“A mistress?” To Louisa’s horror, the beginnings of a smile appeared on his face. “Is that what this is about?”
“Yes.” Silently cursing a threat of tears, she raised her chin. “I realize, of course, that my objection will undoubtedly be disregarded in favor of your indulgences. It’s just that I hoped for more from our union. I foolishly thought that I… I would be enough for you.”
“Enoughfor me?” He gave a soft laugh and scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “Oh, Louisa.”
“It saddens me that you appear to find this amusing, Maxwell,” she said, glaring at him. “I’m reminded of a conversation we had not too long ago, when we touched upon the subject of sexual equality, or lack thereof. I wonder if you would be similarly amused ifIwas the one taking a lover. I doubt it, somehow. So, if you’ll excuse me, I shall leave you to your mirth and return to my bed. I have said my part.”
“You’ll stay right where you are, lass, for I have not yet said mine.” All traces of humor had now vanished from his expression. “First, let me assure you that yourobjectionhas been noted. That being so, I’m now compelled to make several things clear.”
Louisa hugged herself, kept her eyes locked with his, and prepared for what would surely be an upbraiding. No matter her aristocratic background, when it came to the institution of marriage, she was the subordinate. If he wished to indulge in the company of a mistress, or even several mistresses, he would do so, spousal objections be damned. As his wife, she’d have little choice but to live with it. But she silently swore that she would never let him touch her again.
He moved closer—much closer—his tall form looming, shadows playing across his face and throat. He’d discarded his cravat somewhere and undone his collar, allowing Louisa a tantalizing glimpse of the dark hair that covered much of his chest. She breathed in his familiar scent of bergamot, which tonight blended with provocative hints of whisky and peppermint.
Damn you, Maxwell Harlow. Are you aware of your effect on me? The way you make me feel? The power you exercise over me? I felt it the first moment I saw you. And I fear that power is about to be my undoing, for being told I must share you with another will surely break my heart.
Maybe her heart had already broken, for something beneath her ribs felt as though it had been ripped in two.
“The lady’s name is Jane Fairburn,” he said. “Her husband’s name was Bruce Cunningham. He and I attended Edinburgh University together and remained friends afterwards. He died of consumption five years ago. When he realized he was losing his battle, he wrote asking if I would provide help and protection to Jane should she ever need it. I gladly gave him my word,and consequently kept in touch with the lady. As it happens, she is now remarried, and happily so. Charles Fairburn is a clergyman—a good soul, well worthy of her. Between them, they run a charitable institution in Knaresborough, of which I am a patron. Yesterday’s meeting with Jane was, I will admit, quite spontaneous. Our business in South Shields concluded earlier than expected. Finlay decided to go to Harrogate to visit friends, which prompted me to make a quick detour to Knaresborough, since I hadn’t seen Charles or Jane in a good while. As it happened, Charles was away on business, but Jane and I lunched together in town, after which I visited the institution and made a donation to their cause. Then I came home, where I was advised that you had gone to bed early, so I decided not to disturb you. That is all.”
Louisa stared at him, the fearful certainty in her mind sinking beneath a tide of cautious relief. “She… she is not your mistress?”
“No, she is not.” A tic arose in Maxwell’s jaw as he traced his thumb along the line of Louisa’s lower lip. “I have no need of a mistress. I have awife. And, God knows, she is more than enough for me. Indeed, I am well-pleased. Though, I confess there are times, like now, when I feel like shaking some damn sense into her.”
“Oh, Max!” The relief became real, and a weight slid from her shoulders. “I don’t know what to say. I’m so sor—”
His kiss interrupted her apology. He drew her hard against him, his lips grazing hers in an impassioned caress, while his tongue probed and explored her mouth with uninhibited boldness.
The world around her faded away. She clutched at his shirt and parted with a whimper of pleasure. He responded with a low moan and moved a hand from the small of her back to the swell of her breast. He squeezed, gently, stroking his thumb back andforth over the hardening nipple. Desire burned through Louisa like a fuse, igniting a fierce, demanding pulse between her legs.
She tore her mouth from his and gazed up at him. “Max, I want…” Her voice faltered at the ferocity—thedarkness—she saw in his eyes. “What… what’s wrong?”
“You will never again speak of taking a lover,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Do you understand?”
A shiver lifted the hair on the back of her neck. It did not come from fear, for she did not feel threatened by his words. If fear lingered anywhere at that moment, Louisa had the impression it rested, in some strange form, with him. “I didn’t mean it, Max.”
His eyes softened. “Not even in jest, Louisa.”
“Not even in jest,” she replied.
“Mmm.” A dark brow lifted again. “Now, I believe you were about to ask me for something.”
“More,” she said. “I was about to ask you for more.”
“Ah.” A lazy smile appeared as his fingers crept down her thigh, scooping her flimsy nightclothes ever higher, till he was able to access what lay beneath the silk and lace. Louisa drew a sharp breath as his hand slid between her legs, his feather-light touch the ultimate tease. And an exquisite torture.
She shifted and opened her stance, giving him easy and full access. Yet still he maintained a frustratingly gentle touch. She wanted more yet.Neededmore. She clutched his shirt tighter, raised up on her toes, and squirmed against him.
He nuzzled her ear. “What’s wrong, lass?”
“Nothing’s wrong. I just want…”
“What?”
“You’re being toogentle, Maxwell. I’m not made of porcelain.”
His quiet laugh brushed across her hair as he slid his fingers into her. As he probed and caressed, the mounting ripples ofpleasure became almost unbearable. Louisa didn’t want them to end, and yet gladly reached for her climax, eager to feel the ecstasy of release. She closed her eyes and approached the edge of what she sought.
And then Maxwell withdrew his hand.
