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This was no bereaved widow wanting to lament her late husband.
He stared, hiding his horrified confusion behind a concerned, interested smile, as she created a fiction about her loss in that maddeningly sensual, familiar, breathy voice. Could his innocent, protected little Cressida really be in Mrs Plumb’s house of ill repute, making up to a strange gentleman?
He recalled her obvious reluctance the last time he’d made love to her, two months after Thomas had been born. Every time he’d ventured close during the past ten months she had recoiled.
Did he disgust her so much? Could that be why she was seeking alternative avenues of pleasure?
Then he realised it was all part of the charade. She knew exactly who he was, just as she knew he realised her identity.
Cressida, who had allowed him to lie with her only once since Thomas’ birt
h, was now here, using Mrs Plumb’s as the setting for signalling his re-admittance to the marriage bed. God knew how she’d located him, but she had, though it seemed too incredible to believe, it was so out of character.
It was also unbelievably exciting. The dull ache in his loins became almost painful as he forced down his desire.
“You miss your husband, madam?” He hoped he sounded more sympathetic than hoarse with anticipation. Cressida had used this charade to initiate their physical reunion and he was fully determined to play along.
He took her gloved hand. It trembled in his.
“I miss his love and his comfort,” she whispered.
“So that’s why you came here? To Mrs Plumb’s?” He could feel her body trembling a hair’s breadth from his and longed to offer her the love and comfort she sought with no further preliminaries.
But this was Cressida’s charade. She wanted to set the pace. Good God, Cressida could set whatever pace she wanted if it meant a resumption of the bedroom delights he missed so much. Restraint did not come easily but he satisfied himself by gently stroking her neck, tangling his fingers in the silky flaxen curls at the nape. She had always liked that.
It was a successful strategy. He heard her faint intake of breath before she moved slightly against him, whispering, “I am not in the habit of frequenting such a place except that my cousin told me sometimes both ladies and gentlemen come here for…for reasons other than the music.” Her voice faltered. “Do you come here for reasons other than the music, sir?”
He weighed up his answer, her hand captive in his. Without going into greater detail than he was prepared to at this time, he could not tell her about Mariah and the specific undertaking with which he had concerned himself on her behalf for the past three weeks. Cressida must have innocently followed him here in disguise. She certainly could not understand what went on at Mrs Plumb’s else she’d not have made it through the front doors.
And yet…
With vivid clarity he recalled Cressida’s enthusiasm for the decorous, almost chaste lovemaking they’d enjoyed in the early days of their marriage. Had she grown bold, all of a sudden? Wished to up the pace now that she was ready to allow him access to her body at last? Why else would she bare her charms and speak so suggestively unless she knew exactly what she was about?
As to her inevitable question regarding what had brought him to Mrs Plumb’s house of ill repute in the first place, he’d be in a position to reveal everything within just a few days. Cressida’s close friend Annabelle Luscombe, who worked with him on the Sedleywich board, was too closely involved and he was honour bound to first help Mariah locate her lost child, as promised, before discreetly explaining the details to his wife.
Let Cressida assume he was examining the location’s proximity to the river as a cause of water infection, or the possible exploitation of children—perhaps she’d think he was merely here to accompany a friend from his club.
Cressida was in charge of this breathtakingly erotic little intrigue, and it was clear she had no doubts about his constancy, else she’d not be issuing such an obvious invitation for the resumption of the intimacies they’d once so enjoyed.
“I enjoy the music,” he said. Smiling, squeezing her hand, he added, “But tonight I prefer the company.” He wanted to reassure her that he was still the same loving husband, despite her emotional and physical withdrawal, that he was more than happy to continue her charade.
The feel of her hourglass figure beneath her widow’s weeds when he discreetly skimmed her waist as he shifted position speared him with another rush of lust. The rapid rise and fall of her bosom indicated she felt as he. She tilted her head and beneath her veil he could just make out the curve of her lips. It was an invitation he knew he would not be able to resist for long. An invitation he’d not had from her in years, in fact.
But when he clasped her waist to draw her to him, she jerked back.
“I must go!” Her unexpected reaction shocked him. Like a frightened deer she made an attempt to withdraw her hand and would have risen had he not pulled her back down, caging her hand on his thigh as he ground out, “I am sorry for your loss, madam, but consider me at your service.” He heard the strained suggestiveness in his voice. The tone sounded alien, even to his own ears, but he was desperate that she not lose courage now.
She sounded breathless. “I will return next Wednesday.” He felt the barrier rise between them as she pulled decisively away, smoothing her black silk skirts as she stood. He felt, rather than observed, her resolve falter and imagined her biting her lip, that adorable habit he remembered from her youth that made her dimples so gorgeously evident in her delicately tinted cheeks, though tonight he could not see behind her veil. Lord, she appeared barely older than a debutante, even now. Five beautiful children since their marriage eight years ago had only increased her womanly charms.
He let her go. Everything was in Cressida’s hands now, and he was her putty. She clearly did not want to continue in this tawdry place. He imagined the seduction scene she was no doubt planning a short while hence. He’d come to her like he’d done a hundred times and still be affected by the glow of candlelight on Cressida’s ivory-tinted flesh and the limpid look in her cornflower blue eyes as she gazed up at him with love and trust…
He swallowed, clenching his teeth against the fire in his loins, desperate to hold her with no barriers between them but knowing he must practise the restraint of a lifetime.
Though he rose he did not follow her. It was clear she had reached the limit of her bravado for the moment. From the door she hesitated, her look enquiring. “I look forward to continuing our conversation next Wednesday.”
“I anticipate it very much.”
With pounding heart, he watched her leave. Now she would return home. She had made her point, intimating that he should not be long in following her. The blood thrummed in his brain and he realised almost with embarrassment as he glanced down that he was as randy as a young buck. He’d thought he had more self-control but tonight’s play-acting had reinforced how much he missed their intimacy. For so long he’d pretended away his loneliness and confusion at her rejection but now Cressida was returning to him with all the love and willingness she’d once shown him.
