This had been a bad idea.
A terrible one.
The worst he had ever had, save maybe bedding her in the first place.
“Has it been announced?” she asked.
He sighed. “Why are you still here, Lady Julianna? Have I not made myself clear? If you remain another moment, you will have to come in the door and close it at your back lest I give all the servants a show.”
What he wanted more than anything was for her to surrender and go the hell away so he could continue disrobing without unmanning himself before her. His pride could not afford for her to realize the effect she still had upon him.
“Has it?” she persisted.
“No,” he admitted, raking his fingers through his hair.
It was that goddamn purple gown and the way it magnified her eyes. He swore it. That was what was producing this demented weakness he possessed for her. It was the only explanation.
“Then you can change your mind.” She finally crossed the threshold, venturing deeper into his territory, closing the door at her back.
How strange it felt to have her here with him. In his chamber.
It was as if all the air had been sucked from his lungs for a heartbeat. He recalled, in vivid detail, the way she had felt beneath him. The way her lips had clung to his. Her scent, curling around him. How she had sighed when he had sucked her nipples. The way she had tasted. How his cock had pulsed deep inside her tight sheath.
That forbidden summer, he had been convinced he had nothing short of a miracle.
His tongue felt overused and sluggish now, the same way it had then. He was silent as she glided toward him, that infernal plum-hued dress swirling about her in a whisper of seductive sound.
“I will not change my mind,” he ground out, irritated with himself. Irritated with her.
“It is imperative you do.” She stopped just short of him.
Near enough to touch.
And he was cast into flame. The old longing burned, forceful and hot.
“You have overstayed your welcome, Lady Julianna.” His voice was bitter but firm.
He reached for her at last, not taking her in his arms as the traitor in him so desperately wanted, but his hand closing on her elbow. Safe. Except her warmth seared him through her silk.
Sidney told himself he did not give a damn and began hauling her from the chamber. If she stayed any longer, there was no telling what he would do. He was a madman. A Bedlamite on fire.
“There is something I must tell you, Shelbourne.”
Her tone gave him pause. That, and the expression on her face.
A strange sensation washed over him. An odd prelude, as if he had been in this moment before. As if he had stood in this spot on the Axminster in his chamber, the delicate bone of Lady Julianna Somerset’s elbow prodding his palm through her violet silk, and already knew what she was going to say.
“Tell me,” he urged her, voice hoarse. “Go on.”
“You have a daughter.”
His ears rang.
The world went dark around the edges.
He shook his head. He must have misheard. There was no way… She had not just said what he thought she had… What the devil was…?
Good fucking God.
