She worked for it. Every thrust she ground against him, her sheath clenching, her breath shaking. He lifted to meet her, holding her hips through the silk of her pretty gown and watching her unravel. When she finally began to shake, her body massaging him out of control while she moaned his name in the quiet, he felt a triumph and warmth unlike anything he’d ever felt before.
She rode through the crisis, groaning and whimpering, her hands clutching his shoulders. At last she collapsed against his chest and he chuckled against her neck before he lifted up, continuing to thrust into her shivering body, this time with more purpose. The heated pleasure streaked up his cock, out of control and powerful. It was at the last moment that he pushed her back on his lap, let himself pop free of her slick heat. He caught his cock, covering the head so his release wouldn’t stain her dress.
She kissed him as the pleasure faded a fraction, spread warmth through every nerve ending of his body. There was peace to what happened between them even if it was nothing peaceful. But she brought him that, centered him, somehow. Made him remember who he’d been before his world had come crashing down around him.
Made him dream of what it could be when the next fortnight was over and he was no longer a married man.
“This was a good negotiation,” she laughed as she moved off his lap and cuddled up at his side. He held her, basking in the afterglow of all the passion.
“Yes. I think we should negotiate every decision this way. What to eat, where to go, when to invite your family around for supper.”
Her fingers traced his chest. “It’s a pretty idea. Do you really want that?”
“Yes.” He kissed the crown of her head without hesitation. “We can work out the details, but this is what I need, now more than ever. Is it what you want?”
She nodded without looking up at him. “As much time as you wish to share, I’ll make myself available.”
He frowned at that turn of phrase. It made sense, of course. What they were negotiating, after all, were the terms of a real arrangement. He would be her protector, this time in full and happy truth. But that felt…empty somehow?
“You have a very odd expression on your face,” she said, and he realized shewaslooking at him now. “Is everything well?”
“I think I’m fully feeling the effects of a very long day.”
Her hands smoothed along his chest gently. “It must have been difficult. Even if you’re ready for what happens next, you were married for five years. You had hopes and dreams.”
He nodded. “Yes. I thought Florence and I would be together for all our lives. That we’d grow to care about each other. Love each other. That we would have children.” He frowned. “Her parting salvo to me was about that.”
Evie lifted her head. “About children?”
“Yes. She declared that she would give Southwater all the heirs denied to me. She even implied that she was pregnant now. Though when I asked, she admitted she wasn’t. I do believe they thought she was, though, which is why he stepped up to push the divorce harder.”
“So she wasn’t pregnant after all,” Evie breathed.
He jolted and looked down at her. He had expected she’d look as shocked as he’d felt when Florence said that. That they would commiserate on their surprise and whatever other feelings such a cruel trick created.
But Evie didn’t look surprised. Relieved, yes. But not surprised.
“No, she’s not pregnant,” he said softly. “Evie, what did you know?”
Her lips parted and now the relief was gone and replaced by a faint expression of…panic. Not because of Florence’s lie…because of what he realized now was her own.
“Evelina,” he said.
She got up and smoothed her wrinkled skirt. Her guilt was so plain. He recognized it because he’d seen it so often on Florence’s face over the years when her lies and affairs had been revealed one by one. Of course, Evie was nothing likeher, but to see that was visceral in a way he couldn’t seem to control.
He waited for her response, breathless to find out if she would try to continue whatever lie hung between them. To his relief, she said, “Matilda…she—she had overheard something like that. She told me that night we gathered with Ravenscroft, Thistlebury and Harriet.”
Now he recoiled and got to his feet, shoving himself back in place so he was no longer as naked physically as he felt emotionally. “What? That wasweeksago, Evie. And you never said anything to me?”
Her gaze fluttered down. “No-no. I—Matilda is very often wrong about her gossip. I didn’t even know if it was true.”
“And yet you still denied me the rumor, even though it might have been revealed to me in a much crueler way. It was revealed to me that way today,” he snapped, and walked away from her.
When he pivoted back, she had clenched her hands before herself and she was trembling. “I know I should have told you. I’m sorry.”
“I don’t like lies, even those of omission. And you know why, Evie.”
“I do,” she said. “I do know. But I also know you—you love her.” He flinched at her use of the present tense with that statement. “And yes, that you wanted children with her. And to tell you would have hurt you. And perhaps even driven you to want even more revenge. I thought until I was certain it was best to—to wait.”
