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That’s what he told himself.
The truth was that the lust for revenge had died.
And the club was full of flatterers and fools, posturing and making pointless wagers about trivial matters.
And the truth was that the only entertainment he needed was right here.
He had a beautiful view of luxurious curves and sweet dimples as Alice smiled over a passage in her novel.
His body felt mellow and peaceful. He was warm and cozy and domesticated. He could allow himself to drift in this feeling because they were still following the plan.
She was leaving.
Nick had the rest of his godforsaken life to return to empty pleasures. Right now, he was going to fill his well so full of Alice that it would brim with the memory of her bright smile until the darkness swallowed him and the madness took hold.
Raising his head, he kissed the soft skin above her bodice and slipped beneath the fabric, searching for her nipples, the two reasons he had a tongue.
What else was it good for? Not talking. Not convincing her to stay.
His tongue was good at making Alice pause while she was reading.
He licked her nipple with long, lavish strokes.
He continued exploring and she continued reading, but her chest rose and fell rapidly and the blush he loved, the soft tinge of pink like the flush one found sometimes along the petals of cream-colored orchids, spread over her chest.
The book fell to the floor with a thud.
“Nick,” she sighed, leaning against the cushions, arching her back and thrusting her nipple into his mouth.
He could do this for the rest of his life. Pleasure his wife. Make her sigh with contentment.
The noises intruded on his brain slowly. No, his mind said, ignore them. Keep licking.
“Nick, stop,” Alice said. “There’s someone coming.”
A loud knock on the door.
Damn it. Nick rearranged his trousers and helped Alice restore her bodice to order.
They’d been doing a lot of those last-second adjustments lately because he couldn’t keep his hands off her.
“Enter,” Nick growled with a very bad grace because there were other types of entering he wished he could be doing at the moment.
It was Patrick.
“Hello there,” he said cheerfully, bowing to Alice. His gaze darted between them, taking in Alice’s pink cheeks and mussed hair and Nick’s grimace. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”
“Patrick,” Alice said, walking toward him and holding out her arms. “You’re not interrupting anything. Please, do come in.”
Not interrupting anything? Nick begged to differ.
Patrick’s green eyes danced with laughter as he noticed Nick’s sour expression. He bowed over the hand Alice proffered. “Lady Hatherly.”
“Oh.” She squeezed his hand. “You must call me Alice, as before.”
“Apologies for my lateness,” Patrick said. “The Dowager suddenly decided she wanted to go to Brighton to bathe in the sea water, and my son Van plagued me so that I gave in and we journeyed as a group.”
“How was Brighton?” Nick asked.
“Van loved the seashore, and wanted to run free, but the Dowager watched him like a hawk every second of the day. She loves him so very fiercely.”
“He’s such a bright lad,” Alice said.
“And mischievous. Always getting into some trouble, my Van,” said Patrick proudly.
Alice smiled. “You must mean you are late in congratulating us on our marriage?”
Patrick lifted a sheaf of papers from the satchel he carried. “I’m late in delivering the contract you requested.”
Nick’s heart fell. He’d forgotten all about the bloody marital contract.
