Chapter Twenty-Four
Glynnis thought herheart would break, but then realized it already had. That was the ache she’d felt since watching James leave the party the night before. It was one thing to know the man was a rake, another to watch him at his loathsome act of debauchery.
Wringing her hands, she paced her room, trying to console herself with knowing Lord Rufus Payton was already forming an attachment to her. He would escort her to the party the following evening. She merely had to get through the rest of today and tomorrow without clobbering the sloppy smile off James’s satisfied face.
If he were to wear the same after making love to her, she would be over the moon.
Sighing, she sat on the end of the bed.
Rufus Payton was an earl’s second son with a title passed down from his mother’s father, as she’d found out during their carriage ride before the races. He was unpretentious, clever, didn’t mind working on behalf of the Prince Regent, and was enjoying his post in Brighton. Instead of being grumpy as James had been, he was making the best of it.
After all, Brighton was lovely with cool sea breezes and the scent of saltwater and ... an infernal painted whore on every street corner!
Tossing herself backward onto the soft mattress, Glynnis groaned. She had to stop thinking of the blonde woman who’d eased James’s tension, had to stop imagining them together. But entirely unbidden came the picture of the blowsabella in place of Isabelle, her naked breasts jutting forth with James under her rather than Lord Dodd.
“Argh!”Glynnis put her arm over her eyes. She wanted it to be her! She wanted to experience the pleasures of a man and woman with James Lambert. Merely thinking of the act — of him under her or over her or beside her if that was possible — made her wretchedly hot.
Blast the man!He’d ruined everything by flaunting his raffish nature in her face, but she would salvage what she could, even if her heart was shattered.
***
GLYNNIS WAS PROUD OFherself. For the better part of twenty-four hours, she had managed to keep frigidly calm each time she was in James’s presence, avoiding both anger and tears. She’d shown up for dinner, noticing he had changed out of his tea and sponge-stained clothing. They’d eaten in strained silence, and then she’d retired early. He had not attempted to stop her.
That morning, she’d gone downstairs to breakfast, thanking him for the meal again, before quietly reading the newspapers she found stacked on the parlor table. He did the same.
She missed the former friendliness but couldn’t trust herself to speak beyond the niceties lest she either beg him to reconsider the traditional institute of marriage or reprimand him for his lifestyle.
For his part, James no longer joked or teased with her, but tread on eggshells, as the saying went.
Finally, it was the appointed time for Lord Payton to collect her. Glynnis waited in her room, not wanting to encounter James again. She didn’t even know whether he was attending. Listening intently for her escort’s arrival, she hurried down the stairs as soon as Lord Payton entered the foyer.
“Has anyone ever told you what a prime lady you are?” he asked when he spied her.
“No, I don’t believe so. At least none so dashing as yourself have ever done so.”
Although he hesitated, looking past her, perhaps for his friend, she already had her gloves on and her shawl in hand.
Offering it to him, she turned her back and waited. When he draped it across her shoulders, she felt . . . nothing.
Nothing that sizzled at any rate, but also no feelings of revulsion. Contentment at going out with Lord Payton was enough. Far better than the emotional turmoil of every moment with James.
“Slippers?” he asked.
“Drat!” she exclaimed. “Thank you for reminding me. I am terribly sorry for the delay, my lord, but I left them in my room.”
“It is no matter. The party won’t be complete until we’re there.” Then he winked, setting her at ease, and she dashed back up the stairs.
On the landing, she spied James coming out of his room, every bit the rum duke cutting a flash figure, and she cursed her own buffleheadedness at having to see him. So eager to get away without an unpleasant scene, she’d actually caused it by her nervous hurrying.
Halting, he stared. She kept on moving toward her bedroom door. As she passed him, she caught the faint scent of his cologne, and it made her knees weak, taking her instantly back to when he stood between her thighs.
In another moment, she’d snatched her slippers from where she’d carefully laid them out and forgotten them. Turning, he was in her doorway.
“I thought you’d already left, you were so quiet in here.”
“Lord Payton is downstairs. I mustn’t keep him waiting,” and she headed straight for him. He must move out of her way.
