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“You are not candied lemon. Candied lemon is not complicated. You are very complicated.”
“Heavens, Joshua, you make as much sense as an Italian opera. I want children, I know how they are made, and I am aware of my duty as your wife. How is that complicated?”
“I am not one of those men who is aroused by a woman’s obedience.”
She was clearly puzzled, poor thing. “You want me to be disobedient?”
“I’m not aroused by disobedience either.”
“By what are you…aroused?”
By passion, he wanted to say.By knowing that you want me as much as I want you, not because it’s your duty or because there’s a baby at the end of it, but because you want to share pleasure with me and you will never leave.But he couldn’t say that, because the next thing he knew, she’d be acting that out for him, and that would only end in babies and tears.
He groped for an answer, for an end to this entire conversation. He felt helpless, indecisive, unsure: He did not recognize this version of himself. From somewhere downstairs, he heard the front door, male voices. Das, most likely. He needed to decide. Put a stop to this, once and for all. Send her away. Get back to work. Find a lover, even. Anything to put his life back to how it was. Much more disruption and his life would fall apart. No, it wouldn’t. He had forged something too solid, too strong. His world was his business, and his business would never fall apart.
But oh, sweet mercy, to put it all aside for a moment, just a moment, to forget the whole world except for this woman. He wanted to tear off her gown, release her hair. Stir her desire, make her want him so badly she forgot all about politeness and duty. He needed her wild, suddenly. He wanted her raw.
“Did you hate it when I kissed you last night?” she asked.
“No. But you might hate it if I kissed you.”
“Why?”
“You are so nice and polite, my darling Cassandra.”
He advanced on her, the curve of the pianoforte at her back. She made no attempt to escape, and he easily caged her in.What the blazes are you doing?—No harm done—Get away from her—One time won’t hurt.
Then what? Then what? Then what?pounded out his heart.
“If I kissed you, it would not be nice,” he said. “It would not be polite. It would be…”
He leaned in. She swayed back. He paused. She paused. Then he leaned in again, and this time she stayed still, though her breath came in warm, ragged puffs. When he took hold of her skirts, she yelped, then pressed her lips together. With wide eyes, she stared at him, as he inched up those skirts.
One inch…
Another inch…
Another inch—
Then the door crashed open and Joshua was clutching air, as she ducked under his arm and crossed the room.
“Bloody hell, what is it now?” he snapped and pivoted toward the doorway.
And everything stopped again.
The man who stood there was not one of the servants, nor one of his secretaries. Joshua did not recognize the man, but he knew him anyway.
A young man, a few years younger than him. A tall man, not as tall as Joshua, but wiry and strong, with similar coloring and similar features. Longer hair, tied in a queue, the way some sailors wore it. Weathered skin, as if he spent a lot of time outside, in the Navy perhaps. A walking stick, as if he had sustained an injury in the Navy and been discharged.
Joshua’s overworked heart skipped, stopped, thudded, and he tried to tell himself it had nothing to do with this man, because this man was not a man he knew. He did not want to know him. It had been too long.
“What the blazes do you want?” he said.
“It’s me. Isaac,” the man said. “Your brother.”
* * *
It tookCassandra a few moments to catch up with what was happening, as her dazed mind and heated, pulsing body tried to recover from Joshua’s closeness. She even felt a flash of uncharacteristic irritation with the newcomer, until she looked at him properly and realized what he had said.
