Page 83 of Lyon of Least Resistance

She inclined her head and he scooped a portion onto her plate. Then she approached her place at the table and sat. A footman drew near and, at a signal from Cordelia, poured brown liquid into her cup.

“Thank you, Charles.”

“Ah—so my wife is capable of speaking?” James said, smiling. But she showed no pleasure at his weak little joke.

He took his seat and gestured to her plate.

“One’s strength is always needed at the start of the day’s activities,” he said. “Or after a night’s exertions.” He leaned forward, hardening at the memory of her sweet lips around his manhood. “Last night…” he said. “How the devil did you know how to do?”

She glanced at the footman and colored.

“Charles, we can manage from here,” she said. “We’ll call if you’re needed again.”

“Very good, ma’am.” The footman bowed and exited the breakfast room.

“There was no need to dismiss him,” James said. “The staff are very discreet.”

“I’d rather they weren’t party to such discussions after your sister…” Her voice trailed away.

After Georgiana called her a whore in front of the whole household.

The tremors in her hand almost indiscernible, she picked up her teacup and took a sip.

“The servants know not to spread gossip, Cordelia,” he said, “and I will personally ensure that anyone making remarks about your…your past will be dismissed without reference.”

She picked up her cutlery and began to eat. James took a bite of his breakfast, relishing the flavor.

“I swear we have the best kippers in the county—perhaps even the whole of England,” he said. “If you’d like to take a tour of the estate with me, I can show you the smokehouse.”

“I should like that,” she said in a toneless voice.

They continued eating, the silence punctuated by the scraping of cutlery and the ticking of the longcase clock in the hall outside. Then Cordelia set her cutlery on the plate and met his gaze.

“You called me Dahlia last night.”

Was that the reason for her subdued behavior?

“Did I?”

She nodded.

“Forgive me, Cordelia. Rest assured I’ll not make such a mistake when our guests arrive next week. I’ll observe propriety, and I trust—”

“You trust that I will do the same?” she said, her color rising. “So you are ashamed of me.”

“Of course not, but you must understand that in my position, I must do everything I can to avoid…”

He hesitated.

Shit—he’d been about to say “disgrace.”

But what could he say instead? That he couldn’t abide the fact that she had given her body to other men for cash, and that he’d always be looking over his shoulder in case someone recognized her? That if she were recognized, his acquaintances would despise him for having married her? That her very existence risked his beloved sisters’ future?

And that, in spite of all that, he loved her?

“I’ll do everything I can not to expose you to derision,” he said, at length.

“I understand,” she replied. “You have no wish for my past to come to light in front of your guests.”