“If we continue in this direction,” he managed between breaths, “breakfast will be entirely lost to us.”
“Is that meant to dissuade me?”
“It is a practical observation. Mrs Blackley may grow suspicious. And your maid has doubtless noticed that your bed remained undisturbed.”
“Molly possesses exemplary discretion. She will hold her tongue.”
“And Mrs Blackley?”
“Mrs Blackley has survived three decades in this household. I doubt we astonish her.”
He laughed softly and shifted, rolling her beneath him in one fluid motion. “You are exceedingly dangerous to my self-command.”
“I was under the impression it was already compromised.”
“Thoroughly.” He brushed a slow kiss along her collarbone, and she shivered. “You have dismantled years of discipline.”
“Then it was overdue.”
They did, in fact, forfeit breakfast.
***
It was nearly noon when they emerged from Christian’s chambers.
Fiona borrowed one of his dressing gowns—a heavy silk garment in deep burgundy that enveloped her in his scent—and slipped quietly down the corridor to her own chamber, where Molly awaited with a composed expression and a cup of chocolate that had long since cooled.
“Good morning, miss.”
“Good afternoon, I suspect.” Fiona accepted the cup gratefully. “I trust you were untroubled in my absence?”
“Entirely, miss. Though I did begin to wonder whether a search might be required.”
“That will not be necessary. I have been… located.”
Molly said nothing, but her reflection in the mirror was eloquent.
Restoration to respectability required effort. Hair needed coaxing into order. Certain indiscreet marks demanded strategic concealment. A higher neckline would be essential.
By the time Fiona descended to the yellow parlour, she felt nearly composed.
Christian was already there, tea in hand, coat and cravat immaculate. Only the faint dampness of his hair and the softness in his eyes betrayed the morning’s indulgence.
He turned at her entrance.
And smiled.
It was a simple expression—warm, unguarded—but it struck her with surprising force.
This man, who had once believed himself unworthy of affection, looked at her as though she were a marvel.
As though she had altered the shape of his world.
And perhaps she had.
She crossed the room and stopped at a decorous distance.
“Miss Hart.” His voice was low, touched with amusement. “You are looking remarkably well this afternoon.”
