Page 57 of The Luckiest Lady in London

He was silent for a long time. Louisa hoped he was at least chagrined that anyone would toss such a thing in his face. It was almost enough to make her embrace Lady Tremaine in friendship.

“My wife does not like to make her sentiments public,” he said at last. “What she feels, only she and I know.”

Lady Tremaine snorted at his answer. “So I’m right, then. Don’t worry; I won’t demand to know the why and wherefore of her sentiments. Or yours. I am interested only in what you can do to help me sleep better.”

Louisa found it difficult to remain quiet. She seemed to be able to take in air only in huge gulps. Even with her hands over her mouth, her trembling inhalations echoed in her hiding space.

“Since we are both awake in the middle of the night,” continued Lady Tremaine, “come and make love to me instead. At least you know I like you. In fact, sometimes I adore you.”

“Hmm, a tempting offer,” he said.

“One that you’d regret declining.”

“Would I?” His words were low and soft.

“You remember what it was like.” Lady Tremaine’s voice was all willful seduction. “We were magnificent together.”

“I remember.”

“Midnight, then.”

“I haven’t said I’d come.”

“You’d be a fool not to, wouldn’t you?”

And she departed on that triumphant note, walking out of the library. The closing of the door echoed in the silence.

Louisa gasped when the bookshelf was pushed aside.

“I thought you might be here,” her husband said coolly, as if he hadn’t just failed to turn down an invitation to adultery.

And what should she say in return? Sleep with her and I will give you a concussion with my telescope stand?

“Yes,” she said, “it’s a comfortable spot. Pretty view, too.”

“I will leave you to your reading, then.”

“Thank you,” she said politely.

Then she bent her face to her book, indicating that she had nothing else to say to him.

A few seconds later, the bookshelf slid back into place, shutting her in.

* * *

Felix remained where he was.

He wanted to leave, but his feet were rooted in place, and his hands kept reaching out to push the bookshelf aside again. Madly enough, he didn’t want to shove her against the wall and claim her with the force of an asteroid strike. In his mind, he sat down next to her and together they watched the clouds depart in the wake of the rain, revealing a clear, spotless afternoon sky.

He left only when he must, to supervise the preparation of the fire pit, with an emptiness in his heart that felt, unhappily, all too familiar.

Along with a strange anxiety.

He wasn’t worried about what Lady Tremaine might or might not do. He knew her very well: If she wanted him, it was only as a distraction—something about her Scandinavian trip had upset her.

His wife, on the other hand…

On bonfire nights, no formal dinners were laid out. Instead, a buffet supper was served on the grand terrace, which had been lit with dozens of lanterns suspended from a pergola set up specifically for the occasion.