“This is theladies’retiring room.”
He raised his head, grinning at the ceiling, then at her. “You are a lady. And I am retiring here with you.”
Did someone gasp?
No.He muddled her thinking. Penn shook her head. My heavens, he looked so delectable this close. His eyes, so luminous. His lips. So firm and ripe and… “You must leave.”
He got that devil-may-care look on his face that she could draw in her sleep. “We’re alone.”
“We shouldn’t be.” Tears of frustration stung her eyes. She had promised herself when her last husband died that she would not think about Tain ever again. Not think about him, not talk about him, not go anywhere she might meet him. No, never. It wasn’t wise. Nor had it been fair to her or to her three husbands to yearn for Tain or dream of him. She’d been married three times to three wonderful men. Each time before her nuptials, she’d wished her groom were Tain. And part of her—superstitious creature that she was—believed with her mere wanting, she had cursed her marriages.
“Why not?” he asked in that bass voice that rivaled the lure of gods. “We can talk. No harm to it. We’re at a party.”
“We’ve always been at parties! Why is it we’vealwaysbeen at parties?” She groaned.
“Not always. There were other times—”
“I’m aware!” She threw up her hands. “ Of all the times!”
He beamed at that. “You do remember. Marvelous. But no one has ever known that we met!”
“Yes,” she said, absorbing the delicious sight of him, tall and blond and oh so sure of himself. “We’re so very good at deception.”
“We never planned not to be noticed.” He stepped near to her, very near, so near that his cologne of some exotic fragrance flared her nostrils, soothed her soul, but not her desire to put her hands all over him. “You are a feast for my eyes, dear Penn.”
“Oh, you are a devil, Tain.” Where was her backbone? Her brain? Why did she always lose her wits around him? “You must not compliment me so.”
“I will. You are incomparable, my dear.”
“A term for a younger woman, Tain.”
“Children,” he murmured and flowed so near, his body’s heat enflamed her own. “I prefer you, my dear.”
“Old as I am?” She had to taunt him to distract herself lest she go up on her tiptoes and taste his perfect lips.
“Mature is the word.”
She snorted. “But you are as handsome as ever. And what in hell are you doing here? And dear me, where are my manners? I must convey my condolences. I am so sorry for your losses. Your wife. Your mother.” She’d not seen him anywhere in more than a year and a half. His mother, the Duchess of Harlow, had passed away a little more than a year ago. When last they’d talked and laughed and gazed upon each other with cow’s eyes, his second wife was still alive. Soon after that, she’d died in childbirth. So had her baby. His second wife. His fourth child. She ached for him, his grief, his never-ending bouts with death. Like she who had had her own. Three. Her three husbands were gone to their Maker. She shivered inside, chilled at the loss of the good men she’d married.
“Thank you, my darling,” Tain crooned as he slid his hands up her arms and drew her against him. And then he cradled her close, so close. Her nipples bored into his black wool coat and hardened—and ached. “It’s heaven to hold you. How are you, really?” He pulled back, but his big strong hands cupped her cheeks. “You never grow older. Only more beautiful.”
She pressed her head back against the wall to examine him. He was an angel to say so, though she knew he was the one who deserved her own praise for his looks. “You are kind. And looking well yourself. Despite your recent bereavement.”
His thumbs stroked her cheeks. “I am here to resume my normal schedule. My formal period of mourning is long since over.”
“I’m glad you’re ready to have a bit of fun. You deserve it. I know you work hard, taking care of everyone. Your successes with your lands are the talk, even the envy, of theton.”
“Gossip paints me well, does it?”
Oh, yes. And eligible for another marriage. A third wife.“The sun smiles on you, they say.”
“Ah! What dotheyknow, hmmm? If I stand in the sun, I find the rays slant in odd ways. But I will have it otherwise. I mean to make the sun smile on me in new and different ways, Penn.” His thumbs stroked the outline of her bottom lip and sent hot streaks of need to her breasts and her center.
“Good for you.” She traveled through time and space into the swirling depths of his turquoise eyes. No man had ever fascinated her so. Those eyes of his had mesmerized her as surely as the waters of the lagoons in southern Italy. She mustn’t ask about his life since last they’d met and talked. She shouldn’t want to learn more about him, lest she revive that eternal preoccupation she had with his looks, his laugh, his droll wit. Yet, she did not heed her own warnings. When had she ever where he was concerned? And she opened her mouth to ask what she should not care to know. “How are you? Really?”
“Physically quite well. Other than that—”
She was a fool to clutch the fabric of his coat and lean into him, yearning for more.
