Now, nothing. What happened here tonight changed nothing in their real lives. This was only an interlude, a fantasy sprung to life, and like all dreams it would vanish in the bright light of day.
And if that made her heart squeeze tight in her chest? If the having of him for a night had only made her want more?
Well, Bess had been brought up to be practical. She, of all people, knew that despite the heated words of a passionate masked duke on a never-to-be-forgotten night…what she wanted did not matter at all.
In his arms, Bess fell into a deep, untroubled sleep.
She woke alone.
She got dressed by herself in the cold gray dawn and stole back to Ashbourn House to let herself in by the servants’ entrance before anyone but the chambermaids were up and about.
Bess knew she shouldn’t have been surprised that he’d left her in the night, but somehow, she was.
At least she’d had her night of passion, she reminded herself as she slipped into her room unobserved and climbed back into bed for another few hours of restless sleep.
One night to remember. That was all it could ever be, and more than most women got.
You will be grateful for this night, Bess told herself fiercely. And stop wanting more.
Chapter Fifteen
Bess wanted more.
She could hardly breathe for wanting more.
A night to remember? At this point, Bess would be glad to forget! Or at least for the memory to wear thin and threadbare, like cambric after too much washing.
At the oddest times, the memories would overtake her. One peek at the jut of Nathaniel’s jaw above the stiff points of his collar of his exquisitely tied cravat as he swept out the front door would catapult her back to that same jaw dragging a slow, scratchy caress across her trembling thighs. A brush of his gloved fingers when he handed her down from the carriage for a stroll in the park would send shivers chasing down her spine and curling around the tips of her breasts.
And God help her if their eyes met.
Fortunately, that didn’t happen often in the week after their anonymous assignation. Nathaniel barely acknowledged her at all, beyond what was polite.
Nothing could have convinced her more thoroughly that the duke had no idea of the true identity of the woman he’d slept with in that room above The Nemesis.
The morning after, having been unable to fall back asleep, Bess had washed and dressed early enough to make it downstairs while Nathaniel was still at his breakfast. Heart in her throat, she’d approached with caution, wondering all the while if he would look at her across the breakfast table and recognize her after all.
But he didn’t. In fact, he barely acknowledged her—a swift, disinterested glance and an absent “Morning” were all she received.
Within moments of her arrival, he had dabbed at his lips with the corner of his napkin, bowed politely, and strolled from the breakfast room and off to the House of Lords.
Bess tried to be relieved. Was relieved! Of course she was. It was better this way by far. The alternative didn’t bear thinking about.
To be exposed as the duke’s partner in a sordid rendezvous in a back-alley tavern—Bess’s cheeks burned to think of it. Or maybe they burned because now she was actually thinking of the night itself, the way he’d knelt to worship her, as he put it. The way he’d felt inside her. And the way he’d wiped her clean after, with a tenderness that had warmed and devastated her in equal measures.
The fact was, Bess knew she ought to feel she’d taken part in a sordid rendezvous, but she didn’t.
It had been…consuming. Wildly erotic. Heartrending.
Addictive.
Bess found herself sitting up in bed at night, tensed all over and listening out for the sounds of footsteps stealing down the corridor.
She didn’t know what she would do if and when she heard them. But she couldn’t stop herself from listening.
Bess nearly sleepwalked through the days of accompanying Lucy to exhibits and lectures on everything from fossils to fungi. She was keenly aware that it was all for the best that the Duke of Ashbourn seemed to have forgotten he had houseguests at all, because after so many sleepless nights Bess wouldn’t give two farthings for her ability to maintain her composure around him.
At least, not without a mask.
