And then, the opposite of what she expected happened.
He withdrew. All the way. Leaving her suddenly empty.
Melanie opened her eyes to see him hovering again, but this time, away from her, to the side, and holding himself. His gaze intense as he stared down.
His hand jerked almost violently, but only for a second before a burst of pearly liquid made a streaming arch, pulsing onto the grass.
He squeezed his eyes shut, and he was wincing as though he was in pain, his teeth bared, so very white in the moonlight.
Afterwards, he collapsed, onto the ground, and partly on her. She felt his breathing slow, and they both remained silent.
On a logical level she understood… If there was no seed, there would be no child. And, yes, she was grateful. Her body was sated like it had never been sated before.
She had wanted this. She wouldn’t pretend otherwise.
If she’d had a thousand questions earlier that day, she now had… a million.
Because their betrothal was only meant to be temporary. He’d proposed, true, but only because her brother demanded it. He’d been backed into a corner.
But she couldn’t be silent. Not now.
“What… what was that?” she managed to whisper, her voice trembling, not from fear but from the emotions coursing through her.
Harry was silent, and at first, she thought he wasn’t going to answer.
As though he couldn’t quite bring himself to stop touching her, his thumb traced lazy circles against the side of her neck.
“…Hell if I know,” he said.
MAYFAIR BY MOONLIGHT
The cool grass pressed against Malum’s back as he lay in the grass, his chest rising and falling in tandem with hers. Her breaths, though, were softer, quieter, as she seemed to consider his answer to her question.
While part of him wanted to close his eyes and draw out the serenity of the moment, another part—the stronger part—was already cataloging the mistakes he’d made.
What the devil had happened to his control?
He turned to look at her. The moonlight caressed her face, catching the curve of her lips—plump, lush, and so inviting it was maddening. Just looking at them had him already imagining ways to show her more, to draw even sweeter sounds from her.
But no. Damn it. He wouldn’t compound his mistake by indulging again.
Not here. Not now. And certainly not like this. On damp grass, in her brother’s courtyard, where anyone—her brother, her mother, anyone—could walk out and ruin them both.
He should regret it.
She’d undone him, completely and utterly. Reduced him to a man driven by instinct and desire, and for a fleeting, shattering moment, he hadn’t cared about rules or consequences or thevery precarious balance of his life. He’d only cared about her—about claiming her, about hearing the hitching, breathless sounds she made when they had both surrendered to… this.
He had to face the reality he’d ignored in the heat of the moment.
Marriage.
It was inevitable now. He’d told himself before that it was already the best solution to their predicament, a way to protect her from scandal and secure her family’s standing. And although he’d agreed to her scheme to make it temporary, even then, he’d sensed… things mightn’t end that way. And now this?
This changed everything.
Or… did it? Should it?
He knew one thing for certain: brothels and wives did not go hand in hand.
