“Perhaps. But you overestimate the investment of my wife.”
Her pulse quickened. “I doubt that.”
“At best, she is indifferent to me.”
She did not feel indifferent now. If anything, her skin felt more sensitive than ever, chafing under her clothes until she longed to rip them free of her body. The heat that rose in her coiled in her lower belly, and she could not blame her flush on the stuffiness of the air.
“I hardly think that likely,” she said, feeling as though she was gasping for air.
His hand slid up her spine again, flattening across her shoulder blades as though he intended to pull her against him, before thinking better of it. She longed for that pressure, even as his fingers made their infuriatingly slow path back down her spine. Then lower, just above the swell of her buttocks. In plain view of the other masked guests. Testing her limits.
Cecily’s breath caught, but she refused to pull away. If this was a game of whose will would break first, she would not succumb. After all, as improper as this might be, they were at a masquerade, and he was her husband. Of all the men on earth, the only one who had the right to lay hands on her—if she permitted it.
And permit it she did as his fingers explored the soft silk of her dress. Almost venturing low enough to be indecent, but never quite. His eyes hypnotised her, unnervingly beautiful in the dim light.
How could she ever have thought him old?
His head descended still lower, a fraction of a thought away from hers. It would be the work of a moment to tilt her face and catch his mouth against her own. A kiss. Her blood burned for it, pounded in her veins, demanding she take. For once in their marriage, all she wanted was him.
“Tell me one reason I should believe that my wife has any investment whatsoever in my exploits?” he murmured, breath brushing the damp skin of her lower lip. “Give me a reason to believe my wife cares about my comings and goings.”
Cecily’s fingers dug convulsively into his shoulders. “All wives care.”
“Is that so?” The question shivered across her skin.
“All those that I know, at least.”
“Even ones that never wished to marry their husband in the first place?”
Her heart hammered against her ribs, but they were in too deep for her to do anything but give him her truth. “Even then.”
“Mm.” He pulled her even closer. They’d spiralled out to the very edge of the dancing crowd, beside a pillar and bronze vase. Although people surrounded them on all sides, she felt as though they were invisible, alone in a world that only held the two of them. “You surprise me.”
“Ladies are taught not to expect fidelity from one’s husband, but I don’t think that stops us from wanting it.”
“Oh?” His knuckles brushed the line of her jaw. “And who might have told you that, my witch?”
“My mother made my role as a wife plain when I married.”
A noise rumbled in his chest that sounded distinctly like displeasure. “It strikes me that perhaps she might not know all there is to know about happiness in marriage.”
“She was married for a great many years before my father died.”
“Perhaps she was.” He backed her against a pillar, the cool marble leeching through the thin material of her dress and chemise. His hand came to her waist, sitting at its curve as though it was made to fit the shape of her body. “But does that mean she knows what is best for you and your marriage?” His nose nudged her earlobe, and her breath stuttered. “You are not your mother, and your husband is not your father. Do not tar us all with the same brush. We are notallunfaithful.”
Her father had been. Even as a girl, she had known that, hiding in the library as her mother had thrown ornaments at the wall over rumours of her father attending the opera with his mistress. Over the accounts proving he’d housed the very same mistress in an exclusive location in London.
“Is that to say you have never once strayed over the course of your marriage?”
He turned his head, and she thought she heard him inhale. “Not once.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“Do you? I made vows, sweet Circe. I swore them to my wife and to my family and to God, and I have no intention of betraying them.”
If they had still been dancing, she would have stopped. As it was, the cool of the pillar against her back and the warmth of his body against her front, all she could do was tilt her head back to look at him. “You recall your vows?”
“Do you not?”
