Who was this lady sitting across from him?
Somewhere beneath this cold, prickly version of Cassandra, the girl with the gentle, lulling smile must still exist, unless last night had altered the terms of their “marriage in name” agreement in a way that made her impossible to reach.
Last night…
A subtle shudder sped down his spine.
Last night the pleasure—no, theecstasy—had been beyond anything he could have imagined…certainly beyond those occasions when he’d been brought to release before by his own hand, or even Viv’s.
The profound impact of his first complete carnal encounter had been almost enough to counterbalance the humiliation of being ordered from his wife’s chamber. He couldn’t bring himself to be angry. After all, he’d made her cry. But before…
Ah, before.
He closed his eyes, remembering the feel of her hands against his back, light as a swarm of summer butterflies. Her curves had been soft wonder, the tickle of her breath against his neck, sublime, and entering her welcoming heat, indescribable bliss.
He nearly groaned aloud.
He opened his eyes to find she’d stopped chewing. She pursed her lips and swallowed roughly. Her cheeks rosed.
She must have read his naked want, the residue of recollections making him both uncomfortably warm and halfway to being hard.
Good.
Despite her anger, she was not immune to him. And he wasn’t going to let her forget the part she’d played in the events that had landed them here. She could have found another man to marry after his “interest” repaired her reputation, but she had proposed to him. So, some small part of her must have wanted him—even if, like himself, she hadn’t anticipated the consequences of her decision.
“You remember our agreement?” Harbury asked, his voice carefully neutral.
Cassie’s cup of chocolate paused halfway to her lips. He didn’t think her deepening blush was the sole result of rising steam.
“Of course.” She set down the drink. “The rest of the summer here in the country, a visit to Ravenswood, then back to London for the little Season.”
He hadn’t been referring to their schedule, as well she knew.
She wet her lips before glancing away. She’d a habit of wetting her lips when nervous, he realized. She’d no idea her actions just made hermouth more inviting. He fixed his gaze on the moisture glistening on her bottom lip—a lip still red from where she had just bitten down. Again, he imagined kissing her.
Not chastely or politely, as one would a wife one only respected, but passionately, thoroughly, soundly. Kissing was one skill he knew he’d honed. Perhaps, last night, he should have damned propriety and kissed her as he’d yearned to do. He should have taken her into his arms, claimed her mouth and left her breathless.
Right now, he was feeling a little breathless himself.
So, find a way to thaw this unexpected ice.But how?
The answer came to him like inspiration, like fire shot down directly from the gods—apologize. Apologize…not just for the awkward bedding and the pained conversation, but for his initial rash act, the impetus of her fall from Society’s grace.
His mouth dried.
He’d never apologized for anything.Ever.The closest he’d ever come had been on the morning that he was supposed to ask Cassandra on their first outing. He’d promised Adrian to do better after Adrian had chastised him for surliness.
Only the weak admit they are wrong.
Another of his father’s oft-repeated dictums.
Even when Harbury had been due a thrashing, his father had warned him not to admit wrongdoing, but instead, to simply accept the consequences of his actions with dignity and without any sign of pain. Only if he didn’t cry out would he be forgiven.
But he couldn’t exactly ask his wife to thrash him, could he?
An odd expression must have crossed his face because his wife’s right eyebrow arched, and she cocked her head in impatient, unspoken inquiry.Enough.They needed to speak, and they needed to speak in private. He dismissed the footman.
Silently, she followed the man with her gaze until the door closed behind him.
