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His words were overheard by Sir Robert, engaged in conversation with Annabelle Luscombe nearby, to whom he appeared to be introducing Madame Zirelli.
“I’m a strong proponent of the love match,” he remarked, turning now to smile at the three of them, “of which the happiness of my niece is clearly testament.” With a discreet, barely noticeable gesture, he encompassed Madame Zirelli more fully into their circle, weighing up his next words to Cressida, whose acquaintance he’d made the week before in Annabelle’s lavishly decorated drawing room. Cressida had liked him upon the instant. His contemplative manner was tempered by a propensity for quick humor, and he clearly meant to do his utmost in advancing the best interests of his dependents. “Congratulations, Lady Lovett, for your part in securing my niece’s happiness. I hope, too, I might be allowed a little credit for counseling Madeleine to follow her heart.” His smile broadened. “And for persuading Lord Slitherton of the advantages of knowing when to beat a graceful retreat.”
Before Cressida could respond, his attention had strayed and now encompassed only his companion’s shining face. “I’m also of the firm belief,” he said softly, as if speaking only to Madame Zirelli, “that the opinions of others should be of no account when it comes to advancing one’s own happiness.”
Cressida felt a rush of emotion, clearly not shared by her cousin, as he added tenderly, “I trust the radiant Madame Zirelli shares my sentiment.”
With another glance at Catherine, whose mouth had dropped open, Cressida returned the gentle pressure of her husband’s hand.
Awareness of him consumed her like a living thing. It had always been thus, even when she’d been unable to bridge the divide that her fears had erected between them.
Now all was right with her world, and once again that peculiar, intimate awareness she felt whenever she was near him enveloped her heart and body like tentacles of welcome enslavement. She shifted a little and wondered if her blush revealed the aching need in her lower belly and her desire to slip away from the wedding breakfast and instead spend the afternoon in wanton abandonment, wrapped in her husband’s passionate embrace.
As if concerned with removing a piece of lint from the shoulder of her smart pelisse, Justin leaned toward Cressida. “And I’m of the firm belief,” he whispered, his warm breath tickling her ear, his words sending shivers of anticipation directly to her groin, “that, like myself, my beautiful wife, who has proved herself so surprisingly eager to make up for lost time, is more than ready for bed again.”
