarse wool, a tight bun hiding her glossy hair, she looked delicious. Her curves still on display, the ones he had skimmed, caressed, suckled. Bloody hell, either he diverted his fantasies, or he would shame himself right here.
“Lady Mandeville.” He bowed to the hostess. He did not have enough patience to wait for the dowager’s curtsy. The single good thing here drew him like a magnet.
“Miss Kendall.” His voice had gone noticeably down an octave, gruff. He pierced her with his attention and pinned her there for precious seconds.
The world disappeared when her gaze darkened and widened on him. To swallow him whole in their depths in the same way he hungered for her body to swallow him whole in her. The flush on her skin induced a certain reaction in him, below his abdomen more precisely.
Her delectable tongue moistened those plump lips that had once been around his, well, him. His jet eyes lowered to them, craving her lips all over him again. Then again. Then some more. Her bosom lifted and lowered in rapid succession, the same way she did when they were close, so close to bursting. It drew his attention to the swell of the round breasts he had savoured so many times. They puckered, her breath quickened. His eyes snapped up to her in the exact moment hers inspected him with undisguised hunger.
His “certain reaction” rose to alertness. Even more, that is.
They were practically ravishing each other in the middle of the dowager’s foyer.
To hell with it. He never wanted it to stop.
Scratch that. He wanted to throw her over his shoulder and go somewhere quiet. And dark. So quiet it would echo with her screams and his grunts.
The Marchioness observed the exchange with a mixture of intrigue and distaste on her elderly stance.
“You must remember my granddaughter Edwina.” Lady Charlotte broke the spell, deserving a whipping scowl from him.
With a snap, his reluctant attention directed to the girl. He bowed with an impersonal smile. “Lady Edwina.” He was still hoarse from the virtual ravishment.
Lady Edwina Mandeville exhibited medium height, a curvy frame and sable hair, clad in the latest fashion to flatter her figure. She was reasonably pleasant looking, though he cared for none of it. Or for her. Or for all these people here.
The primitive starvation in him threatened to go out of control.
That drab-clad woman had too much power over him. And he did not give a damn. Not anymore. He pushed her away to keep his precious control and look where it got him. Alone in a wintry bed. And with unfulfilled, lascivious fantasies neither cold baths nor his fists would eradicate. Not only the fantasies, but the woman herself took permanent residence in his head.
As predicted, the Earl sat on the other end of the table, opposite the Marchioness, with Lady Edwina on one side, with Otilia by her. Farther along the table sat Lord Carlton. On his right, Lady Celia Linton, daughter to the Duke and Duchess of Linton, with her chaperone Bridget by her. The Lintons’ sat near Lady Mandeville.
Edwina made a considerable effort and used every trick in the book to ensnare his attention. Which he pretended to grant her, all the while focused on the woman about whom he could not cease thinking. She did not raise her eyes to him once, not even when he directed the conversation towards her. It angered the devil out of him. She had a cool, demure posture about her that gave him the urge to shake her from it and delve in the fire beneath it.
“Please, my lord, regale us with a story from your trips to the continent.” Lady Edwina’s teetering voice interrupted his reveries.
A
Otilia hoped she survived the evening in one piece. Sitting so near to Edmund was corroding her composure.
As soon as the Marchioness named the guests on her list, she understood the older woman’s designs. The week passed with her preparing herself for this evening, but nothing could have prepared her for the reality of it. Her insides crumbled piece by bitter piece. Everything she had forecast was happening right before her eyes. Edmund matched to a flawless blue-blood, a very pretty flawless one. It was as if claws tore her heart into bleeding shreds.
Yes, heart. Because her stupid, stupid self had gone and fallen in love with the Earl all over again.
