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Three long seconds of silence and he had to ask her the question before she fell asleep. Not that her opinion mattered in the slightest to him, but curiosity was a wicked tickle in his brain. “Why do you like the house?”
“The same reason as you.” Her voice murmured into his chest. “The square. It has a row of lilacs. They are blooming late. I could smell them as the coach pulled along the street.”
“So?”
“They made me happy—for just the moment the scent of them was in my nose. Lilacs were always my favorite.” She shifted her head on his chest to look at him, her sleepy eyes half open. “You don’t remember how I used to make you reach the highest blooms for me because they smelled the best? The acrobatics you would go through? And how you would bend the branches to hold the last of the blooms down—even though they were half brown—so I could cut them?”
He shrugged. “I do now.”
Her head tilted down and she stilled. Asleep, just like that.
Wes stared down at the top of her head, at the blond strands loose and falling across his chest. All his nerves twitching alert for the words she had just spoken. Words that shook him to his core.
He hadn’t realized.
Hadn’t thought about those moments in years.
Hadn’t a clue that he’d bought the house for the view into the square and there had been a blasted row of lilacs in front of him the whole time.
Of course there had been. They’d been in bloom at the same damn time he bought the house.
Stupid.
Ignoring the very thing in front of him.
His body tensed under her.
Stupid bringing her back here. Stupid what he’d just let happen.
The exact opposite of everything he’d had planned for her.
His eyes closed, his head shaking.
At least he had all night to steel his spine against her.
He needed to break her, and break her soon or he’d never be able to be free of her. Get the box and get out of her life for good.
Tomorrow.
With any luck, tomorrow would be the day.
{ Chapter 9 }
Laney rustled atop him and Wes awoke, though he kept his eyes closed, his breathing even.
A pause in her movements as she hovered over him, and then she delicately extracted her limbs from his body and moved off the settee.
Bare feet padding about the floor. Another pause in the sound. Swishing of skirts.
The heel of one boot clunked softly to the floor. The other boot on and she tiptoed out of the room.
Wes remained still, feigning sleep until her steps disappeared down the hall and he heard the front door open and click closed.
He opened his eyes, moving through the house to the front drawing room and looking out the window without stopping to put his shirt on.
She’d crossed over to the square, her black muslin skirts swinging as she quickly made her way along the pathway that led to Bruton Street.
She’d left before the day’s promised animosity could rear.
