Page 12 of Lyon of Least Resistance

He stirred and his fingertips traced delicate lines along her arm in a loving caress, akin to the absent-minded gesture of affection between soulmates. Cordelia closed her eyes, relishing his gentle touch.

If only this moment could last a little longer! Perhaps she could make a bargain with the Almighty that if she repented all her sins, she could have five more minutes in his arms.

But no; even if she were granted another hour in his arms, she would always crave more, making bargain after bargain until she had nothing left to trade but her soul—to be sold to the devil.

She restrained a bitter smile. Society considered a woman’s ruination to be the loss of her virtue. But real ruination was not the loss of virtue or maidenhead. Real ruination occurred when a woman lost her heart. And if she lost it to someone who would not, or could not, give their heart in return, then that ruination became destruction.

As Mrs. Dove-Lyon said, among her other adages…there was no greater tragedy than unrequited love.

The tide of sorrow broke through the armor Cordelia had fashioned around her heart and she caught her breath, willing it to subside.

The man beside her stirred.

“Dahlia? My love, does aught trouble you?”

“No,” she whispered, unable to stop herself from placing another kiss on his chest, flicking her tongue out to take another taste of him—something with which to remember him by.

He placed his hand on her cheek and caressed it, then ran the tip of his thumb across her lips.

“Must I go?” he said. “Do you wish me to leave to make room for the next man?”

Her heart tightened and she shook her head.

“N-no, James,” she whispered. “I want no other visitors tonight.”

Nor any other night.

Tonight she would send him away, never to visit her again. She ought to have refused him after the first time they’d shared a bed. But she’d longed for another taste of pleasure at his hands, to feel, once more, the man she loved inside her. A parting gift.

She had hoped that their second time would be overshadowed by the first. When she had taken his virginity, it was as if she had also lost hers, taking her own pleasure from a man for the first time. And, as every experienced rake and doxy knew, the first time was always the best.

But not with James. Their second time had surpassed Cordelia’s greatest hopes. Emboldened by a successful first encounter, he took delight in exploring her body, using his hands and lips to draw pleasure from her while she surrendered to ecstasy and writhed beneath him. Then, when he entered her, they peaked together at almost the first stroke, so ready were they for each other.

It was almost enough to make her believe in the romantic tales that young women wasted their lives dreaming of—a partnership of love where a couple experienced nothing but blissful pleasure as they came together each night, neither wanting nor needing anything, or anyone, save each other.

Just a few minutes more. Let me live the dream for a little longer.

In the hall outside her boudoir, a clock began to strike. Cordelia closed her eyes, willing it to cease, for time to stop, but she counted nine notes.

At the last, he let out a sigh, his chest rising and falling against her body. Then he sat up.

“I wish tonight could never end!” he said. “But I fear I must place duty before pleasure. Yet I will always hold a place in my heart for my beloved Dahlia.”

Her heart tightened at his words. Did he intend for this to be his final visit?

Weak fool! Did you not determine to end your liaison tonight?

She sat up, pulling the bedsheet over her naked form.

“You’re a good man, James,” she said. “You’re more than ready to take a bride and make her happy. I wish you well in your endeavors.”

He pulled on his shirt, then glanced at her, his brow furrowed into a frown.

“Does it not pain you that I intend for this to be my final visit?”

She turned away, willing the moisture in her eyes to subside.

Oh, James! If only you knew the pain I suffer at the thought of never seeing you again!